pond-lilies and grass in that lake I They were like sheep in a
pasture; and out some fifty rods from the shore was a great moose,
helpin' himself to the eatables that grew there. I laid my jacket down
for Crop to watch, and waded quietly in towards where the moose was
feedin'. I got within twelve or fifteen rods of him, and spoke to him
with my rifle. He heard it, you may guess. Without knowin' who or what
hurt him, he plunged right towards me for the shore; but he never got
there alive. You ought to have seen the scampering of the deer at the
sound of my rifle! Maybe there wasn't much splashin' of the water, and
whistlin', and snortin', and puttin' out for the shore among 'em.

"The next mornin', I got up just as the sun was risin', and a little
way down on the shore of the lake I saw a buck. Wal, he was one of
'em--that buck was. The horns on his head were like an old-fashioned
round-posted chair, and if they hadn't a dozen prongs on 'em, you may
skin me! He wasn't as big as an ox, but a two-year-old that could
match him, could brag of a pretty rapid growth. I crept up behind a
little clump of bushes to about fifteen rods of where he stood on the
sandy beach, and sighting carefully at his head, let drive. My gun
hung fire a little, owin' to the night-dews, but that buck went down,
and after kickin' a moment, laid still, and I took it for granted he
was dead. So I laid down my rifle, and went up to where he
was, and with my huntin' knife in my hand, took hold of his
horn to raise his head so as to cut his throat. If that deer
was dead, he came to life mighty quick; for I had no sooner
touched him, than he sprang to his feet, and with every hair standin'
straight towards his head, came like a mad bull at me. In strugglin'
up he overshot me; and as he made his drive one prong went
through the calf of my leg. I plunged my knife into his body, and the
blood spirted all over me. But it wasn't no use. He smashed down upon