re to whom the woods have
spoken their deepest message, and to whom the next turn of the river may
bring its thrill of unexpected things.

Suddenly, as the bow of our canoe shot round a point, we ran plump upon
a big cow moose crossing the river. At Simmo's grunt of surprise she
stopped short and whirled to face us. And there she stood, one huge
question mark from nose to tail, while the canoe edged in to the lee of
a great rock and hung there quivering, with poles braced firmly on the
bottom.

We were already late for camping, and the lake was still far ahead. I
gave the word at last, after a few minutes' silent watching, and the
canoe shot upward. But the big moose, instead of making off into the
woods, as a well-behaved moose ought to do, splashed straight toward us.
Simmo, in the bow, gave a sweeping flourish of his pole, and we all
yelled in unison; but the moose came on steadily, quietly, bound to find
out what the queer thing was that had just come up river and broken the
solemn stillness.

"Bes' keep still; big moose make-um trouble sometime," muttered Noel
behind me; and we dropped back silently into the lee of the friendly
rock, to watch awhile longer and let the big creature do as she would.

For ten minutes more we tried every kind of threat and persuasion to get
the moose out of the way, ending at last by sending a bullet _zipping_
into the water under her body; but beyond an angry stamp of the foot
there was no response, and no disposition whatever to give us the
stream. Then I bethought me of a trick that I had discovered long before
by accident. Dropping down to the nearest bank, I crept up behind the
moose, hidden in the underbrush, and began to break twigs, softly at
first, then more and more sharply, as if something were coming through
the woods fearlessly. At the first suspicious crack the moose whirled,
hesitated, started nervously across the stream, twitching her nostrils
and wigwagging her big ears to find out what the crackle meant, and
hurrying more and more as the sounds grated harshly upon her sensitive
nerves. Next moment the river was clear and our canoe was breasting the
rippling shallows, while the moose watched us curiously, half hidden in
the alders.

That is a good trick, for occasions. The animals all fear twig snapping.
Only never try it at night, with a bull, in the calling season, as I did
once unintentionally. Then he is apt to mistake you for his tantalizing
mate and come do