I was
first introduced to a rifle. I've still-hunted 'em, called 'em, and
followed 'em on snowshoes; but I never felt so thundering mean about
killing an animal as I did about dropping this fellow. After his antics
in the woods, when he tramped out onto the open patch where I was
waiting under cover of those shrubs, I popped up and covered him with my
Winchester. He just raised the hair on his back and looked at me, with a
way wild animals sometimes have, as if I was a bad riddle. Like as not
he'd never seen a human being before, and a moose's eyes ain't good for
much as danger-signals. It's only when he hears or smells mischief that
he gets mad scared.

[Illustration: A FALLEN KING.]

"Well, I was out for meat, and bound to have it; so I pulled the
trigger, and killed him with two shots. When the first bullet stung him
he reared up, making a sharp noise like a wounded horse. Then he swung
round as if to bolt; but the second went straight through his heart, and
he fell where you see him now. I made sure that he was past kicking, and
crept close to his head, thinking he was dead. He wasn't quite gone,
though; for he saw me, and laid back his ears, the last pitiful sign a
moose makes when a hunter gets the better of him. I tell you it made me
feel bad--just for a minute. I've got my moose for this season, and I'm
sort o' glad that the law won't let me kill another unless it's a
life-saving matter."

"How tall should you say this fellow was when alive?" asked Cyrus,
stroking the creature's shaggy hair, which was a rusty black in color.

"Oh! I guess he stood about as high as a good-sized pony. But I've shot
moose which were taller than any horse. The biggest one I ever killed
measured between seven and eight feet from the points of his hoofs to
his shoulders, and the antlers were four feet and nine inches from tip
to tip. He was a monster--a regular jing-swizzler! A mighty queer way I
got him too! I'll tell you all about it some other time."

"Oh! you must," answered Garst. "You'll have to give us no end of
moose-talk by the camp-fire of evenings. These English fellows want to
learn all they can about the finest game on our continent before they go
home."

"Why, for evermore!" gasped Herb, in broad amazement. "Are you
Britishers? And have you crossed the ocean to chase moose in Maine
woods? My word! You're a gamy pair of kids. We'll have to try to
accommodate you with a sight of a moose at any rate--a live one."