the trail, around the
south end of the pond. In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-by,
Silverhorns!"

"Ye tell it weel," said McLeod, reaching out for a fresh cigar. "Fegs!
Ah doot Sir Walter himsel' couldna impruve upon it. An, sae thot's the
way ye didna murder puir Seelverhorrns? It's a tale I'm joyfu' to be
hearin'."

"Wait a bit," Hemenway answered. "That's not the end, by a long shot.
There's worse to follow. The next morning we returned to the pond at
day-break, for McDonald thought I might have wounded the moose. We
searched the bushes and the woods where he went out very carefully,
looking for drops of blood on his trail."

"Bluid!" groaned the engineer. "Hech, mon, wouldna that come nigh to
mak' ye greet, to find the beast's red bluid splashed over the leaves,
and think o' him staggerin' on thro' the forest, drippin' the heart oot
o' him wi' every step?"

"But we didn't find any blood, you old sentimentalist. That shot in the
dark was a clear miss. We followed the trail by broken bushes and
footprints, for half a mile, and then came back to the pond and turned
to go down through the edge of the woods to the camp.

"It was just after sunrise. I was walking a few yards ahead, McDonald
next, and Billy last. Suddenly he looked around to the left, gave a low
whistle and dropped to the ground, pointing northward. Away at the head
of the pond, beyond the glitter of the sun on the water, the big
blackness of Silverhorns' head and body was pushing through the bushes,
dripping with dew.

"Each of us flopped down behind the nearest shrub as if we had been
playing squat tag. Billy had the birch-bark horn with him, and he gave a
low, short call. Silverhorns heard it, turned, and came parading slowly
down the western shore, now on the sand beach, now splashing through the
shallow water. We could see every motion and hear every sound. He
marched along as if he owned the earth, swinging his huge head from side
to side and grunting at each step.

"You see, we were just in the edge of the woods, strung along the south
end of the pond, Billy nearest the west shore, where the moose was
walking, McDonald next, and I last, perhaps fifteen yards farther to
the east. It was a fool arrangement, but we had no time to think about
it. McDonald whispered that I should wait until the moose came close to
us and stopped.

"So I waited. I could see him swagger along the sand and step out around
the fallen logs. The nearer he