"However am I to get the better of the old fool?" Phil asked himself between his puffs; for this happened after he had been chased another dozen times around the well-worn path.
There was a breathing spell, as the moose halted for a brief time. Phil did not cherish any hope or expectation that the beast meant to retire, and leave him to himself. In fact he began to believe the big animal was having the time of his life, and enjoying it immensely.
"Which is more than I can say I'm doing," Phil grumbled; "this ring-around-the-rosy business is played out, and I've just got to find some way to stop it."
Taking advantage of the breathing spell he cast a hurried look back of him. Of course he did not dream that such a thing as help could come; on the contrary his only expectation was that he might find some way by means of which he could extricate himself from his dilemma.
"Bully! if I can only make that clump of small trees I ought to manage it!" was what Phil exclaimed.
There was no time for more just then. Mr. Bull Moose was ready for another frolic, having freshened up. So again they chased madly around that tree, the hoofs of the animal tearing up the ground until it looked as though he had made a regular race-track there.
When finally the new inning came to a close Phil was fairly panting for breath, and more dizzy than ever.
"A few more turns like that would do me up!" he gasped; and then gritted his teeth with a determination to make the break he had figured on.
Fortunately the moose always seemed to come to a stand at about the same spot. This brought the little clump of trees exactly behind Phil, which fact would give him a chance to get fairly started before the moose became aware of his intention.
Taking in a long breath the boy suddenly darted away.