"He sees us, but he doesn't
admire us. He hates us, and he isn't afraid of us."
The three moved softly and discreetly into a place where both trees and
bushes were so dense that the moose could not get at them.
"What troubles him?" asked Robert.
"I don't know," said the hunter. "He may be suffering yet from a wound
by an Indian arrow, or he may have a spell of some kind. We can be
certain only that he's raging mad, every inch of him. Look at those
great sharp hoofs of his, Robert. I'd as soon be struck with an axe."
The moose, after some hesitation, rushed into the glade, leaped toward
the fire, leaped back again, pawed and trampled the earth in a terrible
convulsion of rage, and then sprang away, crashing through the forest.
They heard the beat of his hoofs a long time, and when the sound ceased
they returned and resumed their seats by the fire.
"That moose was a great animal," said Tayoga with irony, "but his mind
was the mind of a little child. He did nothing with his strength and
agility but tear the earth and tire himself.
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