Bull's Eye was deeply humiliated. "Just the chance I had been
looking for," he said, "and my wits suddenly left me."
As a hunter Uncle Nathan always took the game on its own terms, that of
still-hunting. He even shot foxes in this way, going into the fields
in the fall just at break of day, and watching for them about their
mousing haunts. One morning, by these tactics, he shot a black fox;
a fine specimen, he said, and a wild one, for he stopped and looked and
listened every few yards.
He had killed over two hundred moose, a large number of them at night
on the lakes. His method was to go out in his canoe and conceal
himself by some point or island, and wait till he heard the game.
In the fall the moose comes into the water to eat the large fibrous
roots of the pond-lilies. He splashes along till he finds a suitable
spot, when he begins feeding, sometimes thrusting his bead and neck
several feet under water. The hunter listens, and when the moose lifts
his head and the rills of water run from it, and he hears him "swash"
the lily roots about to get off the mud, it is his time to start.
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