d care to meet in the woods.

He seemed bewildered at not seeing his rival, ran swiftly along the
bank, turned and came swinging back again, all the while uttering his
hoarse challenge. Then the canoe swung in the slight current; in
getting control of it again the movement attracted his attention, and
he saw me for the first time. In a moment he was down the bank into
shallow water, striking with his hoofs and tossing his huge head up
and down like an angry bull. Fortunately the water was deep, and he
did not try to swim out; for there was not a weapon of any kind in the
canoe.

When I started down towards the lake, after baiting the bull's fury
awhile by shaking the paddle and splashing water at him, he followed
me along the bank, keeping up his threatening demonstrations. Down
near the lake he plunged suddenly ahead before I realized the danger,
splashed out into the narrow opening in front of the canoe--and there
I was, trapped.

It was dark when I at last got out of it. To get by the ugly beast in
that narrow opening was out of the question, as I found out after a
half-hour's trying. Just at dusk I turned the canoe and paddled slowly
back; and the moose, leaving his post, followed as before along the
bank. At the upper side of a little bay I paddled close up to shore,
and waited till he ran round, almost up to me, before backing out into
deep water. Splashing seemed to madden the brute, so I splashed him,
till in his fury he waded out deeper and deeper, to strike the
exasperating canoe with his antlers. When he would follow no further,
I swung the canoe suddenly, and headed for the opening at a racing
stroke. I had a fair start before he understood the trick; but I never
turned to see how he made the bank and circled the little bay. The
splash and plunge of hoofs was fearfully close behind me as the canoe
shot through the opening; and as the little bark swung round on the
open waters of the lake, for a final splash and flourish of the
paddle, and a yell or two of derision, there stood the bull in the
inlet, still thrashing his antlers and gritting his teeth; and there I
left him.

The season of calling is a short one, beginning early in September and
lasting till the middle of October. Occasionally a bull will answer as
late as November, but this is unusual. In this season a perfectly
still night is perhaps the first requisite. The bull, when he hears
the call, will often approach to within a hundred yards with