rn, but I know that much."

"They _are_ moose-tracks," Cyrus answered slowly, almost unbelievingly,
though the evidence was before him. "They certainly are moose-tracks,"
he repeated, "and very recent ones too. A moose has been drinking here,
perhaps not half an hour ago. He can't be far away."

Garst was now warming into excitement himself. His bass tones became
guttural and almost inarticulate, while he lowered them to prevent their
travelling. On the reddish clay at his feet were foot-marks very like
the prints of a large mastiff. He studied them one by one, even tracing
the outline with his forefinger.

"Then I'm going to call," whispered Dol, his words tremulous and
stifled. "Lie low, Cy! You promised you'd give me a fair chance; you'll
have to keep your word."

"I'll do it too," was the answering whisper. "But let's get higher up on
the knoll, behind those big bushes at the top. And listen, Dol, if a
moose makes a noise anywhere near, we must scoot for the trees before he
comes out from cover. I've got to answer to your father for you."

It was an intense moment in Dol Farrar's life; sensation reached its
highest pitch, as he crouched low behind a prickly screen, put the
birch-bark horn to his mouth, and slowly breathed through it with the
full power of his young lungs, marvellously strengthened by the forest
life of past weeks.

There was a minute's interval while he removed it again, and drew in all
the air he could contain. Then a call rose upon the evening air, so
touching, so plaintive, with such a rising, quavering impatience as it
surged out towards the woods,--whither the boy-caller's face was
turned,--that Cyrus could scarcely suppress a "Bravo!"

The summons died away in a piteous grunt. A second time the call rose
and fell. On the third repetition it broke off, as usual, in an abrupt
roar, which seemed to strike the tops of the giant trees, and boom among
them.

A froth was on Dol Farrar's lips, his eyes were reddened, he puffed hard
through spread nostrils, like a young horse which has been trying its
mettle for the first time, as he lowered that moose-horn, lifted his
head, and cocked his ears to listen.

Two soundless minutes passed. Dol, who, if he had mastered the hunter's
call, had certainly not mastered his patience, put the bark-trumpet
again to his lips, determined to try the effect of a surpassingly
expressive grunt.

But he never executed this false movement, which would have give