He made no response, merely covered, first the point of the shoulder and then the ear, and then, as the bull plunged for the shore, he covered the shoulder twice more, then lowered the rifle, while a horribly excited guide cursed and raved and implored by turns in vain. And just how great was the temptation was never known, but it certainly would have proved irresistible to most men who call themselves sportsmen. In speaking about it afterward Moeran said: “It would have been a crime to have murdered the beast under such conditions, and out of season. I covered him fair four times, and could have dropped him dead where he stood--but we'll attend to them later on.” For there were, in all, four moose in the pond, and, shortly after the big bull commenced his noisy retreat, a tremendous splashing and plunging from the other side of the pond attracted their attention. They turned just in time to see a grand old cow and two younger moose struggle through the last few yards of mud and water, and then crash their way into the cover at the rapid, pounding trot peculiar to the species. Moeran's mission had been accomplished much easier than was expected, and he certainly had discovered a most promising locality for the trip with his friends. After a day spent fishing, he departed homeward, leaving his canoe and camp outfit in charge of the guide, whom he also bound by most solemn pledge neither to betray the secret of the beaver meadow, nor to molest the moose himself, before Moeran and his friends returned in time for the first lawful day. The last day of the close season saw the party and the guide snugly encamped at a point half-way down the lake. His three friends had unanimously agreed that Moeran should have the honor of visiting the beaver meadow first, and alone if he desired. He was the surest shot and by far the best hand at this sort of business, and he had discovered the moose, while all hands knew how keen he was to secure a head to his own rifle. So at earliest dawn Moeran put lunch and rifle into his shapely Peterboro and sped noiselessly away through the ghostly vapors curtaining the sleeping lake, and they saw him no more for many hours. The guide had questioned the others about their comrade's shooting (of his ability at the paddle he had somewhat sorrowful remembrance), and then, strange to say, had advised Moeran to go alone. “So much more glory for you,” he said, “and I'll look after these other gentlemen and give them a day's fishing.” But his manner was shifty, and Moeran mistrusted him.