"A wounded moose! He just knocked Dale over the bluff." "Ees he killed?" screamed Colette. "I hope not. Come, help me." Owen had now recovered somewhat from his first scare and he picked up his ax. Running to the edge of the ridge he looked over, and saw the moose as the beast struggled to get up on the top of the rocks below. In the meantime Dale was not idle. Fortunately his fall was not a serious one, for he landed in a mass of thick brushwood, thus saving himself one or more broken bones. From this point he slipped into a hollow and the next instant felt the side of the moose pressing him on the shoulder. The animal was suffering from loss of blood, and its efforts to regain its feet were wild and ineffectual. The sharp hoofs worked convulsively and one, catching Dale on the shoulder, cut a gash several inches long. Then the moose rolled in one direction, and the young lumberman lost no time in rolling in another. It was at this point in the conflict that Owen came down to Dale's assistance, leaping from the bluff above, ax in hand. After him came Andrews and Colette, the latter armed with both his ax and an old French fowling-piece. "Hit him, Owen!" panted Dale. "Hit him in the head!" "I will--if I can," was the answer, and Owen advanced swiftly but cautiously. "Stop! I shoot heem!" screamed Jean Colette, and raised his fowling-piece. Bang! went the weapon, and the moose received a dose of bird-shot in his left flank, something which caused him to kick and struggle worse than ever. Owen now saw his opportunity, and, bending forward, he dealt the moose a swift blow on the shoulder. The beast struck back, but Owen leaped aside, and then the ax came down with renewed force. This time it hit the moose directly between the eyes. There was a cracking of bone and then a convulsive shudder. To make sure of his work, the young lumberman struck out once more, and then the game lay still. "Yo--you've finished him," said Dale, after a pause. "Yes, he's dead," put in Andrews, as he gave the game a crack with his own ax, "for luck," as he put it. "Vat a magnificent creature!" exclaimed Colette. "_Bon!_ Ve vill haf de fine dinnair now, _oui_?" And his eyes twinkled in anticipation. "Did he hurt you?" asked Owen, turning from the game to his chum. "He gave me a pretty bad dig with his hoof," was the reply. "I guess I'll have to have that bound up before I do anything else. He came kind of sudden, didn't he?" "Those hunters up the mountain drove him down here. I suppose they'll be after him soon." "Doesn't he belong to us, Owen? You killed him." "That's a question. They wounded him pretty badly--otherwise he would never have stumbled this way." "I'd claim the game," came from Andrews. "Somebody wounded him, it's true, but they would never have gotten the moose."