Il fait nuit--it is night. Then I say, A quoi bon?--
What good is it?--and stay with my cows. But Sam he comes again and he
say great things about la chasse--the hunting--and so I say, I try
again; and this time I take the great wolf trap that hang in the stable,
and start early, and go far in the woods, and set my traps, and put the
big one, the wolf trap, set with a log made fast to the chain, and then
I retourner--return--to my duties. Three days pass, then I advance
again in the woods. It is far. Il fait de la neige--it is snowing--
when I draw near. I hear a great noise. I draw nearer still. I see
the great moose bull, with his hind foot in the wolf trap. He also sees
me. I raise a great shout. A quoi bon?--What good is it? He comes for
me. Voulez-vous?--I say. So I fire my fusil--gun--at him. Still he
comes, for now I remember I only had shot for partridge in that gun.
J'ai chaud--I am hot. He makes me so, he looks so fierce. His great
ears, his long face, all his hair point toward me. I turn, I run. So
does he run, but it is toward me. Still he comes. He has still the
wolf trap on his foot. The log is fastened to the chain, so it troubles
him. Still on he comes. I can keep ahead, on account of the log, but
the log slips off the chain. So now he comes faster. I run, I fly. I
see him draw near. He looks diabolical. I despair. I see this tree
like the mast broken off in the storm. I learn to climb well when I
sail on the ship. I rush to the tree with the moose bull close behind
me. I drop my mittens, I seize hold of the rough bark, I climb up just
as that animal, like le diable--the devil--he rush up, and he strike his
great horns against the tree where I was, but I not there, I just above,
out of his reach. I dare not go back. So up and up I climb like the
sailor as I was, and when I get to the top I find plenty of sticks
there, where some time ago the crows they make the nest, and it seem
strong, and as I could not hold on at the sides of the tree I pull
myself up and try to stand on those sticks, and they break sudden and I
drop, I fall, I sink down into the tree. I throw out my arms to catch
hold, but the tree is rotten wood inside, so I lose my grip. The wood
it come down with me. I sink into the depths, and there I was. The
rotten wood made a great dust as down I slide. It nearly choke me. I
cannot call out; my mouth, my eyes, my throat all full. There I stay.
I could no