strokes, the jangle of chains and harness, and the snorting of busy teams. It would be a bad neighbourhood for the moose. Therefore, though the valley was a comfortable one for his winter quarters, the wise old bull wasted no time in coming to a decision. In a few throaty rumblings this decision was conveyed to the cow and calves. And with fierce resentment in his heart he led the way back into the depths of the forest, back, far back from the place of sudden peril. He would find his family a new home, remote and secure from the hungry pot-hunters of the camp.
The snow had held off unusually late that season, and even now, at the beginning of December, it was hardly a foot deep on the level. Moreover it was dry and light, so the going was easy for the migrant family. Travelling at a long, effortless trot, which seemed slow but nevertheless covered ground amazingly, the little procession pushed, in ghostly silence, deeper and deeper into the white, colonnaded glades of the fir forest. From time to time some drooping branch, snow-burdened, stirred at their shadowy passing and shook down its thick white powder upon their dark hides. Sometimes a startled snow-shoe rabbit leaped into the air almost beneath the great black leader's nose, bounded aside, and sat up, unafraid, on his haunches, with waving ears, to watch the inoffensive travellers go by. And once a big grey lynx,
