ous spring when the snow was deep and soft, and
purchased for the Park by one of the big Eastern lumber-merchants. The
moose-herd had consisted, hitherto, of four lonely cows, and the
splendid bull was a prize which the Park had long been coveting. He
took lordly possession, forthwith, of the submissive little herd, and
led them off at once from the curious crowds about the gate to explore
the wild-looking thickets at the back of the pasture. But no sooner
had he fairly entered these thickets than he found his further
progress barred by the steel-meshed fence. This was a bitter
disappointment, for he had expected to go striding through miles of
alder swamp and dark spruce woods, fleeing the hated world of men and
bondage, before setting himself to get acquainted with his new
followers. His high-strung temper was badly jarred. He drew off,
shaking his vast antlers, and went shambling with spacious stride down
along the barrier towards the brook. The four cows, in single file,
hurried after him anxiously, afraid he might be snatched away from
them.

Last Bull, standing solitary and morose on a little knoll in his
pasture, caught sight of the strange, dark figure of the running
moose. A spark leapt into his heavy eyes. He wheeled, pawed the sod,
put his muzzle to the ground, and bellowed a sonorous challenge. The
moose stopped short and stared about him, the stiff hair lifting
angrily along the ridge of his massive neck. Last Bull lowered his
head and tore up the sod with his horns.

[Illustration: "Last Bull, standing solitary and morose on a little knoll
in his pasture."]

This vehement action caught the eyes of the moose. At first he stared
in amazement, for he had never seen any creature that looked like Last
Bull. The two were only about fifty or sixty yards apart, across the
little valley of the bushy swamp. As he stared, his irritation
speedily overcame his amazement. The curious-looking creature over
there on the knoll was defying him, was challenging him. At this time
of year his blood was hot and quick for any challenge. He gave vent to
a short, harsh, explosive cry, more like a grumbling bleat than a
bellow, and as unlike the buffalo's challenge as could well be
imagined. Then he fell to thrashing the nearest bushes violently with
his antlers. This, for some reason unknown to the mere human
chronicler, seemed to be taken by Last Bull as a crowning insolence.
His long, tasselled tail went stiffly up into the