the woods as
if a million hornets were at his ears.

Weak with laughter, Crimmins climbed down out of his refuge, waved an
amiable farewell to the stupefied bear, and resumed the trail for the
Nipisiguit.

CHAPTER II

For the next two years the fame of the great moose kept growing,
adding to itself various wonders and extravagances till it assumed
almost the dimensions of a myth. Sportsmen came from all over the
world in the hope of bagging those unparalleled antlers. They shot
moose, caribou, deer, and bear, and went away disappointed only in one
regard. But at last they began to swear that the giant was a mere
fiction of the New Brunswick guides, designed to lure the hunters. The
guides, therefore, began to think it was time to make good and show
their proofs. Even Uncle Adam was coming around to this view, when
suddenly word came from the Crown Land Department at Fredericton that
the renowned moose must not be allowed to fall to any rifle. A special
permit had been issued for his capture and shipment out of the
country, that he might be the ornament of a famous Zoological Park and
a lively proclamation of what the New Brunswick forests could
produce.

The idea of taking the King of Saugamauk alive seemed amusing to the
guides, and to Crimmins particularly. But Uncle Adam, whose colossal
frame and giant strength seemed to put him peculiarly in sympathy with
the great moose bull, declared that it could and should be done, for
he would do it. Upon this, scepticism vanished, even from the smile of
Charley Crimmins, who voiced the general sentiment when he said,--

"Uncle Adam ain't the man to bite off any more than he can chew!"

But Uncle Adam was in no hurry. He had such a respect for his
adversary that he would not risk losing a single point in the
approaching contest. He waited till the mating season and the hunting
season were long past, and the great bull's pride and temper somewhat
cooled. He waited, moreover, for the day to come--along towards
midwinter--when those titanic antlers should loosen at their roots,
and fall off at the touch of the first light branch that might brush
against them. This, the wise old woodsman knew, would be the hour of
the King's least arrogance. Then, too, the northern snows would be
lying deep and soft and encumbering, over all the upland slopes
whereon the moose loved to browse.

Along toward mid-February word came to Uncle Adam that the Monarch had
"yarded up," as