Should he find a barrel of molasses among the stores, his joy is unbounded.  The head is broken in on the instant and Mooween eats till he is surfeited.  Then he lies down and rolls in the sticky sweet, to prolong the pleasure; and stays in the neighborhood till every drop has been lapped up.

Lumbermen have long since learned of his strength and cunning in breaking into their strong camps.  When valuable stores are left in the woods, they are put into special camps, called bear camps, where doors and roofs are fastened with chains and ingenious log locks to keep Mooween out.

Near the settlements Mooween speedily locates the sweet apple trees among the orchards.  These he climbs by night, and shakes off enough apples to last him for several visits.  Every kind of domestic animal is game for him.  He will lie at the edge of a clearing for hours, with the patience of a cat, waiting for turkey or sheep or pig to come within range of his swift rush.

His fondness for honey is well known.  When he has discovered a rotten tree in which wild bees have hidden their store, he will claw at the bottom till it falls.  Curling one paw under the log he sinks the claws deep into the wood.  The other paw grips the log opposite the first, and a single wrench lays it open.  The clouds of angry insects about his head meanwhile are as little regarded as so many flies.  He knows the thickness of his skin, and they know it.  When the honey is at last exposed, and begins to disappear in great hungry mouthfuls, the bees also fall upon it, to gorge themselves with the fruit of their hard labor before Mooween shall have eaten it all.

Everything eatable in the woods ministers at times to Mooween’s need.  Nuts and berries are favorite dishes in their season.  When these and other delicacies fail, he knows where to dig for edible roots.  A big caribou, wandering near his hiding place, is pulled down and stunned by a blow on the head.  Then, when the meat has lost its freshness, he will hunt for an hour after a wood-mouse he has seen run under a stone, or pull a rotten log to pieces for the ants and larvae concealed within.

These last are favorite dishes with him.  In a burned district, where ants and berries abound, one is continually finding charred logs, in which the ants nest by thousands, split open from end to end.  A few strong claw marks, and the lick of a moist tongue here and there, explain the matter.  It shows the extremes of Mooween’s taste.  Next to honey he prefers red ants, which are sour as pickles.

Mooween is even more expert as a boxer than as a fisherman.  When the skin is stripped from his fore arms, they are seen to be of great size, with muscles as firm to the touch as so much rubber.  Long practice has made him immensely strong, and quick as a flash to ward and strike.  Woe be to the luckless dog, however large, that ventures in the excitement of the hunt within reach of his paw.  A single swift stroke will generally put the poor brute out of the hunt forever.