Page:They who walk in the wilds, (IA theywhowalkinwil00robe).pdf/212

 last caught the smell of moose, and knew that he was approaching a moose-yard. Now in an ordinary winter, with food fairly abundant, and hunting reasonably easy, he would have turned aside at this smell to avoid tantalizing himself with the unattainable. But now, when he was close on starving, it was another matter. His lean jaws watered at the thought of warm red meat. For merely one taste of it what risk would he not face? And the bull presiding over this particular moose-yard might, possibly, be a weakling.

But however rash his venture, he did not go about it rashly. His desperation only made him the more cautious. There was so infinitely much at stake. Sinking himself deep into the snow he wound his way forwards soundlessly, and, behind the screen of a thick fir bush lifted his black head to reconnoitre. In a flash, however, he sank down again and shrank back deep into the snow, every nerve quivering with fierce hope. The long muzzle of the younger moose-calf had appeared over the edge of the snow wall a few feet away, and was pulling vigorously at the branches of a poplar sapling.

The bear knew something of moose-yards. He knew that, while he himself was hampered by the deep, soft snow, his intended prey had the well-trodden paths to move in, and could make swift