McDonald told me privately that it was 'nae sa bad; a deal better than
Pete's feckless bellow.' We agreed to leave the Indian to keep the camp
(after locking up the whisky flask in my bag), and take Billy with us on
Monday to 'call' at Hogan's Pond.

"It's a small bit of water, about three quarters of a mile long and four
hundred yards across, and four miles back from the river. There is no
trail to it, but a blazed line runs part of the way, and for the rest
you follow up the little brook that runs out of the pond. We stuck up
our shelter in a hollow on the brook, half a mile below the pond, so
that the smoke of our fire would not drift over the hunting ground, and
waited till five o'clock in the afternoon. Then we went up to the pond,
and took our position in a clump of birch trees on the edge of the open
meadow that runs round the east shore. Just at dark Billy began to call,
and it was beautiful. You know how it goes. Three short grunts, and then
a long ooooo-aaaa-ooooh, winding up with another grunt! It sounded
lonelier than a love-sick hippopotamus on the house top. It rolled and
echoed over the hills as if it would wake the dead.

"There was a fine moon shining, nearly full, and a few clouds floating
by. Billy called, and called, and called again. The air grew colder and
colder; light frost on the meadow grass; our teeth were chattering,
fingers numb.

"Then we heard a bull give a short bawl, away off to the southward.
Presently we could hear his horns knock against the trees, far up on
the hill. McDonald whispered, 'He's comin',' and Billy gave another
call.

"But it was another bull that answered, back of the north end of the
pond, and pretty soon we could hear him rapping along through the woods.
Then everything was still. 'Call agen,' says McDonald, and Billy called
again.

"This time the bawl came from another bull, on top of the western hill,
straight across the pond. It seemed to start up the other two bulls, and
we could hear all three of them thrashing along, as fast as they could
come, towards the pond. 'Call agen, a wee one,' says McDonald, trembling
with joy. And Billy called a little seducing call, with two grunts at
the end.

"Well, sir, at that, a cow and a calf came rushing down through the
brush not two hundred yards away from us, and the three bulls went
splash into the water, one at the south end, one at the north end, and
one on the west shore. 'Land,' whispers McDonald, 'it's a meenad