first along that trail and imposed
his lazy dodgings on all who might come after him. The young man amused
himself by reflecting that the tote-road was an excellent example of
the persistence of human error, and in these and other philosophical
ponderings he was able to draw his mind partially from its uncomfortable
dwellings on the probabilities awaiting him at the hands of Gideon Ward.

The sun was far down in the west and the road under the spruces was
dusky, when a singular obstacle halted the march. A tremendous thrashing
and crashing at one side of the road signaled the approach of some large
animal. A network of undergrowth hid the identity of this unknown, and
the men instinctively huddled together and displayed some uncertainty
as to whether they should remain or run. But the suspense was soon
over, for the nearer bushes parted suddenly and out upon the tote-road
floundered an immense moose, his bulbous nose wagging, his bristly mane
twitching, his stilted fore legs straddled defiantly.

The next moment a great bellow of laughter went up from the crowd.

"The joke's on us!" cried a woodsman, who had been among the first to
retreat.

"Hullo, Ben Bouncer!" Connick shouted.

"What do you mean by playin' peek-a-boo with your friends in that
manner?"

The moose uttered a hoarse _whuffle_.

"This is Ben Bouncer, the mascot of Number 7 camp," the foreman
announced. He pushed Parker to the front rank of the group. "He won't
hurt ye," he added. "He has got used enough to men to be a little sassy,
an' he's got colty on Gid Ward's grain, but he's mostly bluff."

The engineer gazed on the moose with considerable interest, for the
spectacle was entirely new.

"Ben went to loafin' round 7 camp early this winter. He yarded down here
two miles or so. You understand, of course, that a moose picks out a
good feedin'-place in winter, when the deep snows come, a place where he
can reach a lot of twigs and yards there, as they call it in the woods."

"When the snow got crusty and scraped his legs, Ben seemed to have a
tired fit come over him, and began to come closer an' closer to the
horse hovels to steal what loose hay he could. No one round the camp
wanted to hurt him. After a time we all became sort of interested in
him, and toled him up to the camp by leavin' hay an' grain round where
he could get at it. You can see what a big fat fellow we've made of him.
Our feedin' him makes the colonel mad, for hay is worth som