heard a
similar call, with a difference--a longer, less harshly blatant cry, the
under note of which was one of appeal rather than of challenge. Over
both he puzzled in vain; for the moose, bulls and cows alike, had no
wish to try the qualities of the great white stranger who seemed to have
usurped the lordship of the lake.

At last, one violet evening in the close of the sunset, as he stood
fetlock-deep in the chill water, drinking, a light sound of many feet
caught his alert ear. Lifting his head quickly, he saw a herd of
strange-looking, heavy-antlered, whitish-brown deer emerging in long
line from the woods and crossing the open toward the foot of the lake.
The leader of the caribou herd, a massive bull, nearly white, with
antlers almost equal to those of a moose, returned the stallion's
inquiring stare with a glance of mild curiosity, but did not halt an
instant. It was plain that he considered his business urgent; for the
caribou, as a rule, are nothing if not curious when confronted by any
strange sight. But at present the whole herd, which journeyed, in the
main, in single file, seemed to be in a kind of orderly haste. They
turned questioning eyes upon the white stallion as they passed, then
looked away indifferently, intent only upon following their leader on
his quest. The stallion stood watching, his head high and his nostrils
wide, till the very last of the herd had disappeared into the woods
across the lake. Then the loneliness of his spacious pasture all at once
quite overwhelmed him. He did not want the company of the caribou, by
any means, or he might have followed them as they turned their backs
toward the sunset; but it was the dwellings of men he wanted, the human
hand on his mane, the provendered stall, the voice of kindly command,
and the fellowship of his kindred of the uncleft hoof. In some way he
had got it into his head that men might be found most readily by
travelling toward the southwest. Toward the head of the lake, therefore,
and just a little south of the sunset's deepest glow, he now took his
way. He was done with the lake and the empty marshes.

From the head of the lake he followed up a narrow still-water for
perhaps half a mile, crashing his way through a difficult tangle of
fallen, rotting trunks and dense underbrush, till he came out upon
another and much smaller lake, very different from the one he had just
left. Here were no meadowy margins; but the shores were steep and
thick-wo