Far up on the mountain side the sharp, challenging grunt of a master bull broke out of the startled woods in one of the lulls of our exciting play. Simmo heard and turned in the bow to whisper excitedly: “Nother bull! Fetch-um Ol’ Dev’l this time, sartin.” Raising his horn he gave the long, rolling bellow of a cow moose. A fiercer trumpet call from the mountain side answered; then the sound was lost in the crash-crash of the first two bulls, as they broke out upon the shore on opposite sides of the canoe.
We gave little heed now to the nearer play; our whole attention was fixed on a hoarse, grunting roar— Uh, uh, uh! eeeyuh! r-r-r-runh-unh!—with a rattling, snapping crash of underbrush for an accompaniment. The younger bull heard it; listened for a moment, like a great black statue under the moonlight; then he glided away into the shadows under the bank. The larger bull heard it, threw up his great head defiantly, and came swinging along the shore, hurling a savage challenge back on the echoing woods at every stride.
There was an ominous silence up on the ridge where, a moment before, all was fierce commotion. Simmo was silent too; the uproar had been appalling, with the sleeping lake below us, and the vast forest, where silence dwells at home, stretching up and away on every hand to the sky line. But the spirit of mischief was tingling all over me as I seized the horn and gave the low appealing grunt that a cow would have uttered under the same circumstances. Like a shot the answer was hurled back, and down came the great bull—smash, crack, r-r-runh! till he burst like a tempest out on the open shore, where the second bull with a challenging roar leaped to meet him.
Simmo was begging me to shoot, shoot, telling me excitedly that “Ol’ Dev’l,” as he called him, would be more dangerous now than ever, if I let him get away; but I only drove the canoe in closer to the splashing, grunting uproar among the shadows under the bank.
“A MIGHTY SPRING OF HIS CROUCHING HAUNCHES FINISHED THE WORK”
There was a terrific duel under way when I swung the canoe alongside a moment later. The bulls crashed together with a shock to break their heads. Mud and water flew over them; their great antlers clashed and rang like metal blades as they pushed and tugged, grunting like demons in the fierce struggle. But the contest was too one-sided to last long. The big bull that had almost killed me, but in whom I now found myself taking an almost savage pride, had smashed down from the mountain in a frightful rage, and with a power that nothing could resist. With a quick lunge he locked antlers in the grip he wanted; a twist of his massive neck and shoulders forced the opposing head aside, and a mighty spring of his crouching haunches finished the work. The second moose went over with a plunge like a bolt-struck pine. As he rolled up to his feet again the savage old bull jumped for him and drove the brow antlers into his flanks. The next moment both bulls had crashed away into the woods, one swinging off in giant strides through the crackling underbrush for his life, the other close behind, charging like a battering-ram into his enemy’s rear, grunting like a huge wild boar in his rage and exultation. So the chase vanished over the ridge into the valley beyond; and silence stole back, like a Chinese empress, into her disturbed dominions.
From behind a great windfall on the point above, where he had evidently been watching the battle, the first young bull stole out, and came halting and listening along the shore to the scene of the conflict. “To the discreet belong the spoils” was written in every timorous step and stealthy movement. A low grunt from my horn reassured him; he grew confident. Now he would find the phantom mate that had occasioned so much trouble, and run away with her before the conqueror should return from his chase. He swung along rapidly, rumbling the low call in his throat. Then up on the ridge sounded again the crackle of brush and the roar of a challenge. Rage had not made the victor to forget; indeed, here he was, coming back swiftly for his reward. On the instant all confidence vanished from the young bull’s attitude. He slipped away into the woods. There was no sound; scarcely a definite motion. A shadow seemed to glide away into the darker shadows. The underbrush closed softly behind it, and he was gone.
Next morning