path." But the noble animal
stopped, a few yards short, and fell dead with a bullet-hole through his
heart.

When the moose yard in the winter, that is, restrict their wanderings
to a well-defined section of the forest or mountain, trampling down the
snow and beating paths in all directions, they browse off only the most
dainty morsels first; when they go over the ground a second time they
crop a little cleaner; the third time they sort still closer, till by
and by nothing is left. Spruce, hemlock, poplar, the barks of various
trees, everything within reach, is cropped close. When the hunter comes
upon one of these yards the problem for him to settle is, Where are the
moose? for it is absolutely necessary that he keep on the lee side of
them. So he considers the lay of the land, the direction of the wind,
the time of day, the depth of the snow, examines the spoor, the cropped
twigs, and studies every hint and clew like a detective. Uncle Nathan
said he could not explain to another how he did it, but he could usually
tell in a few minutes in what direction to look for the game. His
experience had ripened into a kind of intuition or winged reasoning that
was above rules.

He said that most large game, deer, caribou, moose, bear, when started
by the hunter and not much scared, were sure to stop and look back
before disappearing from sight: he usually waited for this last and best
chance to fire. He told us of a huge bear he had seen one morning while
still-hunting foxes in the fields; the bear saw him, and got into the
woods before he could get a good shot. In her course some distance up
the mountain was a bald, open spot, and he felt sure when she crossed
this spot she would pause and look behind her; and sure enough, like
Lot's wife, her curiosity got the better of her; she stopped to have a
final look, and her travels ended there and then.

Uncle Nathan had trapped and shot a great many bears, and some of his
experiences revealed an unusual degree of sagacity in this animal. One
April, when the weather began to get warm and thawy, an old bear left
her den in the rocks and built a large, warm nest of grass, leaves, and
the bark of the white cedar, under a tall balsam fir that stood in a
low, sunny, open place amid the mountains. Hither she conducted her two
cubs, and the family began life in what might be called their spring
residence. The tree above them was for shelter, and for refuge for the
cubs in case danger ap