stick. He next unspliced his knife, took off the gristly lips, and cut
out the tongue. These he placed in his game-bag, and shouldering his
rifle, was about to depart; when some new idea caused him to halt, put
down his gun, and again unsheath his knife. Once more approaching the
carcass, he made an incision near the kidneys; and having inserted his
hand, drew forth what appeared to be a part of the intestines. It was
the bladder. He then looked around as if in search of something.
Presently his eye rested upon some tall reed-grass that was growing
near. This was just what he wanted, and, pulling up one of the stems,
he cut and fashioned it into a pipe. With this the moose-bladder was
blown out to its full dimensions, and tied at the neck by a piece of
thong. The other end of the thong was fastened to one of the branches
of the tree above, so that the bladder dangled within a few feet of the
carcass of the moose, dancing about with the lightest breath of wind.
All these precautions Basil had taken to keep the wolves from devouring
the moose--for it was his intention to return and butcher it, as soon as
he could get help. When he had hung the bladder to his liking, he put
up his knife again; and, once more shouldering his rifle, walked off.

On reaching the camp--which he did shortly after--the tongue of the
moose was broiled without delay, and, after making a delicious meal of
it, the whole party went off for the remainder of the meat. They found
it all quite safe; although, had it not been for the bladder, not much
of it would have been there--as no less than a dozen great gaunt wolves
were seen lurking about, and these would have eaten it up in the
shortest possible time. The bladder, however, had kept them off; for,
strange to say, these creatures, who are as cunning as foxes, and can
hardly be trapped, can yet be deceived and frightened by such a simple
thing as a bladder dangling from a branch.

The moose proved to be one of the largest of his kind. His height was
quite equal to that of a horse; and his horns, flattened out to the
breadth of shovels, weighed over sixty pounds. His carcass was not less
than fifteen hundred pounds weight; and our voyageurs had to make two
journeys to convey the meat to their camp. On the last journey,
Francois brought the porcupine as well--having found it on the very same
tree where Basil had left it!

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

LIFE IN A LOG-HUT.

The log-hut w