Hank Merwin ceased plying his paddle and the boat rested almost motionless.
The jacklight revealed a sight which might have thrilled even a veteran hunter. The boys found it hard to steady their tingling nerves.
"Gee!" gasped Dick Travers. "I never——"
But a stern, though almost inaudible admonition from Hank Merwin effectually silenced him.
In spite of the glare of light which streamed over them, the infuriated moose continued their deadly combat. Bellowing and snorting, they reared and plunged, striking with both hoofs and horns, churning the shallow water into foam and trampling down the lilies and rushes which grew thickly about.
The novelty of the situation, the weird light, cutting its way through the blackness, and the struggle to the death, made it seem more like some wild dream than reality, and the chums rested almost motionless, half expecting, each moment, that their presence would be discovered.
But the monarchs of the forest were too intent upon their war. Although of clumsy build, with huge head, short neck and long, ungainly fore legs, they moved about with wonderful speed.
Suddenly their antlers came together with terrific force, and two foam-flecked bodies swayed back and forth. The battle raged hotter. Now the smaller animal was borne almost to his knees; then, recovering himself, forced the other back, and the latter, in turn exerting his enormous strength to the utmost, pushed his rival partly around.
A huge head was silhouetted for an instant against the background; a spreading pair of antlers descended. The blow was struck with all the force that a powerful pair of shoulders could give—a blow of crushing force.
The smaller animal staggered; a snort of agony and rage echoed over the lake, as he flopped to his knees, sending forth a circling wave to surge against the sides of the boat.