Now, down in a bay below a grassy point, where the dark
shadows of the eastern shore reach almost across, a dark object is
lying silent and motionless on the lake. Its side seems gray and
uncertain above the water; at either end is a dark mass, that in the
increasing light takes the form of human head and shoulders. A bark
canoe with two occupants is before us; but so still, so lifeless
apparently, that till now we thought it part of the shore beyond.
There is a movement in the stern; the profound stillness is suddenly
broken by a frightful roar: _M-wah-uh! M-waah-uh! M-w-wa-a-a-a-a!_ The
echoes rouse themselves swiftly, and rush away confused and broken, to
and fro across the lake. As they die away among the hills there is a
sound from the canoe as if an animal were walking in shallow water,
_splash, splash, splash, klop!_ then silence again, that is not dead,
but listening.
A half-hour passes; but not for an instant does the listening tension
of the lake relax. Then the loud bellow rings out again, startling us
and the echoes, though we were listening for it. This time the tension
increases an hundredfold; every nerve is strained; every muscle ready.
Hardly have the echoes been lost when from far up the ridges comes a
deep, sudden, ugly roar that penetrates the woods like a rifle-shot.
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