The bull came rapidly within rifle-shot.  In a minute more he would be within their hiding place; and the rifle sight was trying to cover a vital spot, when right behind them—­at the thicket’s edge, it seemed—­a frightful roar and a furious pounding of hoofs brought them to their feet with a bound.  A second later the rifle was lying among the bushes, and a panic-stricken hunter was scratching and smashing in a desperate hurry up among the branches of a low spruce, as if only the tiptop were half high enough.  Mitchell was nowhere to be seen; unless one had the eyes of an owl to find him down among the roots of a fallen pine.

But the first moose smashed straight through the thicket without looking up or down; and out on the open barren a tremendous struggle began.  There was a minute’s confused uproar, of savage grunts and clashing antlers and pounding hoofs and hoarse, labored breathing; then the excitement of the fight was too strong to be resisted, and a dark form wriggled out from among the roots, only to stretch itself flat under a bush and peer cautiously at the struggling brutes not thirty feet away.  Twice Mitchell hissed for his employer to come down; but that worthy was safe astride the highest branch that would bear his weight, with no desire evidently for a better view of the fight.  Then Mitchell found the rifle among the bushes and, waiting till the bulls backed away for one of their furious charges, killed the larger one in his tracks.  The second stood startled an instant, with raised head and muscles quivering, then dashed away across the barren and into the forest.

Such encounters are often numbered among the tragedies of the great wilderness.  In tramping through the forest one sometimes comes upon two sets of huge antlers locked firmly together, and white bones, picked clean by hungry prowlers.  It needs no written record to tell their story.

Once I saw a duel that resulted differently.  I heard a terrific uproar, and crept through the woods, thinking to have a savage wilderness spectacle all to myself.  Two young bulls were fighting desperately in an open glade, just because they were strong and proud of their first big horns.

But I was not alone, as I expected.  A great flock of crossbills swooped down into the spruces, and stopped whistling in their astonishment.  A dozen red squirrels snickered and barked their approval, as the bulls butted each other.  Meeko is always glad when mischief is afoot.  High overhead floated a rare woods’ raven, his head bent sharply downward to see.  Moose-birds flitted in restless excitement from tree to bush.  Kagax the weasel postponed his bloodthirsty errand to the young rabbits.  And just beside me, under the fir tips, Tookhees the wood-mouse forgot his fear of the owl and the fox and his hundred enemies, and sat by his den in broad daylight, rubbing his whiskers nervously.

So we watched, till the bull that was getting the worst of it backed near me, and got my wind, and the fight was over.