Something must be done."
Fetching a deep breath, Cyrus sent a distance-piercing "Coo-hoo!"
ringing through the night-air. He followed it with another.
But, so far as he could hear, the hails fetched no answer, save from the
moose-jailer. The brute was stirred into a fresh tantrum by the noise.
He charged the hemlocks once more, butted and shook them like a
veritable demon.
When his paroxysm had subsided, and he stood off to get breath, Garst
hailed again.
Glad sound! An answer this time! First, a shrill, long "Coo-hoo!" Next,
Herb's voice was heard pealing from far away in the bog: "What's up,
boys? Where in the world are you?"
"Here in the trees--treed by a bull-moose!" yelled Cyrus. "He's the
maddest old monster you ever saw. Could you coax him off, or sneak up
and shoot him? He means to keep us prisoners all night."
There was no wordy answer. But presently the treed heroes heard an odd,
bird-like whistle. Dol thought it came from a feathered creature; his
more experienced companion guessed that the guide's lips gave it as a
signal that he was coming, but that he didn't want to draw the moose's
attention in his direction just yet.
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