they were not yet quite leafless, and, moreover, were
interspersed with tall reed-grass, they formed a tolerable cover under
which he might make his approach.

Without losing time, then, he made for the willows, and placing them
between himself and the game, commenced "approaching" along the shore of
the lake.

He had a full half-hour's creeping--at one time upon his hands and
knees--at another, crawling flat upon his breast like a gigantic lizard,
and now and then, at favourable spots, walking in a bent attitude. A
full half-hour was he, and much pain and patience did it cost him,
before getting within shot. But Basil was a hunter, and knew both how
to endure the pain and practise the patience--virtues that, in hunting
as well as in many other occupations, usually meet with their reward.
And Basil was likely to meet with his, for on parting the leaves, and
looking cautiously through, he saw that he had arrived at the right
spot. Within fifty yards of him he saw the high shoulders of the
bull-moose and his great flat antlers towering over the tops of the
willows, among the leaves of which the snout of the animal was buried.
He also caught a glimpse of parts of the other three beyond; but he
thought only of the bull, and it was upon him that he kept his eyes
fixed. Basil did not think of the quality of the meat, else he would
have selected either the cow or one of the calves. Had it been
buffaloes he would certainly have done so; but as he had never killed a
moose, he was determined to slay the leader of the herd.

Indeed, had he wished to shoot one of the others, it might not have been
so easy, as they were farther off, and he could only see the tops of
their shoulders over the willows. Neither did the bull offer a fair
mark. He stood face to face with the hunter, and Basil fancied that a
shot on the frontal bone might not kill him. He knew it would not kill
a buffalo. There was only one other part at which he could aim--the
fore-shoulder; and after waiting some moments for the animal to give him
a fairer chance, he took aim at this and fired. He heard a loud
cracking of hoofs, as the cow and calves shambled off over the plain,
but he saw that the bull was not with them. He was down behind the
willows. No doubt he was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

ENCOUNTER WITH A MOOSE.

What was a rare thing for Basil to do, he rushed forward without
reloading his gun. A few springs brought him into the open gr