ill his muzzle
lay outstretched upon the snow. So far back from the gate of the
senses drew the life within him, that when three gray-coated figures
on snow-shoes went silently past on his old trail, he never saw them.
His eyes were filled with a blur of snow, and shadows, and unsteady
trunks, and confusing little gleams of light.

Of the three hunters following on the trail of the great black moose,
one was more impetuous than the others. It was his first moose that he
was trailing; and it was his bullet that was speaking through those
scarlet signs on the snow. He kept far ahead of his comrades, elated
and fiercely glad, every nerve strung with expectation. Behind each
bush, each thicket, he looked for the opportunity to make the final,
effective shot that should end the great chase. Not unlearned in
woodcraft, he knew what it meant when he reached the loop in the
trail. He understood that the moose had gone back to watch for his
pursuers. What he did not know or suspect was, that the watcher's eyes
had grown too dim to see. He took it for granted that the wise beast
had marked their passing, and fled off in another direction as soon as
they got by. Instead, however, of redoubling his caution, he plunged
ahead with a burst of fresh enthusiasm. He was very properly sure his
bullet had done good work, since it had so soon compelled the enduring
animal to rest.

A puff of wandering air, by chance, drifted down from the running man
to the thicket, behind which the black bull lay, sunk in his torpor.
The dreaded man-scent--the scent of death to the wilderness folk--was
blown to the bull's nostrils. Filled though they were with that red
froth, their fine sense caught the warning. The eyes might fail in
their duty, the ears flag and betray their trust; but the nostrils,
skilled and schooled, were faithful to the last. Their imperative
message pierced to the fainting brain, and life resumed its duties.
Once more the dull eyes awoke to brightness. The great, black form
lunged up and crashed forward into the open, towering, formidable, and
shaking ominous antlers.

Taken by surprise, and too close to shoot in time, the rash hunter
sprang aside to make for a tree. He had heard much of the charge of a
wounded moose. As he turned, the toe of one snow-shoe caught on a
branchy stub, just below the surface of the snow. The snow-shoe turned
side on, and tripped him, and he fell headlong right in the path of
the charging beast.