city
of the fresh wood keeping the light in place.

The tired hunter did not dawdle over his supper. In a quarter of an hour
he had finished it, and was building up the fire again. Then he
stretched himself beside the trio in the rude bunk, drawing one thin
blanket over him. Neal, who lay on his right, was conscious of some
prickings of excitement at having such a bedfellow on the
fir-boughs,--the camper's couch which levels all. There flashed upon the
fair-haired English boy a remembrance of how Cyrus had once said that
"in the woods manhood is the only passport." He thought that, measured
by this standard, Herb Heal had truly a royal charter, and might be a
president of the forest land; for he looked as free, strong, and
unconquerable as the forest wind.

CHAPTER XV.

A FALLEN KING.

The hunter was the only one who slept soundly that night on the fragrant
boughs. Nevertheless, the moose was on his mind. Again in his dreams he
imagined himself back by the quiet, shining logon, listening to the ring
of the antlers as they struck the trees, and to the heaving snorts and
deep grunts of the noble game as it tore through the forest to its
death.

The moose was on the minds of his companions too. Again and again they
awoke, and pictured him lying by the pond, where he had fallen,--a dead
monarch. They tossed and grumbled, longing for day.

Neal and Dol surprised themselves and their elders by being up and
dressed shortly after five, before a streak of light had entered the
cabin. But their guide was not much behind them. Herb had the camp-fire
going well, and was preparing breakfast before six o'clock. The campers
tucked away a substantial meal of fried pork, potatoes, and coffee. The
first glories of the young sun fell on their way as they started across
the clearing and away through the woods beyond, towards the distant pond
where the hunter had got his moose.

Lying amid the small growth and grasses, by a lonely, glinting logon,
they found the conquered king, sleeping that sleep from which never sun
again would wake him. A bullet-hole, crusted with dark blood, showed in
his side. The slim legs were bent and stiff, and the mighty forefeet
could no more strike a ripping blow which would end a man's hunting
forever. The antlers which had made the forest ring were powerless horn.

"Do you know, boys," said Herb, as he stooped and touched them,
fingering each prong, "I've hunted moose in fall and winter since