As he fell, he heard a shout from his comrades, hurrying up far behind
him; but the thought that flashed through him was that they could not
be in time. Falling on his face, he expected the next instant to feel
the bull's great rending hoofs descend upon his back and stamp his
life out.

But the blow never fell. The moose had seen his foe coming, and
charged to meet him, his strength and valour flashing up for an
instant as the final emergency confronted him. But ere he could reach
that prostrate shape in the snow, he forgot what he was doing, and
stopped short. With legs a little apart he braced himself, and stood
rigid. His noble head was held high, as if he scorned the enemies who
had dogged him to his last refuge. But in reality he no longer saw
them. The breath came hard through his rattling nostrils, and his
eyes, very wide open, were dark with a fear which he could not
understand. The life within him strove desperately to maintain its
hold upon that free and lordly habitation. The second hunter, now, was
just lifting his rifle,--but before he could sight and fire, the chase
was ended. That erect, magnificent figure, towering over the fallen
man, collapsed all at once. It fell together into a mere heap of hide
and antlers. The light in the eyes went out, as a spark that is
trodden, and the laboured breathing stopped in mid-breath. The fallen
hunter sprang up, rushed forward with a shout, and drew his knife
across the outstretched throat.

The Little People of the Sycamore

I.

The fantastic old sycamore, standing alone on the hill, thrust out its
one gaunt limb across the face of the moon. It was late April, and the
buds not yet swollen to bursting. On the middle of the limb, blackly
silhouetted against the golden disk, crouched a raccoon, who sniffed
the spring air and scanned the moon-washed spaces. From the marshy
spots at the foot of the hill, over toward the full-fed, softly
rushing brook, came the high piping of the frogs, a voice of poignant,
indeterminate desire.

Having reconnoitred the night to her satisfaction, the raccoon
returned to a deep hole in the sycamore, and hastily touched with her
pointed nose each in turn of her five, blind, furry little ones. Very
little they were, half-cub, half-kitten in appearance, with their long
noses, long tails, and bear-like feet. They huddled luxuriously
together in the warm, dry darkness of the den, and gave little
squeals in response to their mothe