landed upon the shoulder of the nearest buck, bearing him to the ground. At the same time, taught by generations of deer-killing ancestors, he clutched the victim's head with one great paw and twisted it back so violently as to dislocate the neck. With eyes bulging from their heads in horror, the remaining buck and the does crashed off through the woods, leaving the dreadful stranger to his meal.
For several days Mishi remained near his kill, which he had instinctively dragged into a hiding-place behind a fallen tree. He feasted his fill, slept a good deal, explored the neighbourhood of his lair, and began to feel more or less at ease in his new surroundings. Natural instincts rapidly sprang to life in him as he sniffed at strange trails, and he came to realize that the apparently empty forest was full of good hunting if only he should go about the right way to find it. At last, growing tired of the remains of the buck, and the homesickness for his master being again strong upon him, he set forth once more on his quest, working steadily southwards and westwards, and hunting, with daily increasing skill as he went.
It was not until one night well on in October that Mishi made the acquaintance of the real monarch of the northern wilds, the great bull moose. The moon was at the full, a great, honey-coloured globe hanging low over the black, jagged line of
