the tips.

For some minutes he had been thus pleasantly occupied, when suddenly
an obscure apprehension stirred in his brain. He stopped feeding,
lifted his head, and stood motionless. Only his big ears moved,
turning their wary interrogations toward every point of the compass,
and his big nostrils suspiciously testing every current of air.
Neither nose nor ears, the most alert of his sentinels, gave any
report of danger. He looked about, saw nothing unusual, and fell again
to feeding.

Among the wild kindreds, as far as man can judge, there are
occasional intuitions that seem to work beyond the scope of the
senses. It is not ordinarily so, else would all hunting, on the part
of man or of the hunting beasts, be idle. But once in a while, as if
by some unwilling telepathic communication from hunter to hunted, or
else by an obscure and only half-delivered message from the powers
that preside over the wild kindreds, a warning of peril is conveyed to
a pasturing creature while yet the peril is far off and unrevealed.
The great moose found his appetite all gone. He backed off the sapling
and let its top spring up again toward the empty blue. He looked back
nervously over his trail, sniffed the air, waved his ears inquiringly.
The more he found nothing to warrant his uneasiness, the more his
uneasiness grew. It was as if Death, following far off but
relentlessly, had sent a grim menace along the windings of the trail.
Something like a panic came into the dilating eyes of the big bull. He
turned toward the fir forest, at a walk which presently broke into a
shambling, rapid trot; and presently he disappeared among the sombre
and shadowy colonnades.

In the strange gloom of the forest, a transparent gloom confused by
thin glints and threads of penetrating, pinkish light, the formless
alarm of the moose began to subside. In a few minutes his wild run
diminished into a rapid walk. He would not go back to his feeding,
however. He had been seized with a shuddering distrust of the young
birch thickets on the slope. Over beyond the next ridge there were
some bushy swales which he remembered as good pasturage--where,
indeed, he had a mind to "yard up" for the winter, when the snow
should get too deep for wide ranging. Once more quickening his pace,
he circled back almost to the fringe of the forest, making toward a
little stretch of frozen marsh, which was one of his frequented
runways between ridge and ridge. That nameless fear in