“Say, boys,” said the guide, as he stalked along with his heavy load, never blenching, “if you want to get a pair o’ moose-antlers, now’s your time. I ain’t a-going to sell these, but I’ll give ’em outright to the first fellow who can learn to call a moose successfully while he’s hunting with me. I know what sort of sportsman Cyrus Garst is. He’ll go prowling through the woods, starting moose and coolly letting ’em get off without spilling a drop of blood, while he’s watching the length of their steps. I b’lieve he’d be a sight prouder of seeing one crunch a root than if he got the finest head in Maine. So here’s your chance for a trophy, boys. I guess ’twill be your only one.”