It was now my intention to take a stand upon the hillside above timber, hoping that the moose would show himself toward evening, but in our wet clothes we were soon too chilled to remain inactive.  As a last resort, Hunter forced his way back into the alders, while I kept in the open above.  After going some distance my man turned to the right for the purpose of driving him out in my direction, but our hard and disagreeable hunt was to no purpose, and we returned to camp just before dark, having passed a wetter and more uncomfortable day than any yet.

Both Hunter and I thought this was the same bull which we had twice seen before, as he carried rather an unusual head, and had come from the same direction and to the same place.

The next day it rained even harder, and the clouds were so low that we could not see the mountain side, and therefore had no temptation to leave camp.  My patience was by this time nearly exhausted, for the continual rain was very depressing, and detracted much from the pleasure of being in such a grand game country.

About noon I was sitting before the fire when Lawroshka went to the lake, only some ten steps away, for a pail of water.  Here he saw a bull moose standing on the other side.  He beckoned to me, and I seized my rifle and cautiously approached the native.  The moose offered an easy shot at 250 yards, and my first bullet rolled him over.  His head was disappointing, but it is often difficult to tell the size of a moose’s antlers when they are half hidden in the trees.

We woke next morning to the usual dismal surroundings, and remained in camp all that day.  Late that afternoon the fog lifted and we saw the same large moose in his accustomed place among the alders, but it was too late in the day to try for him.

That night the wind veered to the west, and just as I was about to turn in, the rain stopped and a few stars shone faintly in the heavens.  The weather had been so constantly bad that even these signs failed to cheer me, and I had decided that we would break camp the next day no matter what the conditions might be.  But the morning (September 22) opened bright and clear, with the first good frost in two weeks.  We were most anxious for a cold snap, for the leaves were still thick upon the trees, which made it next to impossible to sec game in the woods at any distance.

After breakfast we shouldered our packs and were soon on the march, expecting to reach our permanent quarters in the moose range before noon, and have the afternoon to hunt.  Bright days had been so rare with us that we meant to make the most of this one.

The heavy rains had flooded the woods, and the deep worn game trails that we followed were half full of water, while the open meadows and tundra that we occasionally crossed were but little better than miniature lakes.  We had made about half of our march and my pack had just begun to grow doubly heavy from constant floundering around in the mire, when we came out into a long and narrow meadow.  There were a few dwarf spruce at our end, but the rest of the small opening was free of underbrush.