THE DECOY.
“Most ready?” asked the Indian, as in this clumsy and uncomfortable attire I rolled, rather than seated, myself in the bottom of the canoe.
“Yes; all ready, Nichols!” and throwing the birch moose horn into the craft we paddled out into the lake, with the best wishes of the rest of the party from the shore.
“If we hear a shot,” yelled the Colonel, with a look of dubiousness, “we will add an extra log to the fire.”
“And cut up the balance of our salt pork,” added Hiram, “for moose steak is a little dry without it.”
It was a clear night, and so still that the sound of voices and the blows of an axe at camp could be easily heard two miles across the lake. The bright October moon was gradually creeping down the western sky, but shone enough to light us on our way many miles.
“She shone upon the lake
That lay one smooth expanse of silver light;
She shone upon the hills and rocks, and cast