"I suppose you're right. I don't dare care much about 'em either. Now we'll rest and see what other visitors come to admire." Tayoga sat down again. Their packs were put in a neat heap near the three, Robert's and Willet's swords, and Tayoga's bow and arrows in their case resting on the top. Robert threw more wood on the fire, and contentedly watched the great, glowing circle of light extend its circumference. "We knew we'd find peace and rest here," said Willet, "but we didn't know we'd be watched and admired like people on the stage at a theater." "Have you seen many plays, Dave?" asked Robert. "A lot, especially in London at Drury Lane and other theaters." "And so you know London, as well as Paris?" "Well, yes, I've been there. Some day, Robert, I'll tell you more about both Paris and London and why I happened to be in such great cities, but not now. We'll keep our minds on the forest, which is worth our attention. Don't you hear a tread approaching, Tayoga?" "Yes, Great Bear, and it's very heavy. A lord of the forest is coming." "A moose, think you, Tayoga?" "Yes, Great Bear, a mighty bull, one far beyond the common size. I can tell by his tread, and I think he is angry, or he would not march so boldly toward the fire." "Then," said the hunter, "we'd better stand up, and be ready with our weapons. I've no wish to be trodden to death by a mad bull moose, just when I'm feeling so happy and so contented with the world." "The Great Bear's advice is good," said Tayoga, and the three took it. The approaching tread grew heavier, and the largest moose that Robert had ever seen, pushing his way through the bushes, stood looking at the fire, and those who had built it. He was a truly magnificent specimen, and Tayoga had been right in calling him a lord of the forest, but his eyes were red and inflamed and his look was menacing. "Mad! Quite mad!" whispered the hunter. "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.