The Indians and half-breeds of the far North stalk the wary Moose where he beds himself down after a night of browsing, but so acute is his hearing and sense of smell and so great his cunning that only the trained woodsman can hope for success. Leaving his feed-trail abruptly, the Moose moves off to one side down the wind so that any one trailing him will be surely scented, and there beds himself down for the day. The Indian follows the well-defined trail of the Moose until it becomes fresh, and then by a series of circuits down the wind and leading back to the trail, like the semicircles of the letter B, he gradually approaches the hiding place until at last, coming up the wind, he sights his prey and, startling it by a slight sound, shoots it where it stands.

The young are brought forth in the early summer and stay with their mother until the third year. During this time she defends them with the greatest ferocity from man and wild animals alike, using her sharp hoofs in striking out at wolves and men, often trampling them into the snow in her fury. The new-born young are very helpless at first on their long, tottering legs, and, roaming as they do in a wild land of wolves and beasts of prey, they could scarcely survive at all without the protection of their mothers knife-like hoofs. So long and awkward are the legs of Moose that in running through the woods the hind feet often interfere with the fore feet, throwing the clumsy animal in a heap. The falling of Moose while running was considered so unaccountable at first that it was assigned to attacks of epilepsy, but it has since been discovered that when galloping the Moose spreads his hind feet far apart in a more or less successful effort to avoid tripping up his fore feet. But when we consider his load of horns and the fallen trees and broken branches of his native haunts it is a marvel that he is able to outrun his foes at all, whereas the Moose is in fact the swiftest animal in the Northern woods.

DANE COOLIDGE.