“Well, what about some day?” demanded the other, turning to look at him.
Sandy gave a reckless little chuckle, and then went on:
“Oh! I suppose you’ll just laugh at me, and say that I’m foolish to let myself dream in that way; but it’s another of Pat’s stories that has been setting me to thinking, and wondering whether I’ll ever have the chance to shoot one of those tremendous beasts.”
“What is it now, a tiger, a lion or an elephant?” asked Bob, scornfully.
“Oh! no,” replied Sandy, promptly; “nothing that can be found outside of this country and Canada. Pat has seen them many times, and even been gored by a great bull moose. You can see the scar on his cheek even now, where he had a bad wound, by which he almost bled to death.”
“‘YES, YOU ARE RIGHT, SANDY, IT IS A BOAT.’”
“And you mean to go away up into Canada to hunt for one of these moose, as they call them?” demanded the older brother, incredulously.
“Well, hardly that,” answered Sandy, with a little hesitation. “You see, Pat, he says he believes moose can be found up that other big river that flows into the Mississippi above the Ohio. And some day, it may not be for years though, I hope to see with my own eyes whether that is true.”