The "bull moose" is a formidable foe when he "gets his dander up," and specially so at particular seasons of the year; then, unprovoked, they will make war on man, betraying none of that shrinking timidity so characteristic of the _cervine genus_. A hunter, who used to put up occasionally over night at our camp, entertained us with the following singular adventure. "Once," said he, "while out on a hunting excursion, I was pursued by a 'bull moose,' during that period when their jealousy was in full operation in behalf of the female. He approached me with his muscular neck curved, and head to the ground, in a manner not dissimilar to the attitude assumed by horned cattle when about to encounter each other. Just as he was about to make a pass at me, I sprang suddenly between his wide-spreading antlers, bestride his neck. Dexterously turning round, I seized him by the horns, and, locking my feet together under his neck, I clung to him like a sloth. With a mixture of rage and terror, he dashed wildly about, endeavoring to dislodge me; but, as my life depended upon maintaining my position, I clung to him with a corresponding desperation. After making a few ineffectual attempts to disengage me, he threw out his nose, and, laying his antlers back upon his shoulders, which formed a screen for my defense, he sprang forward into a furious run, still bearing me upon his neck. Now penetrating dense thickets, then leaping high "wind-falls,"[10] and struggling through swamp-mires, he finally fell through exhaustion, after carrying me about three miles. Improving the opportunity, I drew my hunter's knife from its sheath, and instantly buried it in his neck, cutting the jugular vein, which put a speedy termination to the contest and the flight." [10] Old fallen trees. The habits of the moose, in his manner of defense and attack, are similar to those of the stag, and may be illustrated by the following anecdote from the "Random Sketches of a Kentuckian." "Who ever saw Bravo without loving him? His sloe-black eyes, his glossy skin, flecked here and there with blue; his wide-spread thighs, clean shoulders, broad back, and low-drooping chest, bespoke him the true stag-hound; and none who ever saw his bounding form, or heard his deep-toned bay, as the swift-footed stag flew before him, would dispute his title. List, gentle reader, and I will tell you an adventure which will make you love him all the more.