Another minute and Rod nudged Wabigoon.

"They're within range!"

"Yes, but we won't shoot. We don't need meat."

As the young Indian spoke the cow brought herself to a dead stop so
suddenly that Wabi gave a delighted grunt.

"Great!" he whispered. "She's caught a whiff of us, a quarter of a
mile away. See how she holds her head, her great ears chucked forward
to hear, her nose half to the sky! She knows there's danger on this
mountain. Now--"

He did not finish. Like a flash the cow had darted ahead of her calf,
seeming to shoulder it back, and in another moment the two were racing
swiftly into the North, the mother this time in the rear instead of
leading.

"I love moose," said Wabi, his eyes glowing. "Do you notice that I
never shoot them, Rod?"

"By George, so you don't! I never thought of it. What is the reason?"

"There are a good many reasons. Of course I have shot them, when in
very great need of meat; but it's an unpleasant job for me. You call
the lion the king of beasts. Well, he isn't. The moose is monarch of
them all. You saw how the mother moose acted. She led her calf when
approaching, because if there should be danger she wanted to meet it