CHAPTER XXII

THE DEATH OF THE BULL MOOSE

SEEN for the first time in all their experience as hunters of big game, the animal that stood there facing the two boys was remarkable enough to arouse their interest to fever pitch.

Tawny of hue, and possessing an enormous muzzle, together with towering horns, the giant moose filled Roger with a sense of exaltation. The hunter instinct within the boy set his heart to beating like a trip-hammer, and his fingers involuntarily gripped his gun, his first instinct being to make use of the weapon.

The moose evidently did not suspect their presence nearby. So far as appearances went, the big, awkward animal was showing no signs of alarm.

Roger hastily threw his rifle up to his shoulder, and, without bothering to take exact aim, pulled the trigger. He never really knew why he did not drop the beast as he expected to do. It might be because this weapon did not compare with his own, which had been carried off by the treacherous Andrew Waller at the time the two boys were prisoners of the Dacotahs.

Dick, however, believed that the moose bull must have made an involuntary movement just about that time. Roger's hasty action, or the glint of the sun on the gun barrel, would be enough to bring such a thing about.

The one important fact was that, instead of killing his intended quarry on the spot, Roger had the chagrin of seeing the animal stumble and fall, to scramble immediately to his feet again, and make a vicious plunge forward in their direction.

Dick of course knew that it was his duty to get in the fatal shot. He thrust his rifle forward, and had it not been for an unfortunate movement on the part of his companion his bullet would have finished the monster.

In jumping back, however, Roger happened to knock against the leveled rifle just as his chum pressed the trigger. The result was a wasted bullet, and, with both their weapons empty and useless, a serious outlook faced the two young hunters.

"Jump to one side!" shouted Dick, realizing that the enraged moose was charging them, with lowered head, and threatening horns.

Both boys threw themselves back, and in this manner successfully avoided the passing danger.

They knew that a wounded stag is often a peril from which even veteran hunters shrink; and it stood to reason that this enormous animal, feeling the pain of his injury, would not run away in a hurry after having made one unsuccessful charge.

Both boys glanced hastily around, seeking a tree behind which to ward off an attack. Dick was fortunate enough to find one close at hand, but Roger met with his usual ill luck to start with.

The moose, as though sensing which one of his enemies had given him that burning injury, took after Roger, and the boy, hearing the trampling of his hoofs as he came rushing on, became a little confused.

"Run, Roger, run faster!" shrilled Dick, who began to fear for the safety of his cousin.

There were surely grounds for his alarm, for, just at that moment, Roger caught his foot in some trailing vine and plunged forward. With wonderful adroitness, however, the border boy managed to regain his feet, and face the oncoming moose bull.

It was too late for him to continue his flight, and there did not seem to be even time enough for the boy to scramble out of harm's way. Dick's heart burned within him with fear. He would have given everything he possessed in the wide world if just then his gun were only loaded and primed, ready for use.

Roger, however, saw that there was immediate need for action, and he took a strange way of meeting the occasion. Dick, staring at the scene, saw his chum suddenly leap toward the oncoming moose bull. He actually flung himself upon that great, lowered head, falling between the towering horns, and hastened to clasp his arms about the animal's thick neck.

This act plainly greatly astonished the beast, and he stood stock still for a brief interval.

Dick's one fear was that the moose should set off at a lumbering pace through the woods, and bring up against some tree with such force as to break the sprawling legs of the clinging boy. He himself was trying in a confused fashion to get a charge of powder down the barrel of his gun, instinct telling him that, once he managed to reload the weapon, the game would be in his hands.

Now the moose was trying to dislodge Roger by tossing up his head. Each time he made the effort Dick held his breath in suspense, for the boy's hold was precarious, and might give way at any moment. It was apparently the intention of the bull to shake him loose in this way, and, after the boy dropped back to the ground, to trample him underfoot before he could recover sufficiently to get out of the way.

Sometimes strange things happen in cases like this. The moose must have put an additional amount of energy into one of his tosses, for Dick suddenly saw Roger's form rising several yards in the air, and crash amidst the leaves of the tree under which this performance was taking place.

The moose waited for the fall of his enemy in order to use those cruel hoofs of his in the final attack. But, remarkable to say, Roger did not come down, and Dick suddenly realized that his nimble chum had taken advantage of his lofty flight to lay hold of the branches of the tree, and to cling there as best he could.

Dick felt like giving vent to a shout when he realized that, so far as Roger was concerned, the danger could be considered over. He was now reaching for a patched bullet, and hoped with his ramrod to push it quickly home on the powder, when he would be ready, all but the priming, to make good use of his rifle.

Roger saw what was going on so close by, and commenced kicking with his feet, and letting out a few derisive shouts, aimed at the waiting moose below. He intended to hold the attention of the bulky animal so Dick could have all the time he needed to get the gun loaded.

The plan worked splendidly, for the stupid animal below kept steady vigil under the limb where all that thrashing was going on. He snorted with rage, and pawed the earth with one of his hoofs, as if giving an earnest example of what he meant to do when the strange enemy dropped to the ground.

There was nothing to hinder Dick from completing his loading, and, as he shook the priming powder into the pan and prepared to fire, he felt sorry only for one thing. This was the fact that Roger could not be the one to bring about the death of the kingly moose, since his heart seemed to have been so set on accomplishing such a valorous deed.

It was more because he must save the life of his chum than through a desire for the death of the monster moose that caused Dick finally to pull trigger, after he had found a chance to aim back of the animal's foreleg.

The shot was instantly fatal, for those long-barreled rifles of pioneer days were capable of sending a bullet with tremendous force. The big beast fell with a crash, and immediately afterwards a loud hurrah from Roger announced that he gloried in the successful outcome of their adventure.

It was easy enough for the nimble boy to drop from his perch. He limped a little, and had a few minor bruises to show for his close contact with those horns of the bull moose. On the whole, however, Roger considered that he had been very lucky. Dick told him that he felt the same, as they stood beside the fallen monarch of the forest, and noted his powerful frame and muscles.

It was impossible to think of taking those towering horns back with them, since they would have no way of carrying the trophy save on one of their horses; and that was utterly out of the question.

"I feel a little sorry we had to kill the poor beast," admitted Dick, "much as any hunter might be proud of bringing down such big game. But his flesh is far too tough for food, and we can never dream of taking those horns with us."

"Well, he looked as if he wanted to fight as soon as he saw us there," said Roger. "That was one reason I shot as quickly as I did. But, while I had most of the fun, the glory remained for you, Dick."

"If you call that sort of thing fun, Roger, I don't admire your taste, that's all I can say! When I saw him rushing at you with his head lowered I felt a cold chill run up and down my back, for I thought you were gone."

"I don't know just what made me fasten to his horns the way I did," explained Roger, with a broad grin; "but something seemed to tell me that was my only chance, and I guess it was, too."

"How did you feel when going through the air?" questioned the other, able to smile now at the odd spectacle Roger had presented, although at the time it had seemed a serious thing indeed.

"About as near like flying as I ever expect to know," admitted Roger. "And, just as soon as I found myself in the midst of the branches of that tree, why something made me take hold and stick there. I seemed to know the old fellow was waiting down below to trample me into bits if I dropped back, and I wasn't meaning to oblige him if I could help it."

"We might manage to chop off one of his hoofs with our knives to show when we get back to camp, and prove that we really killed a moose," suggested Dick.

"That is a good idea," agreed his cousin; and it did not take them long to carry the plan out. After this they left the spot, and resumed their hunt, Roger having recovered and loaded his rifle.

They were a little afraid lest the sound of the gunshots might have caused any deer happening to be in the vicinity to take the alarm and flee. This would be too bad, after setting their hearts on procuring a supply of fresh meat.

It turned out, however, that the deer did not know the deadly significance of the firing of a gun, for within twenty minutes after leaving the dead bull moose, the boys started a deer, and Roger this time managed to do himself justice when he pulled trigger, for the young stag bounded high in the air to fall in a quivering heap.

There was ample time to cut the game up and make their way back to camp with their prize. Nor did they have the slightest difficulty in gaining the spot where the expedition had planned to spend the coming night, thanks to Dick's way of keeping his bearings when on a hunt.

These little side excursions were always in great favor with the two boys. In carrying them out they were really killing two birds with one stone; for they not only saw considerable of the country, and met with adventures that pleased their love of action, but at the same time they were able to keep the camp well supplied with fresh meat.

When they got back on this particular afternoon they found that there was an Indian in the camp with whom Captain Lewis was making terms looking to his serving them as guide until the lofty mountain range had been crossed. It was of prime importance that they find that pass, and cross over at the lowest possible level. Once the lower ground on the other side was reached, they could congratulate themselves that the worst was over.

At the ending of the next day they found themselves at the actual foot of the mountains, of which they hoped to commence the ascent with the advent of another morning.