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Decidedly nonplussed, Dol all the time keeping one eye on the lookout for water and the other for moose-signs, they took counsel together, and determined to "cruise" to the right, skirting the foot of Katahdin, hoping to find a gurgling, rumbling mountain-torrent splashing down.
The two were half-way across the bog before the elder noticed that the younger was carrying something. It was the moose-horn. "If we run across any moose-signs, I'm going to try a call," said Dol, his strike-a-light eyes fairly blazing while he disclosed his purpose. "You may laugh, Cy, and call me a greenhorn; but I bet you I'll get an answer, at least if there's a bull-moose within two miles."
"I'll take mighty good care that the next time I go to find water for the camp-supper, I don't take a crank with me, who has gone mad on moose-calling," he said. "See here! If we do come across moose-signs, I'll get under cover, and give you quarter of an hour to call and listen for an answer not a second longer. Now stop thinking about this fad, and keep your eyes open for a spring."
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