wild! All is quiet again, and we hold our breath in our eager listening.

Suddenly Paul and I look at each other. We had both heard it. I hear it again, and this time quite plain.

It is an answer. Paul at once drops his call into the laurels, and rapidly descends the

tree.

"How far is he off, Paul? How far is he off?" whispered I, fumbling in my excitement for a fresh cap.

"Quite handy, not more than quarter mile away. Come here, and no move till I tell you," said the Indian, dragging me quickly back to a clump of young spruces behind, in which we crouched for shelter from the quick sight of the wary brute.

For nearly ten minutes we moved not a limb. At length, Paul stood up and made

another call. Again the moose answered, but his responses were suddenly ended by a sound which emanated from a hard-wood hill before us, and as if a stick were rapidly and fiercely drawn over a line of rails.

"What on earth can that be Paul ?" Disappointment was plainly expressed in the Indian's countenance, as he replied,

"Oh yes, the brute. Oh very bad job this. You hear um rattle um horns?"

"Yes, Paul; another moose, I sup

"Sarten. No good to call any more. Moose no come up now, they 'fraid of one another; they 'fraid of the fight."

It was as old Paul supposed, not another sound could either moose be induced to utter, and the thoughts of a good breakfast partly smothering my disappointment, I followed the Indian back to camp.

Well, J," said I, as we arrived, "no moose steak for you this time, my friend,

though we were not far from one, were we Paul ?"

CHAPTER X.

A Hearty Breakfast-Making Tracks-Indian SilenceThe Old Canoe-The Missigomis-A Magnificent Panorama-A Leaky Boat The Old Camp-Bad Sport-A Lucky Escape-An Indian Visitor-The Still Water-Creeping a Moose-Cautious Progress— The Moose! Emerging from the Forest-The Wounded Bull-The Headlong Chase-Joe more Successful-A Lovely Night-Aurora Borealis-Bellowing of the Moose How Joe Shot the Moose.

AFTER a hearty breakfast on pilot-bread and fried pork, eaten on broad sheets of that useful material, birch bark; with a sharpened stick in one hand, and the belt knife in the other, we fixed the loads,

and shouldering them, "made tracks" for the Missigomis.

A walk through the forest, under heavy loads, is generally a tedious and silent affair. At long intervals, the Indians exchange a few syllables in their melodious language, and impressive manner. Their subdued tones draw no echo from the woods, as does your quick and boisterous exclamation. Though they have no intention of hunting, should they find tracks quite fresh, their step is as light, and their caution as unrelaxed as trail.

on the

In fact, either when hunting, or merely travelling through the woods, they avoid disturbing, in any way, game that might be in the neighbourhood of their route.

A three hours' walk through evergreen woods of a fine growth, and we discerned the arkling water through the trees in front, d presently, to our great relief, threw off