Silverhorns

by Henry van Dyke

The railway station at did not look very happy at two o'clock on a September night. The air was very hot. Two or three miserable, sleepy travellers were half-sitting, half-lying in the waiting room, which smelt badly of smoke. The railway official was in a wooden armchair, with his feet on the table, reading a magazine. A passenger, in the luggage-room, was going over his last week's accounts by the light of a lamp, trying to find the mistake he knew was there. Beside the door of the waiting room was a travelling bag, with a gun against the wall.

Dudley Hemenway sat in silent dissatisfaction, waiting for the Maritime Express train. He was cross because the train was late and because his holiday in the woods was over.

"This makes the seventh year I've tried to get a moose," he said to himself, "and I've failed every time."

He threw away the end of his cigar. Then he turned to look through the window of the ticket office and saw the railway official, who was still reading his magazine. This irritated him. He went round to the door and opened it.

"Don't you know or care when this train is coming?"

"No," said the man calmly.

"What's the matter? When is it coming?"

"It should have been here twenty minutes ago," said the man. "It should get here at a quarter to three, if nothing else goes wrong."

"But what has happened? What's wrong with the track?"

"A train left the track," said the man, "on the way to Charlo. Everything's going slowly till they get it clear. That's all I know."

The railway official started reading his magazine again. Hemenway lit another cigar and went into the luggage room to smoke with the other passenger. It was nearly three o'clock when they heard the far-off sound of the train from the south. Then, after a short time, its bright headlight moved slowly through the darkness, past the platform. The driver had his head out of the window, and Hemenway nodded as he passed and hurried out onto the platform.

"Hello, McLeod," said Hemenway to the driver as he came up through the darkness. "Is that you?"

"It's me," answered the engineer as he shook hands warmly. "How are you, Dudley? Have you killed your moose yet? You've been chasing him for years."

"Not much killing," replied Hemenway. "I had a strange trip this time – up the Nepisiguit River with McDonald. You know him, don't you?"

"I know Rob McDonald. He's a good man. Why couldn't you kill lots of moose with him to help you? Didn't you see any at all?"

"Plenty, and one with the biggest horns in the world! But that's a long story and there's no time to tell it now."

"There's lots of time. It'll be an hour before the track's clear to Charlo and they let us go. Come into the cab, where it's warm, and tell me your story."

So the two men climbed up into the driver's cab. Hemenway gave McLeod his longest and strongest cigar, and filled his own pipe. The rain was now falling gently on the roof. The smoke rose from the cigar, but the pipe went out half a dozen times while Hemenway was telling the story of Silverhorns.

"We went up the river to the big rock, just below Indian Falls. There we made our main camp, planning to hunt there. It's very good moose country.

"The next day we travelled through the woods towards the hills.

"In the afternoon McDonald found an enormous moose trail. He thought it looked like a bull's, though he wasn't quite sure.

"Well, we went on, following that trail through the woods, for an hour or two. At last we came out on a rock on the hillside, and there, across a ravine, we could see the animal lying down, just below a big dead tree that had fallen. The animal's head and neck were hidden by some bushes, but the front shoulder and side were in clear view, about two hundred and fifty metres away. McDonald thought that it was a bull and that I ought to shoot. So I shot, and knocked pieces out of the dead tree. The animal got up quickly and looked at us for a moment, shaking his long ears. Then he disappeared into the bushes.

"We had to do everything we could to get a moose, just for our reputations. Billy, the cook, was especially keen. He wanted to try 'calling', which means making a noise like a moose so that it will come to you. He had never really done it before, but he had been practising all winter and he sounded quite good.

"There was a pond where we thought we could find moose. It's a small bit of water. We camped about eight hundred metres below it, so that the smoke of our fire would not disturb the animal, and waited till five o'clock in the afternoon. Then we went up to the pond, and took our position in some trees round the east bank. At dark Billy began to call, and it was beautiful. It was very loud and sounded just like a moose.

"There was a fine moon shining, nearly full, and a few clouds moving by. Billy called and called and called again. The air grew colder and colder; our fingers were numb.

"Then we heard a moose give a short call, away to the south. We could hear his horns knock against the trees, far up on the hill. McDonald whispered, 'He's coming,' and Billy gave another call.

"But it was another bull that answered and pretty soon we could hear him coming through the woods. Then everything was still. 'Call again,' said McDonald.

"This time the call came from another bull straight across the pond. It seemed to start the other two bulls moving, and we could hear all three of them running along, as fast as they could come, towards the pond. 'Call again, a little one,' said McDonald. And Billy called a little soft call.

"Well, sir, a cow and a calf came rushing down through the bushes not two hundred metres away from us, and the three bulls went splash into the water, one at the south end, one at the north end, and one on the west bank!

"The cow and the calf only stayed in the water a few minutes and then ran back through the woods. But the three bulls stayed as if they were looking for something. We could hear them but we could not see any because the sky was cloudy and they kept far away from us. Billy tried another short call, but they did not come any nearer. I said that I was going to crawl around the field to the south end of the pond. 'Keep near a tree,' said McDonald and I started.

"After ten minutes I came to a little piece of land running out into the pond with one young tree growing on it. I crawled under this, and getting on my knees looked over the top of the grass and bushes. There, standing knee-deep in the water, was the biggest and blackest bull in the world. I could see his horns. They were one and a half metres long and they shone like silver in the moonlight. I tell you, Silverhorns was the most beautiful moose I had ever seen.

"But he was too far away to shoot in that bad light, so I left my tree and crawled along towards the edge of the water. A light wind must have blown my smell to him because he lifted his head, came out of the water and began to walk slowly along the path which went past me. I went on one knee and tried to take aim. A black cloud came over the moon. I couldn't see. But when the bull came opposite me, about fifty metres away, I took a chance and fired anyway.

"He stood straight up on his back legs, turned around, and went running fast along the path. In a minute he was lost in the woods. Good-bye, Silverhorns!

"The next morning we returned to the pond at daybreak, for McDonald thought I might have wounded the moose. We searched the bushes and the woods carefully, looking for drops of blood on his path. But we didn't find any. That shot in the dark had missed. We followed the trail by broken bushes and footprints, for half a mile, and then came back to the pond and turned to the camp.

"It was just after sunrise. I was walking a few metres ahead, McDonald next, and Billy last. Suddenly he looked around to the left, gave a low call and fell to the ground, pointing north. The big blackness of Silverhorns' head and body was pushing through the bushes.

"Each of us lay down behind the nearest bush. Billy gave a low, short call. Silverhorns heard it, turned and came walking slowly down the western bank, now on the sand beach, now splashing through the shallow water. We could see every movement and hear every sound. He walked along as if the earth was his own, moving his huge head from side to side at each step.

"You see, we were just at the edge of the woods, Billy nearest the west bank, where the moose was walking, McDonald next, and I last. McDonald whispered that I should wait until the moose came close to us and stopped.

"So I waited. I could see him walk along the sand. The nearer he came the bigger his horns looked. Then he went out of sight for a minute, but getting nearer and nearer to Billy. But I could still hear him clearly. The sound came closer, until it was right behind a fallen tree, about five metres away from Billy. Then suddenly the noise stopped. I could hear my own heart, but nothing else. Silverhorns seemed to have disappeared.

"Billy and Mac were pointing to the fallen tree. I held my rifle and started to crawl towards them. A little piece of wood broke under my knee. There was a noise behind the fallen tree, a running sound, and Silverhorns was gone.

"Now we knew that he wasn't badly frightened by what had happened the night before and that we might get another chance at him. In the afternoon it began to rain; and it poured for forty-eight hours. We sat wet and unhappy in our tent before a smoky fire, and lived on biscuits and dry fruit – it was a hungry time."

"On Thursday afternoon, when the clouds were gone, we went back to the pond to have a last try. This time we chose our positions with great care among some small trees. I was in the west; McDonald (who had also brought his gun) was next; Billy was farthest away from the place where he thought the moose would come out.

"So Billy began to call, very beautifully. The long calls moved over the hills. The afternoon was quiet and the sun was setting.

"Fifteen minutes after sunset, Silverhorns gave a loud call and came crashing down the hill. He cleared the bushes two or three hundred metres to our left with a jump, rushed into the pond, and came around the south bank toward us. We were perhaps a metre above the water, and the mud below it was deep, so that the moose sank in to his knees. I give you my word, as he came along there was nothing visible to McDonald and me except his ears and his horns.

"There were we behind our little trees. And there was Silverhorns, standing still now, right in front of us. And all that McDonald and I could see were those big ears and those beautiful horns, appearing and disappearing as he lifted and lowered his head. And there was Billy forty metres below us – he could see the moose perfectly.

"I looked at McDonald, and he looked at me. Then Billy got ready to give a little soft call, to see if the moose wouldn't move a bit, just to make it easier. But as Billy took a breath, a fly flew straight down his throat. Instead of a call, he coughed loudly. The moose gave a wild jump in the water and ran the way he had come. Mac and I both fired at him, but of course..."

"All aboard!" The railway official's shout rang along the platform.

"Track's clear," said McLeod, getting up. "Now we'll be leaving! Will you stay here with me or go to bed?"

"Here," answered Hemenway, not moving from his place.

The powerful machine started to move. It went faster and faster until it was going seventy kilometres an hour. Soon the train was running smoothly. McLeod sat back on his bench looking happy.

"I've been thinking about Silverhorns. I wonder where he is now. Are you sorry he’s still alive?"

"Well," answered Hemenway slowly, "I can't say I'm sorry that he's alive and happy, though I'm not glad that I lost him. But he did his best. He played a good game, and he deserved to win. Where he is now, nobody can tell. He was travelling very fast when I last saw him. By this time he may be..."

"What's that?" shouted McLeod, jumping up. Far ahead on rails stood a black shape. They could see it now – a big moose standing across the track. The driver pulled the brake.

The moose turned and faced the train. The shining of the headlight made him angry. There he stood, front feet wide apart, head lowered, looking at the enemy that was coming towards him. He was the king here. There was nothing in the world that he was afraid of, except people, but this was not a person. It was some new animal and he was not afraid of it. He would not move. He would test his strength against this big yellow-eyed animal.

"Look out!" shouted McLeod. "He's going to fight us!" and he put on the brakes hard. The heavy train moved along the track. The moose never moved. As the engine came at him, not five metres away, he stood up high in the air on his back legs, his horns shining in the light, and hit hard at the headlight with his huge front feet. There was a breaking of glass, a heavy shock, and the train moved on in the darkness, lit only by the moon.

Thirty or forty metres later, the train came to a stop. Hemenway and McLeod climbed down and ran back, with a few of the passengers. The moose was lying beside the track, dead and with its body badly damaged. But the big head and the huge horns were unbroken.

"Silverhorns, sure enough!" said McLeod, looking at him. "He was trying to cross the railway track. Well, Dudley, are you glad? You've killed your first moose!"

"Yes," said Hemenway, "it's my first moose. But it's your first moose, too. And I think it's our last."