right to do, or went farther into the wilderness where
the hunting and fishing were better. Several times he ran across White
Nose and her two fuzzy cubs, but they did not have much to do with each
other until autumn came around.

Finally the first frosts came, and the waiting forest shook out its
scarlet and crimson and golden banners, and many water-grasses and
weeds took on quite bright colors, for such humble plants.

One moonlight night in October, when the air had begun to be clear and
crisp, and the sky was so studded with stars that it seemed as if there
was not room for even one more, a strange and lordly company came
stalking into the land of the king of the mountain. They were gray,
dim, spectral shapes and new to the region.

They may have been looking for feeding grounds, or perhaps the autumn
restlessness was upon their leader, who was a giant of his kind,--a
broad-antlered belligerent bull moose, ready at this season of the year
to fight anything and everything that crossed his path.

The first time Black Bruin saw the newcomers he was digging roots along
the edge of a shallow pond. He was also keeping a sharp lookout for
frogs, clams, or almost any small crustaceans.

Presently he noticed a commotion out in the middle of the pond, which
was only about an acre in extent. Then a great head, surmounted by a
massive set of horns, came up out of the water and Black Bruin saw that
the strange creature had his mouth full of lily-bulbs and
water-grasses. Soon the huge head disappeared again, and after a few
seconds reappeared, bringing up more lily-pads.

For half an hour Black Bruin watched the stranger diving and
reappearing. Then the great beast swam ashore, shook himself and went
crashing off through the woods, his hoofs keeping time in a rhythmic
clack, a-clack, clack.

When he had disappeared Black Bruin advanced to the spot where he had
come ashore and smelled his track. It was not like anything that he
had ever smelled before, and somehow the scent made him angry. This
lordly monster was invading his preserves. No one but him had a right
to hunt or fish, or to eat roots in this region. So Black Bruin
followed the trail of the moose, half curious and half angry.

He had not gone a quarter of a mile when he came up with the bull, who
was rubbing his antlers upon the branches of a low tree.

Black Bruin watched him for several moments, until a puff of wind
carried the telltale scent to