Milking A Moose

"Here's a pretty mess! The inük is all gone." The speaker was one of a party of f oux New York sportsmen who, withanequal number oL guides, had been cruising about on the west branch of the Penobscot, but were now camping on the shores of Chamberlain lake, preparatory to returning to North East Carry. They had been out longer than they had planned, and some of the supplies had become exhausted. Then turning to the guides, who were }-ing at full length on the ground quietly enjoying the young blood's discomfiture, he asks, "Isn't there a farnihouse or hotel near where we could buy some?" "Depends on what you cali near," replied a woodsman. "If you don't reckon rorty miles lar, then we are near a house, but that's about the distance - maybe a triflo more. You want milk powerful bad, don't you? Well, you fill up on water tonight and maybe in the morning I canaccommodateyou, though, mindyou, I don't promise!" "You'll have to get a move on you," said one of the other guides, "if you are going to try to make the Carry 'tween this and tomorrow" - well knowing that he journey in that time was impossible - "for blast me, Anuance, if I know where you"re going to find the color of milk nearer than that." Annance made no response, but puffed silently at his favorita pipe. He had an idea, though, that he could get sorne milk, but did not mean to teil how. That night, unnoticed, he left the camp about sunset, walleed slowly through the woods for about a mile, and again came out on the shore of the lake at a point where a small stream formed an outlet. This was near the place wliere he had seen the cow moose, and liere he took up his position beside a trail leading to the water 's edge, and along which he could see, if his knowledge of woodcraft did not deceive him, that the moose was in the habit of passing. In this he was correct, for the guide had not been there more than an hour when he heard the sound of some animal approaching, and peering cautiously through the bnshes he saw a cow moose making for the pool. The animal sniffed the air a few times as she passed within a dozen paces of the htmter, but otherwise she did not show signs of alarm. She was soon in the water ridding herself of the flies and quenching her thirst. While the moose was dispprting herself Annance left his position behind the bush and walked a few steps toward her, and whenever she turned he would stand perfectly motionless. By repeating this operation several times, he managed to reach the edge of the lake without alarming the moose. As soon as the animal showed any signs of leaving the water, the gnide retreated a few steps. Once or twice did the moose raise her head and look at him, only, however, to resumo her clumsy frolics. Presently the moose made toward the shore, and Annance concealed himself behind the brush again. At the edge of the lake the animal turned to take a last look and shake the spray from her nose. Then she advanced slowly up the sloping bank. When opposite the guide she sniffed something, stopped and looked around. That was the gnide's chance, and he knew it. The critical moment had arrived, and with one quick but silent movement he was by the auimal's side. She did not move except to turn her head and look at him. Annance kept near her hind quarters, well knowing that if he got in front of the moose he would not stand much chance should she become ugly. Cautiously bending f orward the hunter stroked her eides and allowed her to turn and smell of him. After a few seconds, seeing the mooso did not appear frightened, Annance, with little more difficnlty than is experienced with many domestic animáis, proceeded to fill a small pail he had brought along with rich, yellowmilk. Returning to camp, he produced the milk when breakfast was ready in the morning, having kept the pail in the water over night, much to the astonishment of the guides and sportsmen. People who visit Moosehead often hear Charles Annance spoken of as the "dairyman," and the foregoiner story is