I hauled it up mighty quick, for the old bull seemed to be suspicions that something was goin’ on that might have something to do with his futer happiness, and when he got sight of it, the pass he made was a thing to stand out of the way of.  But he was too late; the powder-horn was safe, and I notified him, as Squire Smith did the cats, to leave them parts in just one minute by the clock.  He did’nt pay any attention to the warnin’.  I loaded my rifle carefully, and while I was puttin’ on the cap, asked the gentleman if he calculated to move on, and let peaceable people alone.  He didn’t condescend to answer a word, looking for all the world like a tiger in savageness.  ‘Very well,’ said I, as I sighted him between the eyes, ‘on your head be it,’ and pulled.  The ball went crashin’ through his skull into his brain, and he went down.  Crop knew what that meant.  He didn’t wait to run down the log, but leaped to the ground, and had his teeth in the animal’s throat before the echoes of my rifle were done dancin’ around among the mountains.  I loaded my gun before I came down, thinkin’ maybe there might be another bad tempered moose about, but there wasn’t.  Crop and I learned what we ought to’ve know before, and that was that it’s a safe thing for a hunter to have an extra horn of powder in his pocket, and a loaded rifle in his hand when a mad bull moose is on his trail, and that a slantin’ tree is a good thing to get onto at sich a time.”

CHAPTER XXX.

GOOD-BYE—­FLOATING DOWN THE RACKETT—­A BLACK FOX—­A TRICK UPON THE MARTIN TRAPPERS AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

We rose with the dawn the next morning, and before the sun was above the hills we were on our way down the lake, to separate as we struck the Rackett; the Doctor and Smith to return by the way of Keeseville and the Champlain, and Spalding and myself to drift down that pleasant stream to Pottsdam, and thence to the majestic St. Lawrence, to spend a fortnight among the “Thousand Islands” of that noble river.  Near the outlet of the lake is a bold rocky bluff, rising right up out of the deep water twenty feet, against which the waves dash, and around which a romantic bay steals away to hide itself in the old woods.  This beautiful bay is always calm, for even the narrow strait which connects it with the open water is divided by a rocky, but wooded island, shutting out alike the winds and the waves from disturbing its repose.  It is surrounded by gigantic forest trees, whose shadows make it a cool retreat in the heat of noon, and whose dense foliage fills the air with freshness and fragrance when the sun is hot in the sky.  Towards its head, a cold stream comes creeping around the boulders, and dancing and singing down the rocks from a copious spring, a short way back in the forest.  Near where this brook enters we landed at seven o’clock to breakfast.  We supplied ourselves with fish by casting across the mouth of the little stream, while our boatmen were