IN&THE 
 FOREST 
 
 Maximilian Foster 
 
In the Forest 
 
Roaring in frenzy, the older bull upreared. wavered, and 
 crashed backward." 
 
In the Forest 
 
 Tales of Wood-Life 
 
 By 
 
 MAXIMILIAN FOSTER 
 
 till' 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. 
 
 1901 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1901, 
 BY JOHN WANAMAKER. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1901, 
 BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 
 
F 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. THE CONQUEROR i 
 
 II. TERROR 27 
 
 III. LEGS 53 
 
 IV. TRAGEDY 83 
 
 V. THE SURVIVORS 114 
 
 VI. ON THE SNOW 162 
 
 VII. AT THE END OF THE TRAIL . . . .194 
 
 VIII. THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER .... 242 
 
 IX. LIBERTY 293 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 " Roaring in frenzy, the older bull upreared, wavered, and 
 
 crashed backward " Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 " High into the air leaped the conquering bull" ... 26 
 
 " The spotted fawn, halting and curious, sniffed noisily, stretch- 
 ing out its little nose and wagging its ears " . . 30 
 
 " One convulsive leap carried the buck halfway to the shore " 34 
 
 " A yearling buck a lithe, graceful creature, yet ever affected 
 
 by its terrors " 38 
 
 The fawn and the spike-horn 42 
 
 " Lifted both fore feet together, and with a powerful, sweeping 
 
 stroke beat it down " 50 
 
 " Far down in the hollows he could see the black-bearded 
 
 man loping along on a horse " 56 
 
 "Legs" 64 
 
 " Legs sank his fangs deep into the nose of the harrying foe " 70 
 
 " Over the bank raced Kimrie . . . then the cloud of hounds 
 
 flung themselves upon the fight " 82 
 
 "A cow, the summer's calf, and a spike-horn bull; behind 
 them a lord of the swamps . . . swinging his antlered 
 crest" 86 
 
 " The cow . . . stood fixed there, rigid in alarm " . . .88 
 
 vii 
 
viii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 "Turning tail, the spike-horn fled squealing down the ridges 
 
 before his infuriated vanquisher " . . . .92 
 
 "The spike-horn lifted his head and roared defiantly to the 
 
 world" 94 
 
 "The last of the band . . . were grazing slowly toward an 
 opening in the hills. At the edge of the timber the herd 
 bull turned and roared across the interval" . . .120 
 
 " The roan shied from the dead hulk lying on the grass, and 
 Markovitch . . . rode straight for the hills, and at his 
 coming a coatless figure rose and scutted toward the 
 trees" 144 
 
 " Under the lee of a fir thicket stood the herd . . . here, far 
 
 in the south, it had halted for food and rest" . . . 156 
 
 "The moose a big bull still was travelling, vigorous in 
 
 his stride" 162 
 
 " He was a colossus now ... his horns, broadly palmed and 
 fixed with a fringe of bayonet prongs, were the terror and 
 envy of the herds " 222 
 
In the Forest. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 AWAY by the head of the forgotten 
 Mamoziekel lies a barren a gray soli- 
 tude in the depths of the untraversed woods. 
 Grim hills of mystery look down upon it, 
 and the forest, pausing at its edge, over- 
 shadows quagmires working darkly like a 
 witch's pot. Man is seldom there. Its 
 waste is given over to the sombre moose 
 and to herds of woodland caribou, stray voy- 
 agers of the wilderness who track in from 
 the runways leading to the south, and go 
 unchallenged across its breadth. 
 
 There came a wind from the north. It 
 drew down the flank of the mountain, sheet- 
 ing the landscape with a pall of flying vapour, 
 
2 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 roared a moment on the forest-edge, and 
 swept across the barren. Night was falling. 
 The last daylight glimmered in the west, 
 and hastening clouds streaked the horizon 
 in the van of the coming storm. 
 
 On the brink of the black pool at the 
 centre of the barren stood a herd of caribou, 
 their heads uplifted, staring. A moment 
 before there had been peace quietly feed- 
 ing, they had straggled across the bog. But 
 now battle was in the air. On the flank of 
 the band stood the herding bull a great, 
 white-maned creature, gray on the flanks, 
 whose crowning antlers upreared over the 
 cows like a guarding weapon. Beyond him 
 pawed the challenger, once tolerated in the 
 herd, but now, with the rut strong upon 
 him, bawling defiance at the leader. They 
 were sire and son. Across the shoulders of 
 each ran a broad, white band, an unusual 
 marking among the caribou. All day the 
 younger had been beating the alders with his 
 horns ; now he was wildly eager for the fray. 
 Ruh-rr-r / he bellowed gutturally. 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 3 
 
 The gale had lulled a moment, and in the 
 sudden quiet, the sound volleyed across the 
 interval. An uneasy tremor moved the herd; 
 it bunched in its agitation, the cows hud- 
 dling about their principal. The swollen 
 neck of the herding bull bristled. Snorting 
 an answer, he breasted the cows aside, his 
 call of war ringing clear across the gather- 
 ing night. Pawing the sodden earth, he 
 pushed forward, " brattling " in rage. After 
 years of mastery, should his sway be now 
 disputed ? Here was the bidding of Nature 
 once more the struggle for mastery. 
 
 Roaring, they crashed together. With a 
 ringing stroke their antlers met, and, heads 
 down, they wrestled across the mossy floor- 
 ing of the bog. Their breaths whistled 
 stridently, and the ground thudded beneath 
 their quick-flying strokes. Night resounded 
 with the clang of horn on horn. Nervously 
 the cows looked on, or, again, in the lulls of 
 the combat, stamped the bog. Sometimes 
 they trotted to and fro along the flanks 
 of the combat ; sometimes they blatted, 
 
4 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 their staccato complaint urging on the 
 fighters. 
 
 Weakness fell upon the herding bull, long 
 time master of the ranges. He felt his 
 power slipping from him. Conqueror in 
 half a hundred battles, he was himself to 
 taste the bitterness of defeat. Against his 
 stout antagonist, whose thews and sinews 
 were an inheritance from himself, his stand 
 was short. His breath failed, and every 
 voice gasped agony as it whistled from his 
 lungs. The younger bull plied on with 
 added fierceness, hurling his bulk against 
 the tottering defence, beating down the 
 swaying head striking, stabbing as he 
 would. Roaring in frenzy, the other bull 
 upreared, wavered, and crashed backward as 
 the other goaded him with piercing tines. 
 A moment he lay inert; then, tottering to 
 his feet, he fled, his implacable enemy fol- 
 lowing, driving him from the place. 
 
 A sudden flaw swept again across the 
 barren, and the wind hummed among the 
 spruce like a sound of gales upon the sea. 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 5 
 
 The cows had wandered on, and with backs 
 to the gusts, were feeding before the storm, 
 indifferent now to the outcome of the fray. 
 They had passed the pond hole, when across 
 the bog came a rattle of hoofs clicking like 
 a dancer's castanets. They threw up their 
 heads and tried the air. Then they faced 
 the storm, and out of the blinding rain-sheets 
 came the conqueror, his neck still ruffled and 
 his eyes still red from rage. He called once, 
 they answered softly, and they were gone to- 
 gether fleeting spectres vanishing into the 
 gloom. It was but the way of Nature the 
 survival of the fittest. 
 
 With the deepening of the snows, the bat- 
 tling rage of the bull died out. Yet he still 
 held sway over the herd, leading it proudly 
 from range to range. Their old leader was 
 gone exiled, an outcast. Together the 
 band tracked the wilderness here one day 
 and gone the next, yet ever returning to the 
 big barren of the Mamoziekel. In broad 
 daylight they kept to the open country, for 
 their lord was not the usual caribou bull, 
 
6 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 who skulks halting through the bushes. His 
 craft seemed infallible; his nose keen to 
 detect danger in the wind. So he led 
 bravely. 
 
 Through the long winter they hovered 
 about the barren. Sometimes, after a heavy 
 wind, they voyaged through the forest to 
 feed on the lichens blown down with broken 
 limbs and tree-tops, but in the deep snow 
 their usual food was the moss on the big 
 barren. In its centre were no drifts, and 
 they pawed away the white covering and 
 fed fatly upon the food beneath. Still wind 
 and weather told. Before the new year 
 had come, their coats were growing streaky 
 yellow, the hair long and heavy, and 
 their round barrels were gradually flattening 
 out. 
 
 The bull no longer wore his crest with 
 pride. It seemed a useless burden. He 
 faced the wind with a lowered head, and 
 about the bases of his horns crept an itching 
 soreness. As he straggled into the wracked, 
 distorted depths of a cedar swamp, he struck 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 7 
 
 his antlers against a tree, and one antler 
 dropped to the ground. Then he forged 
 along, lop-eared and lop-headed, a most de- 
 jected-looking royalty for all like a tipsy 
 princeling with coronet askew. But a day 
 later he revived ; the other horn followed its 
 mate, and, relieved of the uneven burden, he 
 skipped across the barren at an eager pace, 
 the snow flying in clouds under his cracking 
 hoofs. The cows followed, and working to 
 the northward he crossed the timbered val- 
 ley, swung up over the ridges, and bore 
 away to Nictau. Through the forest they 
 kept their unbroken gait, their broad hoofs 
 carrying them gallantly over the snow-drifts, 
 and, at length, burst forth on the frozen sur- 
 face of the lake. The sun shone, the air was 
 crisp and invigorating. Like kittens they 
 gambolled up and down the broad expanse. 
 At night they fed in the black swamp at the 
 eastward, and with the rising of the moon 
 filed again across the ice, bound for a far- 
 away range on the headwaters of the Sisson 
 Branch. 
 
8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 The winter passed, and there was promise 
 in the air. Flights of wild fowl, gossiping 
 high overhead, sped northward to the breed- 
 ing places; and on the mountain's southern 
 slopes the ground was bursting with new 
 life. The winter uneasiness of the herd 
 had waned; they sought for a summer rest- 
 ing ground, and in swift passages southward 
 drove the bewildered moose floundering from 
 many a winter yard. But, after all the wan- 
 dering, the herd returned once more to the 
 big barren, and in a thick swamp just at its 
 head cast themselves down to settle for the 
 season. 
 
 Domestic affairs occupied their time. The 
 bull's horns had just sprouted, when a heavy 
 cow bore into the world a little awkward 
 stranger. It was an uncouth youngling 
 indeed. Its feet seemed out of all propor- 
 tion ; it was knock-kneed and hardly bigger 
 than a dog. The bull clung about idly 
 while this offspring was delivered into the 
 world, and at dawn slouched into the covert 
 where the mother cow lay huddled, the weak- 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 9 
 
 ling at her side. He gazed at the calf 
 the clumsy, spindle-legged creature with the 
 spreading, splay feet and sniffed as if in 
 scorn. But still the calf was big a bull, 
 and, like its sire, curiously marked with the 
 band of white across its withers. It shuffled 
 loosely to its knees as he loomed over it, 
 and the cow, reaching forth, steadied it with 
 her head until it stood, with legs far apart, 
 for the first time on its feet. 
 
 Seemingly, the calf gave little concern to 
 the bull, for the surly leader had troubles 
 of his own. His head was swollen about 
 the pedicles of the growing horns, and all 
 his attention was required to pick a painless 
 way for himself through the forest arches. 
 Moreover, the flies had come with the first 
 warm weather ; life was hardly worth living 
 when they grew attentive, and there was no 
 peace without a lake or mud-wallow handy. 
 Two pads of velvet on the sides of his head 
 showed where the new antlers were sprout- 
 ing, and as they pushed forth he scratched 
 them delicately with the point of his hoof. 
 
io IN THE FOREST. 
 
 They were sore very sore, indeed and 
 he moved about in moody dignity. 
 
 When the weather grew warm in earnest, 
 and the calf was able to frisk about with his 
 fellows, the herd's longing took them trip- 
 ping from one lake to another. In the clear, 
 cool water they swam and wallowed. Some- 
 times they fed on the water grasses, but their 
 main food was still lichens. They did not 
 often browse, as the moose do, on the tender 
 sprigs, and when they did, they plucked at 
 the buds instead of nipping them clearly. 
 An Indian, seeing their work, would have 
 known it from the browsing of the moose. 
 " Moose ben here, sartin " pointing to a 
 clean-cut twig. " Hunh ! that caribow fel- 
 ler ! " pointing to a fractured one. 
 
 During the day they clung to the heart 
 of the deepest swamps, and at night tracked 
 the shores of the black ponds and pug-holes. 
 There was one mud-pit in an opening on 
 the ridges which they often favoured, and 
 here the bull, his cows, and the calves would 
 wallow in pure delight. Garbed with black 
 
THE CONQUEROR. n 
 
 slime from head to foot, they were a rowdy 
 crew, but the morning dip in the lake 
 made them once more presentable. It 
 was a grand life, and they waxed fat and 
 happy. 
 
 One warm afternoon, just after the last 
 snow had vanished from the hollows under 
 the hills, the herd bore down the slope of 
 Bald Mountain, and swung away toward 
 Bathurst When they struck into the flat 
 lying between, the bull paused and threw 
 up his head. A faint air strayed about the 
 valley, and, as a cross-current swept over- 
 head, the bull caught a warning scent the 
 rank taint that betrayed the presence of a 
 foe. He sniffed heavily, his nose wrinkling 
 as he sought another gust, and was just 
 tentatively stepping onward, when there was 
 a resounding crash in the bush. 
 
 A black form hurled itself upon him. He 
 saw the creature jump a great hulk of 
 fur saw its distended jaws and horrid 
 shape. One instant he stood appalled, then 
 with a violent thrill he leaped aside. It was 
 
12 77V THE FOREST. 
 
 a bear, a lean, ravenous creature, not long 
 from its winter den, and wild with hunger. 
 As the bull jumped the bear shot by, missed 
 its stroke, but by chance gashed a cow 
 cruelly along the shoulder. She was a big 
 one, an anomaly that boasted a small set 
 of horns. Bawling with fear, she wheeled 
 and fled, a flap of skin hanging from her 
 shoulder, and blood streaming along the 
 brown forest. Crashing forward with fran- 
 tic jumps, the herd cleared the perilous 
 neighbourhood, and once free from the peril, 
 dropped into their swinging trot, while from 
 the rear came the bear's long-drawn howl 
 of disappointment. 
 
 As they clattered along the back-trail 
 fresh disaster awaited. Beyond the spur 
 of the ridge, they crossed down toward the 
 lake, and were clattering along the game- 
 trail at its edge, when the cows halted 
 abruptly, spun about, and fled, the calves 
 shambling at their heels. The bull stopped 
 in wonder. He tried the air, and scented 
 a strong pungent odour saw a wisp of 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 13 
 
 blue smoke crawling over the tree-tops, 
 and, for the first time in his life, beheld 
 a man. Cautiously he drew near, vainly 
 trying for a scent. He saw the figure at 
 the fire start up, and then a ripping crash 
 thundered along the forest. The bull 
 jumped. He did not know he had been 
 fired on, and in mild curiosity skipped 
 through the bush and circled the camp. 
 There a sudden suspicion seized him ; he 
 plunged about, and in a long, swinging 
 stride took away on the trail of the cows. 
 On the Bathurst carry he overtook them. 
 The cows and calves were ambling along 
 the open path, still nervous with vague 
 terrors. They had escaped so far, but what 
 was in store ? The bull took his place at 
 their head, resolved that peace and quiet 
 must be sought far away from here. As 
 they dipped down over the crest of the 
 divide, and neared an abandoned beaver- 
 meadow, he swung out, mindful of his 
 horns, from under a leaning tree-trunk that 
 had all the semblance of a windfall. But 
 
14 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the cows kept straight on. Crash ! The 
 windfall fell thunderously, filling the silent 
 forest with reechoing noises. The bull 
 leaped as if struck. Beneath the heavy 
 tree lay the leading cow, her back broken, 
 writhing in a last mortal effort. She had 
 walked into the trap, sprung the trigger, 
 and the dead-fall had slain her, as its 
 builders had devised. They were the 
 poachers in camp on the lake bear 
 hunters and this was their method of 
 getting bait for bruin. 
 
 The bull circled about the dying cow, 
 powerless to aid. He sniffed the air, and 
 hung over his stricken mate, trotting to and 
 fro with futile energy. A gust stirred the 
 tree-tops, and whirling along the ridge, set 
 down toward him. Snorting anew, he 
 threw up his head and looked. He saw 
 two figures running swiftly along the trail 
 saw them stoop and point forward, and 
 once more the forest resounded with the 
 rifle's deafening noise. The herd broke 
 and ran in every direction, leaving him 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 15 
 
 there alone. Once more there was a loud re- 
 port, a gush of flame the man had fired and 
 missed again. But as the lead stirred the 
 hair on the bull's shoulders, he shook him- 
 self together from this mad fascination and 
 fled away from the direful place and the 
 cow heaving in a convulsion of death upon 
 the forest floor. 
 
 The herd was gone, and he a wanderer 
 alone. He followed to the north, searching 
 far and wide. He tried the unknown bar- 
 rens under the flank of Bald Mountain, 
 swept about the edge of the long ridges, 
 and circled the headwaters of the Mamo- 
 ziekel. But they were gone, he knew not 
 where. Alone and weary, he kept up the 
 days of weary pursuit, felt the summer slip 
 by, and, with the first frosts, was touched, 
 once more, with the rutting wrath. 
 
 They told in the settlements of a caribou 
 bull a mighty straggler from the herds, 
 bigger than any man had ever seen before. 
 He was using along the great range west- 
 
16 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ward of Nictau, and twice, they knew, he 
 had been fired upon. Once blood had been 
 drawn, but the men on the trail were no 
 match in speed or stamina for this solitary, 
 and had given up the chase after weary 
 miles, convinced that the wound was slight. 
 His antlers were a marvel ; they spread like 
 the brown roots of a hemlock windfall, and 
 down the centre of his nose ran a brow- 
 palm, as big and broad, almost, as the 
 shovel of a moose. Vainly they sought 
 for a nearer shot ; but his craft foiled them. 
 At the first suggestion of danger he was 
 gone, vanishing like a spectre. 
 
 Fear had taught its lesson to the big bull. 
 He had renounced his first swaggering indif- 
 ference, and now skulked and treaded as 
 timorously as any creature on the range. 
 He followed the wind keenly, and on the 
 rising ridges looked over for possible foes 
 before revealing himself. He no longer 
 swam the ponds in daylight, and rarely 
 moved except at night. But among the 
 caribou he was still master. He fought from 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 17 
 
 range to range, forever looking for the lost 
 herd, but the snows came again, and he had 
 not found it. Sometimes he forgot his 
 terrors, and ran through the forest, pausing 
 on the ridges to roar a challenge or a call. 
 But it was of no avail, and, at last, in a 
 sudden access of fury, he fell upon the 
 leader of a passing herd, beat him down, and, 
 victorious, thrust his companionship upon 
 the cows. 
 
 Year after year he kept on. His rage was 
 masterful. He harried and abused and drove 
 from the hills the bulls that sought to with- 
 stand him. He rounded his cows about 
 roughly, hectoring them at every turn. At 
 the beginning of every rut he fell in a fury 
 upon the spike-horn yearlings, and gored 
 cruelly, driving them from the herd. Per- 
 haps he was in mind of how he himself had 
 come into power over his own sire. In this 
 warfare he wandered far from the barren of 
 the Mamoziekel, carrying dismay before him. 
 Yet in his heart there was ever a longing, 
 a desire to return and once more be with 
 
i8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the lost herd, to go back to the place of his 
 birth as every caribou goes. 
 
 Years passed and he grew old. His horns 
 had increased in size and strength while his 
 vigour held, but now that age was coming, 
 he noted a difference. At last one autumn 
 found him with diminished weapons. In the 
 place of the centre palm was only a spindly 
 tine. Moreover, his antlers did not reach so 
 far, nor were they so stout about the beams. 
 Still he felt no relaxing of his ugly humours, 
 no weakening of his might. He held his 
 sway unchecked, and when other bulls came 
 up against him, he forced the conflict to a 
 swift and powerful climax. 
 
 His fear of men had become a second 
 nature. He steered wide of ranges where he 
 had heard the rifle speak doom to other cari- 
 bou. Nor did he relax his vigilance, like the 
 other bulls, when law forbids the shooting. 
 He took no chances, and so survived. Then 
 one day the fit to wander homeward fell 
 upon him. He shacked to his feet, and 
 roared. The cows arose, and, at the sound, 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 19 
 
 another bull came challenging up the slope 
 of the ridges. He was big, and the battle 
 waxed furious. At its height still another 
 bull, an interloper, stole in and drove away 
 the cows. Thus, when the conflict ended, 
 and the challenging bull had been driven 
 crashing through the thickets, he again 
 found himself alone. He stood for a while 
 and called. But there was no answer, no 
 clatter of the brush betokening their return. 
 Darkness fell upon the forest, and turning 
 his head southward, he sped away, home- 
 ward back to the black headwaters of the 
 Mamoziekel and the big barren that still lay 
 unchanged, to the forest where axe never 
 sounded nor rifle spoke. Hope sprang high 
 in his heart the lost herd would be found. 
 Into this wild came, the day after, a man. 
 He had followed the long valley of the 
 stream that runs into Nictau, setting a 
 course along the ridges that back up the 
 southern slope of Bald Mountain. He 
 pushed out upon the barren, and halted, 
 studying the tracks that marked the black 
 
20 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ooze of the quagmire. Presently he stooped, 
 with wide eyes studying one great track that 
 punctuated the writing of trafficking herds. 
 The slot was big and broad, more than a 
 hand's-breadth across, and, with the twin 
 dots of the accessory hoofs, almost as long. 
 Rising with a gesture of eagerness, he sped 
 along, studying the ground. 
 
 Overhead, a skim of dull vapour cast across 
 the zenith, and the wind, moaning fitfully 
 among the tall spires of the pines and 
 spruce, betokened the approach of snow. 
 Abruptly the man turned aside from the 
 trail, plunged into the edge of the forest, 
 and threw down his pack. Pushing aside 
 the bush, he crouched there, his rifle ready. 
 
 In a thicket farther up the bog lay the big 
 bull. Here in this retreat he was nursing 
 the wounds of battle stiff and sore and 
 ugly. 
 
 A twig cracked on the hillside. His neck 
 bristled, and he heaved himself to his feet. 
 Across the open he saw a cow steal to the 
 edge of the woods and peep forth. Another 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 21 
 
 followed, then came a pair of skipping calves 
 and two more cows, one a shoulder-scarred 
 creature with small horns. A tremor seized 
 him. He saw the familiar forms, the gray 
 figures of old, the calves band-streaked 
 across the withers the lost herd! He 
 pushed from the thicket, calling madly, and 
 at the same moment another bull stepped 
 into the open in the train of the advancing 
 cows. 
 
 Across the shoulders of the newcomer was 
 that same distinctive mark. His own mem- 
 ory went back to the day when this great, 
 gallant creature was but a weakling come 
 into the world in this same swamp. And 
 now it had grown to this proud estate! 
 Year after year it had clung to the herd. 
 As a yearling it had been tolerated by the 
 usurper who had found the stray herd when 
 they lost their leader in the disaster of the 
 trap. But with its second year and its first 
 long spikes, it had been browbeaten, pushed, 
 and driven about. Still it had kept by the 
 same little family, returning in peace when 
 
22 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the rut was past. Again in the third year 
 it had fought and failed ; but in the fourth 
 it arose, mighty in strength, well armed 
 and headed, and falling upon the bullying 
 lord of the herd, drove him forth, stricken 
 and cowed. 
 
 At a sharp trot the band moved down 
 the wind. Forward stepped the old bull. 
 His head was uplifted with its still mighty 
 crest, and there was a new fire in his eye. 
 He gazed at the cows and at their leader. 
 He stretched his throat and called anew, 
 and at the racketing call, they halted in 
 their tracks. 
 
 The younger bull stopped, stamping. The 
 hair on his neck ruffled ; he spread his feet 
 and bellowed a challenge. Who was this 
 come to dispute his sway? His petulant 
 hoof pawed the earth, and gutturally he 
 gave the call of war. 
 
 The sound rang down the barren, stir- 
 ring the man crouching in the thicket. At 
 the challenge the old bull tossed his antlers. 
 Before, he had never hesitated ; but now 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 23 
 
 he did not rush to battle. Old memories, 
 perhaps, were in his mind, and in his heart 
 peace. But the challenge was renewed; 
 the other was advancing. With lowered 
 head the younger bull stepped along, fire 
 in his eyes. Ruh-rr-r ! he roared ruh ! 
 
 They advanced, the old bull half tem- 
 porizing. He called plaintively, but the 
 other took no notice of the appeal. Nearer 
 he came nearer and nearer, and the man, 
 crouching in the thicket, cocked his rifle, 
 waiting. 
 
 A sudden scurry of hoofs beat upon the 
 bog. With a frenzied effort the younger 
 bull burst upon the other. The big one 
 fell back, unwilling for combat, but once 
 more the young one charged. Startled, 
 the old bull recoiled again, and the younger, 
 breaking through his guard, stabbed him 
 on the flank. 
 
 A pang rang through the old caribou's 
 nerves, and a roar escaped him. He for- 
 got all ; his wrath, his fear, perhaps, aroused. 
 Once more the blood ran hotly through 
 
24 JJN THE FOREST. 
 
 his veins, and he turned upon his antagonist, 
 mad for the fight. 
 
 Their heads shocked together, and the 
 forest threw back the sound in clattering 
 echoes. The torn and trampled moss flew 
 about and blood-streaked froth flecked their 
 heaving shoulders. Again they lunged, 
 the antlers locked one striving for mas- 
 tery ; the other knowing it for life. 
 Once the old bull was forced back upon 
 his haunches, and was all but lost. By a 
 mighty effort he writhed free and recovered. 
 Then he whirled upon the other, and strove 
 to beat down his crest. He was sublime, 
 yet he failed and terror choked him. 
 
 A flurry of snow sped across the bog, 
 the first of the dying year. It wheeled 
 across the landscape for an instant, blotting 
 out the fray. The man, crouching in the 
 thicket, drew a hand across his eyes, almost 
 appalled at the fierceness of this strife. 
 Slipping out upon the barren, he crawled 
 toward them. 
 
 The younger bull drew on. With un- 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 25 
 
 abated strength he beat and battered at the 
 swaying antlers of his adversary, and inch 
 by inch drove him back. His rage was 
 direful. The cows, trotting up and down 
 the arena, called piteously; yet the strife 
 went on. At last, with an overwhelming 
 effort, the younger bull drove upon the 
 other. He hunched his shoulders, struck 
 with destroying force, and as the old bull 
 staggered for an instant, half-reared, and 
 turned aside, he struck still again, another 
 mighty blow. Down went the old bull, a 
 brow-tine piercing him to the vitals. He 
 struggled once to his knees, turned with 
 a despairing call to the cows, and died. 
 
 Back from the forest blew the wind, laden 
 with a terrifying taint. One breath of it 
 sent the cows streaming in every direction. 
 But the conqueror gave no heed. He stood 
 over the dead, lifted his crest, and gave 
 the call. Blood and froth flecked his white 
 mane; the steam spumed from his wide- 
 pressed nostrils. 
 
 A moment's silence then from down 
 
26 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the bog streamed a spear of flame. The 
 hills harked back with thundering echoes. 
 Again a shot! 'High into the air leaped 
 the conquering bull, and fell, kicking 
 spasmodically, across the form of the other. 
 
" High into the air leaped the conquering 
 
 bull. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 TERROR THE STORY OF A DEER'S LIFE. 
 
 QPRING touched the last snow in the gul- 
 ^ lies, and through the gaps the brooks 
 roared, leaping down the slope toward the 
 blue reaches of the lake. Mount Morris, 
 shrouded on the flanks with streaming vapour, 
 loomed overhead, and on every side lay the 
 forest, dotted in the distance with yellow 
 clearings islands in a wind-swept sea of 
 greenery. Broken ridges lay at the east, 
 and at the south and west the hills rolled 
 down to the flat country where Bog River 
 winds a silent stream drifting between 
 tangled thickets and the morass. 
 
 The brush parted and a spotted fawn 
 looked out. Its nose a black dot against 
 the livelier colour of its hair wrinkled at 
 a passing gust, and its ears pricked to and 
 fro. Somewhere out on the lake a loon was 
 
 27 
 
2 8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 babbling to its mate a laughing, mindless 
 burst of sound flung back in gossiping echo 
 from the hills. The fawn paused, dismayed. 
 " Blaa-aa-a ! " it cried ; and, at the call, the 
 mother doe stood out, a timorous yellow 
 creature, slinking through the alder thickets. 
 She harked a moment to the lake bird's cry, 
 and then together she and the fawn passed 
 along the shore, their way upon the edge 
 of the burnt ground and the black timber 
 near the falls. Farther on were the lower 
 sheets of the river the brown dead-water 
 where the first pads of the season were 
 sprouting from the lily roots. But at the 
 crook of the bay, where Jenkins Brook pours 
 down the slope, the doe flung up her head 
 and stopped. 
 
 There was something in the wind, a faint, 
 indefinable odour. The air-current faltered 
 a moment and then flew about, eddying up 
 the valley of the stream, and was gone. 
 But still guardedly the doe went on, the 
 fawn skipping along the trail, unmindful of 
 all the world. 
 
TERROR. 29 
 
 They crossed the flat and came out 
 through a copse of birch poles upon the 
 river bank. Beyond lay the big clearing, 
 and at its farther edge the old camp on the 
 carry. A thin wisp of smoke trailed from 
 its chimney, and in the dusk its window 
 gleamed, staring like an eye toward the 
 black forest. Along the ford pattered the 
 doe, the fawn still skipping at her heels, 
 and heaved up the bank. A breeze sighed 
 in the tops, swirled toward her, and bump ! 
 bump ! twice she jumped and, panting, 
 stood still. 
 
 Somewhere was a dog. The rounding 
 breeze had brought the scent, but from the 
 baffling air she could not tell the direction. 
 The spotted fawn, halting and curious, 
 sniffed noisily, stretching out its little nose 
 and wagging its ears like hanging chestnut 
 leaves. Then two small white forms came 
 tumbling out of a bush and faced them. 
 
 They were dogs, sure enough the wind 
 told that. But they were small, very small 
 mere puppies, in fact. They saw the deer 
 
3 o IN THE FOREST. 
 
 and stopped suddenly, so suddenly that one 
 of them almost turned a somersault. Ooof ! 
 it said in astonishment. They sat down, 
 their tongues hanging out, each puppy with 
 an ear cocked. With their forelegs planted 
 far apart, they stared at the two strangers ; 
 then one bounced forward. Ooof oof! 
 he barked. Bump ! bump ! bump ! Away 
 went the doe and the fawn, snorting whoo ! 
 whoo! and after came the enemy. They 
 followed, their infant voices yapping shrilly 
 in the evening quiet; and, almost mad with 
 terror, the deer fled, leaping the thickets, 
 thumping and crashing through the woods. 
 Once more they splashed across the stream, 
 and cleared away up the slope, while the 
 hounds nosed, still crying, along the scent 
 till the river cut off the chase. 
 
 That was the fawn's first experience of 
 terror. Its next was still more direful. A 
 week had passed, and it lay under a windfall, 
 while the doe went down for a noonday drink 
 at the brook. It crouched in a little nest of 
 leaves, its colour merging closely into the 
 
The spotted fawn, halting and curious, sniffed noisily, stretching out 
 its little nose and wagging its ears." 
 
TERROR. 31 
 
 yellow-brown covering of the forest floor; 
 both ears were pressed flat against its neck, 
 and but for the two big eyes, winking and 
 bright, one might have thought it dead. A 
 twig snapped near at hand. The fawn 
 crouched lower, holding its breath, and with 
 its lively eyes peeping all about. Again the 
 brush cracked, and a man stepped out. He 
 had a rod over one shoulder and in his hand 
 was a string of trout. He walked on, scaled 
 clumsily over the windfall, and was just drop- 
 ping to the other side, when, with an excla- 
 mation, he clutched the tree, and hung poised. 
 " Hello ! " he cried softly. Just beneath him 
 lay the fawn, limp and simulating death, all 
 but its eyes, which snapped in excitement. 
 Softly the man put aside his rod and fish, 
 and then, inch by inch, slipped down till, 
 with a sudden swoop, he fell upon the fawn. 
 There was no struggle; the spotted crea- 
 ture rested limply in his arms as though it 
 were dead indeed. Its head hung down, its 
 four legs trailed, and but for the beating 
 of its heart and those two frightened orbs, 
 
32 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 one might well have thought it lifeless. For 
 a few moments the man petted the forest 
 stray, blowing softly into its nostrils, and 
 before long the fawn plucked up courage. 
 It stood on its feet, the man's arm about its 
 neck, and made no effort to get free. Pres- 
 ently it licked his hand, and he laughed. 
 He blew once more into its nostrils, picked 
 up the rod and fish, and walked on, looking 
 backward over his shoulder. At his heels 
 tripped the fawn. For a few steps they went 
 along together. " Scoot ! " the man cried, 
 waving an arm. " Scoot I don't want ye." 
 But the fawn still followed. Then the man 
 set down his rod and fish again, and drew a 
 knife from his belt. Its glitter distracted 
 the little creature, and it drew near, sniffing, 
 its innocence manifest. With a swift gesture 
 the man seized the fawn by the ear, crumpled 
 the thin tissue in his hand, and, with a sud- 
 den upward stroke, slit a V halfway from 
 the butt to the tip. 
 
 " Blaa-aa-a / " cried the fawn, overcome 
 with terror and pain. It fled away along 
 
TERROR. 33 
 
 the forest, bounding right and left, and its 
 face covered with blood, while the man, 
 chuckling, went on his way. After that, 
 whenever it fell upon the trail of a man in 
 the woods, it sniffed once and then bounced 
 off, quivering, and with one ear still a sore 
 memory of its adventure. 
 
 Midsummer came. On the ridges and in 
 the swamp the black flies, the midges, and 
 the harping mosquitoes grew unendurable. 
 Then the deer took to the lakes at dawn 
 and evening-time, and sometimes in the 
 middle of the day. At the soft edges of 
 the ponds they soused in the tepid water, 
 and fed largely on the lily pads. All were 
 as red, almost, as the maple leaves in autumn, 
 and fat, round-barrelled, and happy. But 
 middle August came, and a sudden change 
 fell upon the forest herds. The fawn, stand- 
 ing one day in the shallows beside the doe 
 and a big buck, saw something come stealing 
 like a spectre across the pond. The buck 
 pricked up his ears and stared, and the thing 
 halted, drifting as silently as a log upon the 
 
34 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 water. Again he went on feeding, and the 
 thing moved. The fawn, hardly understand- 
 ing, saw it slip forward, and once again the 
 buck threw up his head. Then a splitting 
 crash broke the silence, the hills cried back 
 with a thousand voices, and a sound of thun- 
 der rolled to the sky. One convulsive leap 
 carried the buck halfway to the shore; again 
 the silence broke with the detonation, and 
 down he plunged, his velveted antlers be- 
 neath the water. Why did he fall ? Why 
 did he lie there with the shallow about him 
 crimsoned ? Rushing to the shore, the doe 
 and fawn sped away, leaving the fallen buck 
 behind. 
 
 The fawn had hardly recovered from this 
 adventure, when one night it fed with the 
 doe on the mud-flats of a distant lake. 
 Along the bank they walked slosh slosh- 
 slosh sometimes pausing to nip at the 
 floating pads. They turned the point, and 
 out of the gloom, more silent than the for- 
 est's midnight closes, came a black, formless 
 shadow a spectre gliding upon the waters. 
 
One convulsive leap carried the buck halfway to the shore." 
 
TERROR. 35 
 
 The doe snorted, yet did not move, and at 
 the sound a red eye of light flashed through 
 the blackness, streaming across the bog and 
 transfiguring with its powerful ray the dark 
 edges of the woods. Palsied with fascina- 
 tion, the two stood quivering. A moment's 
 silence followed, a roar burst over the quiet 
 of the night, and the dead forest shocked 
 with reverberating noises. Something flew 
 by the fawn, whistling shrilly as it passed, 
 and the doe was down, struggling. Once 
 she blaa-aated despairingly to the fawn, and 
 the agonized creature, understanding the 
 alarm, raced to the shore. But the doe did 
 not follow, and, halting once to look back, 
 the little thing saw the jack-light turned 
 upon the inert form, motionless forever. 
 Peace then passed out of its heart, and, like 
 the other deer, it became a hunted, harried 
 creature. It fled far back among the hills, 
 leaving the ponds and the destroyer upon 
 them, and alone, shy, ever on the lookout, 
 began its life anew. 
 
 But even here its peace was broken. One 
 
36 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 day, just after the dawn, a thin, piping cry 
 came trailing toward it over the ridges. 
 Ooo-ooo-o! Wooo-oo-oof-oof oof-ooo! It lis- 
 tened, its heart beating madly. A dog 
 yes ! The cry drew nearer dog music, 
 but in the ear of the fawn a terror-striking 
 clarion, a wild and awful clamour. Remem- 
 bering its early experience, it sped away 
 toward the lake, the long-drawn howl closing 
 nearer. Panting in horror, it reached the 
 water, and had no sooner set out swimming 
 to the other shore than a boat put off after 
 it. Mad with its fears, it pushed on, half 
 leaping from the water with every stroke. 
 But the chase was short; a hand reached 
 out and seized it by the tail, and with one 
 violent struggle it fell back, waiting dumbly 
 for the stroke of the killer. 
 
 " Bless me," said a voice, " ef it ain't the 
 fawn I slit along ago las' spring. Shoo ! Git 
 out, there ! " 
 
 A paddle slatted the fawn upon the back, it 
 was headed toward the point, and scrambling 
 weakly ashore, darted through the woods. 
 
TERROR. 37 
 
 Time came at last when the woods no 
 longer sounded with the rifle's crack, and 
 then fell the snows. Day by day they grew 
 deeper, and the herds, stayed in their wan- 
 dering, grouped on the slopes of the moun- 
 tain or sought the hollows at the foot. Their 
 summer coat had changed to blue, a thick, 
 storm-defying pelage. As the drifts grew 
 higher the bucks and does drew together in 
 small bands, and trod down paths, breaking 
 out new ground as the browse grew thinner. 
 Each was stained on the flanks by the riotous 
 weather; their ribs flattened out, their hair 
 grew ragged, and they were a disorderly crew 
 before spring set in on the lowlands. But as 
 the sun grew warmer, as the sprigs of green 
 showed on the southern slopes, a nimble 
 sprightliness infected the deer, and they 
 broke their winter yard, leaping in sport and 
 playing about the mountain. Thus the 
 spring and summer passed, and the fawn 
 had lost its spotted coat. It was now a 
 yearling buck a lithe, graceful creature, 
 yet ever affected by its terrors. 
 
38 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 With the beginning of autumn his fancy 
 fell upon a doe, a stray from the big timber 
 across the lake. He played before it, his 
 gallantries vigorous and sometimes rough, 
 and the doe fled. But the spike-horn fol- 
 lowed, nosing along the trail, till, with a sud- 
 den clatter of hoofs, another buck rushed 
 from the thicket and confronted him. 
 
 " Whooo-oo!" said the spike-horn, startled. 
 But the other gave him no time to ponder. 
 His neck was big and bristling, and the veins, 
 swollen with blood, had discoloured his eye. 
 Without ado he fell upon this younger rival, 
 jabbed him unmercifully in the flanks, and 
 drove him clattering through the forest. 
 The yearling was dismayed. Heretofore he 
 had looked only on man and dog as perils ; 
 but now one of his own kind had arisen, mad 
 and battling, and had well-nigh slain him. 
 Sore and spent, he toiled once more into the 
 hills, and here he learned another lesson. 
 
 In the swamp at the foot of the valley was 
 a herd of does, hiding from the gallantries of 
 the bucks. The yearling went among them 
 
A yearling buck a lithe, graceful creature, 
 yet ever affected by its terrors." 
 
TERROR. 39 
 
 and was suffered to stay. But he had hardly 
 come when again he heard the direful cry of 
 a hound, making music on the trail. To- 
 gether with the herd he ran, and presently 
 saw one of the does, hampered by her fawn, 
 fall back behind. He stopped an instant to 
 listen to the dog ; once more the wild clamour 
 of the beast resounded in the forest, and then 
 he knew the chase had set upon him and the 
 following doe. She was breasting through 
 the bushes, the fawn at her heels, but she had 
 no sooner caught up to him than she leaped 
 aside. Bewildered, he followed, and again 
 she turned. Again and again she tried this 
 tactic, till, more confused than ever, he kept 
 on his way. Much ground had been lost; 
 the hound was drawing nearer. He heard 
 another voice strike in there were two 
 hounds they were on his track. In a flash 
 he understood the doe's antics. She had 
 deliberately cast him in the trail, desperate 
 in the effort to save herself and her young. 
 A wild fury seized him. He turned to bat- 
 tle with the dogs, and, stamping the fallen 
 
40 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 leaves, he raised the hair on his neck, his eyes 
 red and baleful. Nearer grew the baying, a 
 tempestuous, awe-inspiring riot of noise. He 
 looked along the forest aisles and saw them, 
 the first hounds he had seen since that day 
 when the two puppies had pursued him 
 across the lower stretch of Bog River. One 
 look convinced him. They were the same 
 dogs big at the shoulder, with drooping 
 ears, and jaws dripping with eagerness. They 
 sighted the waiting deer, and their voices 
 broke into a shrill, maddening clamour. He 
 paused an instant, overcome, and then, his 
 courage failing, whirled about, and, blindly 
 striking through the brush, fled away to the 
 distant shore of Little Tupper. 
 
 He had learned at last the one, masterful, 
 selfish lesson of the wilds the necessity of 
 self-preservation. And in that moment he 
 was changed. All the innocence of the fawn 
 departed, shed like a winter coat in spring. 
 Crafty, sly, and brutally selfish, he took his 
 place among the herds, fought for his own 
 from buck and doe alike, and in the face of 
 
TERROR. 41 
 
 peril became a slinking coward. Again, 
 when he heard the dogs upon his trail, he 
 circled the mountain till he found another 
 deer, and running along the trail a piece, 
 leaped off sideways, leaving the dog to pick 
 up the scent. But when the scent was breast 
 high and the hound followed, however he 
 dodged, he had another trick. He would 
 play on before the chase till he found a stray 
 herd of deer, and, dashing between them, 
 would mix his own track in a confusing puz- 
 zle among theirs. He rarely took to water, 
 for experience had taught him that death lay 
 around the ponds, and that no deer could tell 
 when or where a boat was lurking at the 
 shore, ready to set out in pursuit. 
 
 Encompassed by all these dangers, he 
 spent his years about the mountain. His 
 antlers grew, and he was strong and vigorous. 
 He could play on for hours before any living 
 hounds, and when he had tired of their atten- 
 tions, he swung them off upon the trail of 
 others. There were two hounds, however, 
 that he tried no tricks upon hounds that 
 
42 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 hunted in a couple. He dimly suspected 
 that they were his friends of old, the two 
 from the clearing at the head of the lake. 
 Whenever he heard them ranging through 
 the forest, hot on the scent, he sped away, 
 swimming every brook and lake within reach 
 till he had shaken them from his trail. His 
 terrors multiplied whenever they were abroad. 
 One autumn found him with heavy, branch- 
 ing horns, and a renewed desire for a mate. 
 So he tracked through the forest, pursuing 
 the elusive does that fled before. He had 
 crossed down near the head of Horseshoe 
 Pond, and was climbing a bank, when his 
 feet struck against an upright band an iron 
 railroad track. He turned aside, and in the 
 open right-of-way found the travelling good. 
 So he kept along in the darkness, and had 
 just turned the bend above the outlet when 
 far away he saw a light, and heard the ground 
 click and tremble beneath his feet. Amazed, 
 he stood and watched, waiting. At direful 
 speed the round orb neared him. It flashed 
 in his eyes, a bewildering planet. A roar- 
 
The Fawn. 
 
 The Spike-horn. 
 
TERROR. 43 
 
 ing noise as of a great wind was in his ears, 
 and then the night screamed with a terrifying 
 sound hoo hoo-hoot-hooo ! He wheeled 
 about and fled; he heard the woods din 
 again with the brazen noise, and linked along, 
 racing madly, though ever falling nearer to 
 the monster rushing up behind. 
 
 It was almost on him when he leaped 
 aside, and turned, prepared to fight, to die in 
 a corner. But the thing, clouded in white 
 vapour, thundered past, blinding lights flash- 
 ing before his eyes. When it had gone in a 
 last flurry of dust, he sped away whool 
 whoo f snorting in mad terror. Days after 
 this he clung to a thicket, and each day, at 
 certain hours, heard the dreadful thing rush 
 by, hooting in the distance. 
 
 He found his mate at length, winning her 
 after a battle with another buck. The beaten 
 deer was smaller, a weakling before him. 
 The buck, lurking along the Mud Pond trail, 
 saw the pair coming, and like a whirlwind 
 burst upon his chosen rival. They struck 
 together, their horns locked, the spikes of the 
 
44 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 younger but a feeble weapon to his own. 
 With a sudden heave he turned the spike- 
 horn buck aside, and gored him cruelly in 
 the shoulder; then, unmercifully goading, 
 prodding with all his strength, drove him 
 down the slope. 
 
 In the spring there was another fawn, his 
 own. He suffered it to follow him and the 
 doe about, but that was the end of his care 
 or affection. When the fawn was weaned, 
 and the doe sought out tender sprigs for its 
 browse, when she found a tender mushroom 
 or a lily pad more delectable than the others, 
 she drew the fawn toward her. But often 
 the buck, shouldering them both aside, 
 snapped up the dainty, and at times even 
 fought them away from it. Once, while they 
 were together, a hound sounded upon the 
 trail, and, instead of flying with his mate, the 
 buck rushed around, mixing up the trails, and 
 then sped away, leaving them to their own 
 defence. They escaped the hound, took to 
 a pond, and were overtaken by a waiting 
 boat. But the doe was in poor condition, 
 
TERROR. 45 
 
 the fawn was tabooed by the law, and the 
 waiting hunter let them go. Late at night 
 they found the buck on the upper ranges, 
 idly feeding and quite unconcerned. 
 
 Before long the mating time came anew. 
 The buck's antlers hardened sharply, the 
 dead velvet tearing to the butts and hanging 
 in a fringe along his face. During the day 
 he beat his horns upon the bushes, his neck 
 puffing, while his eye grew bloodshot and 
 dusky. For a time the doe stood his crowd- 
 ing, but at last, when he took to harrying the 
 fawn about, she fled, the little creature at her 
 heels. The buck followed, and the mad 
 chase went swinging around the mountain, 
 deep through the heart of the thickest swamp, 
 across the big blow-downs where the trees, 
 in hapless confusion, lay plaited like osiers 
 on the ground. Furiously he made after her, 
 and for days they kept it up, the doe fleeing 
 at every opportunity. Then she subsided 
 weakly ; and roughly, more brutally than ever, 
 he drove her on before him. 
 
 When the snows came, the buck found a 
 
46 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 new peril. He was resting one noon behind 
 a windfall when a stray breeze brought him 
 to his feet at a bound. Along the intervale a 
 man was coming creeping upon the track, 
 cautiously studying the thickets ahead and at 
 the sides. Quietly the buck arose, keeping 
 the fawn and doe between him and the 
 implacable foe who stole so softly forward. 
 But the man saw him, halted with a gesture 
 abrupt and excited, and at that the buck 
 leaped the windfall and was gone, snorting 
 in alarm. A moment later the woods were 
 rent with the thunders of a gun, and a bullet 
 wheened past his ears. But he was unharmed, 
 and, halting a moment, overmastered by 
 curiosity, he saw the doe and fawn racing 
 after him, and the man again trying vainly 
 for a shot. After this the buck sought out 
 the deepest tangles for his noonday rest, and 
 the chaos of thicket and fallen timber through 
 which he climbed and crawled to his repose 
 baffled even his most persistent foes. He 
 had a way of flatting his horns on his shoul- 
 ders, and creeping, ferret-like, under windfalls 
 
TERROR. 47 
 
 that a man could hardly pass. Then, when 
 an enemy took up his trail, he could hear him 
 afar, cracking and thrashing through the 
 tangle long before he came into view. 
 
 These perils hardly sweetened, at the best, 
 his sullen, burly ways. He shouldered the 
 doe and fawn unmercifully till the snows 
 deepened, and then he subsided. But his 
 greediness did not fail, and the fawn had 
 need to be quick to keep a dainty from this 
 conscienceless, selfish bully. 
 
 They joined the gathering herds, and with 
 six other deer yarded on a slope above the 
 flats. The buck, strong and able, trod out 
 paths through the deepest drifts. When the 
 other deer pressed in after him, he remorse- 
 lessly drove them away, and left them to their 
 own devices, to break through the drifts if 
 they could. Also, when the bleak winds 
 screamed down the mountain from the north, 
 he chose the spot most sheltered, unmindful 
 of the trembling fawn that lay where it 
 might. He was the bully he ruled, and he 
 knew it. 
 
48 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 A heavy storm swept over the forest, sift- 
 ing a new layer of snow upon the frozen 
 world. After it, the sun peeped out, it grew 
 warmer, and there was a new gurgle and 
 clinking in the ice-armoured brooks. List- 
 lessly the deer shuffled up and down the 
 yard, but the warmth had hardly stirred 
 them when the wind lifted anew, blowing 
 with a savage bitterness from the north. 
 At dawn the snow had crusted, and when 
 the big buck tried to tread down new 
 paths, he cut himself unmercifully about 
 the hoofs. With lolling tongue he was 
 looking out along the forest, debating, 
 when a wild cry a sharp, querulous howl- 
 ing lifted above the murmuring of the 
 wind among the trees. Oof ooo-oooo ! 
 Wooo oof ooo / 
 
 It was a dog. He drew himself together 
 with a shock. Nearer came the sound. 
 With wild eyes he looked along his trail. 
 The dog was in the yard. It was coming! 
 Turning on his heel, he fled, and at the 
 instant the voice of another hound was 
 
TERROR. 49 
 
 added to the clamour. Then he knew. His 
 old enemies had returned. 
 
 The buck shot down the open path, 
 starting the other deer. He dashed among 
 them, pushing right and left, agonized in 
 the effort to escape, yet still intent to lose 
 his track among theirs. But at that in- 
 stant a hound appeared in front; there 
 was a wild babel of dreadful sounds. He 
 saw the dog spring upon the fawn. It fell, 
 struggled madly, and then the hound wor- 
 ried it upon the ground. 
 
 Frenzied, the buck turned aside. The 
 dog was in his path, and one stroke of his 
 sharpened hoof would have slain the crea- 
 ture at its work. But his own precious 
 life was at risk. He fled, and, uncon- 
 scious of the cutting crust, crashed through 
 the forest. Bump crash bump bump ! 
 In mad terror he raced along. Once he 
 heard the fawn blat piteously, and the cry 
 quickened him. But he had hardly reached 
 the crest of the slope when again he heard 
 a hound give tongue. He was pursued. 
 
50 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 He saw the hound leap from the last path 
 in the yard and come racing after him, 
 sometimes galloping along the crust, and 
 again breaking through. The buck was 
 almost spent; the hound drew nearer, its 
 tongue hanging from its red and dripping 
 jaws. At every step it gave tongue till 
 the forest was filled with the sound. 
 
 The buck could go no farther. He 
 turned, his neck ruffled, a red, ugly gleam 
 in his eyes. He was cornered, driven to 
 his last stride, and must fight! Boo-ooof! 
 roared the hound. It sprang at his throat, 
 but the treacherous crust gave way, and 
 there it lay at the feet of the buck, wallow- 
 ing and defenceless. 
 
 For an instant there was silence. The 
 dog, bewildered, lay there, the buck loom- 
 ing above it. Then the deer lifted both 
 fore feet together, and with a powerful, 
 sweeping stroke, beat it down. Again 
 and again he struck, furious. The snow 
 grew red beneath his hoofs, and silently he 
 kept on a wild, remorseless destroyer. 
 
Lifted both fore feet together, and with a powerful, sweeping stroke 
 beat it down." 
 
TERROR. 51 
 
 Before long the huddled bundle of fur be- 
 neath his feet neither moved nor made 
 sound, yet still he kept on. He saw noth- 
 ing, heard nothing. Fury possessed him. 
 
 A man appeared in the brush. He held 
 a striving hound in leash the mate of 
 the one lying dead in the snow. At sight 
 of the stamping buck the man shouted, 
 while his dog made strenuous efforts to 
 break away. " Down there ! " cried the 
 man, beating the creature about the head, 
 but its efforts only grew more frantic. It 
 whined, trembling with eagerness, and then 
 bayed hoarsely. 
 
 At the note the buck halted an instant, 
 staring about, his awful fear renewed. He 
 saw the hound break from the leash and 
 spring toward him. Then, wheeling, he 
 fled away again. 
 
 His only chance was to regain the yard, 
 to find the tracks of the other deer, and to 
 turn the dog upon their trail. But as he 
 circled down the slope, the inexorable crea- 
 ture at his heels gaining at every bound, 
 
52 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 he felt his strength deserting. He plunged 
 on, his tongue out and his eyes wavering. 
 He reached the yard and raced along the 
 path. At the turn he almost fell upon 
 the fawn's inert body. Recoiling in horror, 
 he turned down another path. It ended 
 against a wall of snow, and the dog was 
 close at his heels. There was no retreat. 
 He leaped again upon the crust, and wal- 
 lowed into a near-by path. Down this he 
 raced, and again it led to the fawn. He 
 tried another path, yet still could not shake 
 the hound from his heels nor find where 
 the other deer had left the yard. Once 
 more he tried and failed and the hound 
 had him by the throat. Blindly he strug- 
 gled, striking out with both feet. One 
 crushing stroke fell upon the dog; it gave 
 a long-drawn howl and fell before him. 
 Again he fell upon the enemy, striking 
 and slashing with his sharp fore feet, and 
 as he stood, crushing it beneath him, a rifle 
 cracked in the woods. Then he died. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LEGS THE STORY OF A COYOTE. 
 
 LEGS was a transplanted theory. Nor- 
 mally, he was a coyote born between 
 blizzards somewhere west of the Little Mis- 
 souri ; afterward he was an alien put down 
 in Tennessee. He came east by way of 
 Wichita, Kansas, a rowdy, fuzzy realism 
 of meanness and greed, famine-bred, and 
 with a voice several octaves higher than any 
 harmony pleasing to the human ear. His 
 fear and hatred of man and dog were in- 
 bred. In the beginning, when he was still 
 a gummy-eyed cub, a cowboy dug him and 
 his mother and four others of his kind 
 from an earth at the bottom of a cut-bank. 
 His first impression of life was death 
 the cowboy dragging him into the indecent 
 light of day, where a pack of sheep-dogs 
 was worrying the mangled body of the old 
 
 53 
 
54 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 she-coyote. Naturally, he had reason to 
 fear and to hate. Later, he was thrown 
 into a pen at a ranch, where he ran around 
 and around till he was dizzy. Then he 
 fell down and howled, a habit he never 
 outgrew. 
 
 The idea that Legs embodied was this. 
 On the plains they credit the coyote with 
 the feet of a centipede and the gait of a 
 limited express. Once started, he is a yel- 
 low streak across the landscape, dissolving 
 into the distance like dust before a tor- 
 nado. But in Tennessee there is a pack 
 of hounds that is also a living symbol of 
 haste, bred down to a perspective point 
 of twenty couples through two centuries 
 of dog. They are the pick of their kind, 
 straight-limbed, full of heart and fire, and 
 as true and remorseless on a scent as the 
 inevitable working of fate. No red fox 
 can lose them in the open, and when scent 
 lies well they make short work of the lazy 
 gray. So Legs came east with others of 
 his kind to try them newly in their speed. 
 
LEGS. 55 
 
 He was put down in the Harris country 
 alone, still a cub and with an outrageous 
 appetite out of all proportion to his size. 
 A long box sunk into the side of a gully 
 was his home, and as its outward end was 
 barred with a grill, his first impressions of 
 the new country were scant. But to his 
 astonishment food was plenty. Once every 
 day a tan-faced man with a black beard 
 fed him beef bones such as he had never 
 eaten before, and with the fulness of food 
 in plenty his ribs filled out until he was 
 like my lady's pug in the parlour. But even 
 in prosperity his meanness could not wane. 
 Whenever the man with a beard brought 
 dinner, Legs snarled and showed his teeth, 
 and at last, with the familiarity that breeds 
 contempt, he helped himself, between bites 
 at the beef, to the man's incautious thumb. 
 Instantly peace departed. The bars were 
 kicked away, and though he retreated snap- 
 ping and snarling to the rear of the ready- 
 made den, he was dragged forth, and with 
 a parting kick turned out into the wide, 
 
56 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 wide world. Then a new life began for 
 Legs. 
 
 In the Harris country there are wide 
 reaches of open landscape seamed like a 
 wind-chap with sharp-cut gullies. Big tim- 
 ber, black swamp, and thickets hem in 
 these stretches, prairies in miniature. His 
 first fleeting impression was that a kind 
 Providence had returned him to the plains. 
 But Legs had hardly stretched his eager 
 limbs when he brought up against a neck 
 of woods. Moreover, almost under his 
 pads was the doorstep of a cabin, a good 
 place to prospect about midnight, but no- 
 wise healthy in the full light of day. A 
 dog barked, and he turned aside, slitting 
 the atmosphere toward a hilltop, where he 
 paused and looked back. Far down in the 
 hollows he could see the black-bearded 
 man loping along on a horse, and for a 
 while he sat up on his hams and watched. 
 Then the man disappeared, and he was alone. 
 
 Solitude stretched about him. The red 
 orb of the westering sun sank toward the 
 
Far down in the hollows he could see the black-bearded man loping 
 along on a horse." 
 
LEGS. 57 
 
 ridges, twilight was coming, and long shad- 
 ows reached forward from the woods. 
 Then that innate woe which is the heri- 
 tage of the coyote seized upon him, and 
 he lifted up his thin, keen nose toward 
 the skies. " Oh oh-h-h-oo-ooo-hooo yi-yi- 
 hi!" he wailed. "Oh-ohrhh-yi-yi-hi!" The 
 woods threw back the sound, and a ready 
 answer came from the farm dog far across 
 the rolling plain. Legs cocked up his ear 
 and listened. Again the honest dog bayed 
 at the shrill whisper in the evening wind, 
 that seeking, tremulous note of misery 
 which the coyote voices from his retreat 
 in the arroyos and canons of his native 
 West. At the foe's reply Legs ruffled the 
 hair upon his yellow neck, snarled till his 
 teeth lay bare, and then, licking his lips 
 savagely, linked away down the slopes. 
 But though he showed this bravery toward 
 the unseen dog, he still kept an uneasy 
 glance over his shoulder after he had 
 slouched down into a vagabond walk. 
 Hunger oppressed him. Through the 
 
58 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 death of his mother he lacked early oppor- 
 tunities, and he had never before been cast 
 upon the world to provide for himself both 
 food and drink. So he howled anew, his 
 querulous note wailing away into the key 
 of the night wind murmuring among the 
 trees. Oh, such sorrow! He sat upon 
 his hams and pointed out the stars with 
 his nose, directing his complaint to the 
 heavens, an eerie, blood-stilling burst of 
 mad babbling. Once more he rose to all 
 fours and slunk along, trying the wind in 
 all quarters for some scent of an evening 
 meal. True to his nature, he circled about, 
 and at length struck upon his own track 
 leading from the box where the wrathy 
 man had bounced him forth with an em- 
 phatic gesture of his boot. Sneuff! He 
 drew in a taint of meat meat seven days 
 old and strong! With a yap of delight 
 he raced along his back track, and a mo- 
 ment later was munching a beef bone 
 before the mouth of the old, familiar den. 
 The moon came out. He had finished 
 
LEGS. 59 
 
 the bone, mumbling over the flintlike 
 knuckle until at length he reduced it to 
 pulp. Then he wolfed down the splinters, 
 and looked about for more. But there 
 was only a little blood on the gully sand, 
 and after licking this regretfully with his 
 sinuous tongue, he desisted and turned his 
 mind to other woes. An hour before the 
 only sorrow that the world seemed to hold 
 in store was hunger. But now that the 
 edge of appetite was blunted, he found 
 room for other griefs. Oh, how solitary 
 he felt! Once more he squatted on his 
 hams, his fore paws planted before him, and 
 yowled. But it did no good. The vast 
 solitude took up and drowned his voice, 
 and there was no answering cry of a fellow 
 coyote. No doubt he wondered that there 
 should be no mate anywhere in the world. 
 For an hour he rasped his throat, and at 
 length, with a last disconsolate tremolo, 
 ceased, and curled up in his den. 
 
 Morning came, and he lay at the mouth 
 of the box, blinking at the light. It was 
 
60 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 not good, he knew, to keep such hours, 
 but then he had an instinctive notion that 
 the black-bearded man might return. But 
 the day passed, and he was not disturbed. 
 At nightfall he went forth again in search 
 of food, but, save for an indefinable scent 
 of the blood in the gully sand, he could 
 find no suggestion of dinner. The best 
 he could do was to sniff this ghost of the 
 repast ; and, tortured by its hollow mock- 
 ery, he loped to the nearest hilltop and 
 yelped discords up and down the darkness. 
 In his heart he hated the silence and 
 strove to destroy it. But in the end, si- 
 lence gained the upper hand; and, dis- 
 gusted, he slunk off among the gullies. 
 
 A week passed, and famine touched him. 
 He looked at his ribs reflectively, and won- 
 dered when they would burst through his 
 matted hide. Within, his vitals seemed 
 tied in a double knot that each day drew 
 tighter. Then a kind Providence directed 
 his steps toward a distant field, where a 
 dead crow swung from a stick in the midst 
 
LEGS. 61 
 
 of the withered corn. Time and the wind 
 and weather had fairly desiccated the 
 scrawny bird, until it was like dust in his 
 mouth. But he munched it ravenously, 
 and with hope reviving cast about through 
 the fields. 
 
 Once more he had squatted on a hilltop, 
 and was about to raise his song of woe, 
 sorrowful like Ruth among the alien, when 
 something stayed him. A cattle path 
 stretched tortuously down the hill, and in 
 the sharp moonlight he saw a shadowy 
 creature tripping between the walls of 
 grass. A rabbit ! He remembered that 
 long ago some one had thrown a live one 
 into his pen at the ranch. All quivering, 
 he crouched, and at the movement, the 
 oncoming quarry, startled, bounced aside, 
 and with tremendous leaps sped away into 
 the darkness. Before Legs had quite 
 made up his mind what to do his dinner 
 had fled, and, mad with anguish, he howled 
 till the hills mocked him with ghastly 
 echoes. 
 
62 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 But if there was one rabbit, why not more ? 
 Hunger had sharpened his wits. He lolled 
 down the slope, treading cautiously, and pass- 
 ing a fence, peered out into a cotton-field. 
 
 There was a rabbit ! 
 
 Step by step Legs stole toward it. He 
 saw poor Molly Cotton settle down, saw her 
 big eyes grow bright with terror, fascinated 
 at his approach. One step two three. 
 He gave a great bounce and landed, snap- 
 ping eagerly with his distended jaws, and 
 What misery disappointments hold in store ! 
 What sorrows anticipation brings! His 
 teeth met in the ground, and away in the 
 distance Bunny streaked, gone away with 
 the speed of fear. Legs gazed with sorrow- 
 ing heart about him. He snuffed at the 
 rabbit's form, still warm from the heat of her 
 fur, still redolent of the dinner that was not. 
 The voice of Legs grew so strong in misery 
 that a watch-dog heard, and came bouncing 
 forth, his hair on end, and baying stridently. 
 Then the coyote fled, and at the edge of the 
 swamp bounced another rabbit, almost from 
 
LEGS. 63 
 
 under foot. With an eager yelp he forgot 
 the dog and pursued. But the cotton-tail 
 knew its work, and leaped, full-gaited, into 
 the thickness of a briar patch. A streamer 
 of thorns raked Legs across the nose, 
 another streaked him across the eyes, and 
 "yip-ki-ki yap" he halted, all fours planted 
 forward to stop him. Then, after ruefully 
 rubbing his nose, he slunk home to his den, 
 hunger griping anew within him and dis- 
 appointment adding to its vigour. 
 
 Experience teaches. Legs studied out 
 the problem, and, when night fell again, he 
 was at the edge of the cotton-field, waiting. 
 He lay crouched, lurking in the shadow, and 
 poor Bunny came trotting down her accus- 
 tomed run. Darkness clothed the tragedy. 
 Who heard the sharp squeal of anguish, the 
 flurry among the leaves, and after that the 
 scrunch of tender bone and the low growl 
 and guzzling of the slayer? Only Legs. 
 He slouched away afterward, grinning, and 
 licking his bloody chops. Again and again 
 a similar tragedy was repeated. 
 
64 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Time passed. Legs took to roaming. He 
 learned the openings, and stretched away 
 ten miles or more on a jaunt. He passed 
 out of the Harris country, trafficked through 
 the bottoms to Coles's Pond, or northwest- 
 ward into the Sard is ranges. One night 
 he rollicked up from the lowlands, slunk 
 through a deep gully, and rushed the bank. 
 Terror ! Right before him was a big house, 
 all ablaze with lights, and a sudden babel of 
 dog music nearly deafened him. With his 
 scrubby brush trailing low, he fled at full 
 speed. But curiosity got the better of him. 
 He sneaked back to the hill and looked. 
 Men yes and dogs ; many of them. At 
 this point he moved out of the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 One night in the Harris country Legs 
 sat upon a hill, offering his usual obbli- 
 gato to the skies, when a sudden answer 
 near threw him out of his wits. " Oo-oh-hh- 
 yi-yi! n With a complimentary howl, a sud- 
 den burst of piping music, he slipped down 
 the hill, leaped a gully, and raced toward the 
 

 11 Legs. 
 
LEGS. 65 
 
 voice that was cutting the night silence into 
 finger bits. 
 
 It was another coyote ! 
 
 Sniff ! Legs dropped to a dignified walk 
 and approached. Ten feet away he dropped 
 on his hams, and with lolling tongue gazed 
 in apparent unconcern at this other stray. 
 Also, the other affected unconcern. 
 
 Sniff ! They approached. With the gen- 
 tlemanly inclinations of the coyote, each 
 showed its teeth. Then they trotted apart, 
 performed a few bars of night music, and 
 returned. Each was disposed to hold pleas- 
 ing discourse with the other, to talk over 
 things, and to seek solace in this solitude. 
 But of a sudden each discovered that the 
 other was not a fair visitant not of the 
 weaker influential sex and with that each 
 took hold. The stranger coyote possessed 
 himself of Legs's ear, while Legs took a 
 comfortable hold of the other's fore leg and 
 scrunched. The fur flew, but the stranger, 
 losing interest, withdrew his leg at the 
 earliest opportunity and decamped. Min- 
 
66 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 utes later he sat in the distance, mocking 
 the victor's song of triumph. 
 
 Legs spent the night and the following 
 day trying all the gullies. He hoped, no 
 doubt, to find more congenial kin. But 
 though there was a she-coyote and her cubs 
 working the ranges still farther at the west, 
 he could find only her half-obliterated trail. 
 Again and again she heard the voice of Legs 
 saw-filing the night away, but, mindful of 
 her cubs and the homicidal appetite of a 
 strange and hungry coyote, she purposely 
 gave no answer. So once more Legs fared 
 homeward across the big gullies home 
 again to the Harris range. 
 
 Life, so far, had been filled with leisure 
 for Legs. But now he was to hustle for a 
 living not only for a living, but, indeed, 
 for life itself. Impudent and sleek, fatly 
 fed upon the unfortunate rabbits, he turned 
 to other fare, and in an incautious moment 
 helped himself to a goose from a distant 
 farm. He got away with the honker, but 
 near paid for it with his life when the 
 
LEGS. 67 
 
 farmer saw him again. As Legs perched 
 insolently upon a neighbouring mound, re- 
 flecting what a sudden dash might accom- 
 plish among the geese in the barnyard, the 
 farmer saw him and approached. Legs 
 arose, insolent as ever, yawned, and kept 
 his distance. He was trotting off in surly 
 contempt when the man let go at him with 
 a shotgun, and when the forward pellets 
 struck, Legs performed some surprising 
 movements, howled strenuously, and fled at 
 full speed. Only a shot or so had touched 
 him, and no doubt he outran the rest. Also 
 he had learned the lesson that there are 
 some things in the world that even the legs 
 of a coyote cannot outpace. 
 
 A shrill baying disturbed his reflections. 
 Legs loped to the nearest hilltop and looked 
 back. He saw the farmhouse hound draw 
 on, hot-paced, along the breast-high scent. 
 For a moment he watched the lumbering 
 chase, saw the hound range the hill and 
 come rollicking toward the slope, crying 
 eagerly as the scent grew warmer still. 
 
68 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Amused ? Legs felt his ruffled feelings 
 fade as he marked his clumsy foe come pad- 
 dling onward. Then he went down into 
 the dry sand of a gully, and tied his trail in 
 knots. After this he took a side leap, and 
 with his tail airily on high, went elsewhere, 
 while the baffled hound whimpered, at a loss. 
 Legs had the fun of his life whenever the 
 farm hound was abroad. Sometimes, when 
 life hung lazily upon him, he slipped over 
 to the farmhouse, and mocked the baying 
 dog. He sat upon the hilltops waiting, and 
 when the hound came forth, contemptu- 
 ously showed himself. But the hound never 
 learned. At full cry he gave chase to this 
 phantom of speed, this yellow something 
 that for a while played on before, to depart 
 at last, a shadow flying across the land- 
 scape. Sometimes Legs ran around the 
 hill, worked his patterns in a sand gully, 
 and then sat at the crest watching the baf- 
 fled hound at work below. Once he led the 
 hound a ten-mile chase across the chap- 
 marked land to a gully where he had found 
 
LEGS. 69 
 
 another box sunk into a bank. Here he 
 backed down, and when the hound tried 
 with gallant eagerness to snatch him forth, 
 Legs sank his fangs deep into the nose of 
 the harrying foe. When Legs chose to let 
 go the nose was abruptly withdrawn, ac- 
 companied by remarks in a shrill treble, 
 ending with painful ki-yis. Yet this, the 
 hour of triumph, was the beginning of the 
 end. 
 
 The hound came home sore-footed and 
 smeared with blood. " Barb wiah, shuah, 
 sah ! " said the farmer. Then, after re- 
 flection : " No, sah, not wiah, but that 
 damned coyo-tajy/" So formal complaint 
 was lodged against Legs, and horse and 
 hound went up against him. 
 
 Legs lay at the head of a gully, consider- 
 ing his digestion and the last Molly Cotton 
 that had come up the trail. His yellow 
 eyes, blinking through their narrow slits, 
 were dull with sleep and the fulness of a 
 square meal. Satisfaction filled him with 
 gentle repose, and he yawned, stretching 
 
70 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 his jaws till the serried fangs stood out- 
 ward, gleaming in relief against his scarlet 
 tongue. " Ye-ah ! " he yawned, stretching 
 a hind leg. He rolled over anew, and was 
 settling into his sandy bed when something 
 awoke him with a start. He cocked one 
 ear and listened. A note of snarling horn 
 music rang across the opening. It harked 
 like the baying of a distant hound, and Legs 
 arose. He wondered whether his old friend 
 from the farm was on the trail anew, and 
 a shade of annoyance ruffled up his brows. 
 Again the horn sounded. He trotted to 
 his favourite hilltop, and, squatting upon his 
 hams, peered into the valley below. A 
 horseman appeared another then another 
 and more. Black dots moved among 
 them they were hounds ; more than he had 
 ever seen before. Their tails, upright, waved 
 among the grasstops ; they cast wide, work- 
 ing up and down the open and along all the 
 edge of the distant swamp. A faint shout 
 reached his ears " Hi-ii-i ! Kimrie, hi ! 
 Hike ! Trailer on ! Bright Eyes, there ! " 
 
LEGS. 71 
 
 He saw the tan-faced man with the black 
 beard laying on the hounds, and with a sud- 
 den start Legs remembered that his rabbit- 
 hunting had led him at dawn along that 
 selfsame swamp edge. 
 
 A hound gave tongue, a nervous, whim- 
 pering tone, yet eager and ready. At the 
 voice, Legs saw a chocolate-spotted hound, 
 full-shouldered and big, with lop ears and 
 sloping shoulders, drive apart from the 
 pack, and fare about alone. He saw this 
 hound range out into the open, up the wind, 
 and heard again the cry " Hike ! Kimrie ! " 
 
 Again a hound gave tongue. " Hi on, 
 Trailer hunt him out ! " Kimrie, off at 
 one side, loped along abreast, ready to burst 
 away in front if the pack should find, and 
 content to let the others work. But the 
 scent was cold, and the trailing slow. Legs, 
 from his hilltop, saw the pack overrun his 
 morning track, and grinned. But elation 
 was short-lived. The pack cast back, and 
 higher up the wind. "Ki-yeow!" bayed 
 the impatient puppies, falling upon the in- 
 
72 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 definable scent. Farther out was Kimrie 
 ranging, at work at last, but all on his own 
 account. He pushed on. Below, Trailer 
 was working out the knotted skein, the 
 meandering of Legs in search of a dinner. 
 " Yow-yap / " voiced the eager ones, then 
 " Kow aaow-yi-yi buh-ooo-oo-oooh yi-yi- 
 ki-iii-i /" Kimrie had found, a breast-high 
 scent hardly half an hour old. 
 
 The rest tolled in, all adding their voices 
 to the turmoil. Legs from his hilltop saw 
 the riders take in their fretting hunters, 
 waiting for the last bunch to get away. 
 Up the crest streamed the rabble of hounds, 
 harked on by the man with the beard ; and 
 the woods gave back in babbling echoes the 
 music of the pack as it went away at speed. 
 
 Legs concluded it was time to move. 
 Whatever they were trailing might come 
 along his way, and Heavens, it was him- 
 self they were running ! Over the crest of 
 the hill came the chocolate-spotted hound, 
 Kimrie, far in the lead. " Ba-ow-ww-yi- 
 yi!" he yawped, as his eye fell upon Legs. 
 
LEGS. 73 
 
 It was no time for pleasantries. Legs som- 
 ersaulted over the edge of the bank, struck 
 the gully bottom, and stretched himself. 
 He fled along the hollow swifter than a tur- 
 key buzzard's shadow on a hillside, his ears 
 flat back, and his hind feet ahead of his nose 
 at every stride. No time now to double 
 and twist in the sand. Slinking Kimrie had 
 bounced him too close for that, or for any 
 other tricks, yet a while. Life, now, was 
 in his speed ; he must stretch country be- 
 tween him and the babbling pack before he 
 could try precious moments for a baffling 
 side jump or for tangled tracks in the sand 
 gullies. So he stretched away to the north. 
 Far away he halted, turned, and cocked 
 up an ear. A faint echo of the pack sounded 
 at the rear. His run up the gully sand had 
 checked them a bit, but instinct told him 
 that they had trailed him out anew, and 
 even now were screaming in pursuit. His 
 jaw wrinkled, showing all his fangs in con- 
 tempt and hatred. But if he were to throw 
 off this harrying crew, he must be at work. 
 
74 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 He slipped down, then, into the nearest 
 gully, and danced a minuet through the sun- 
 baked sands, and at the end, with a tall leap, 
 jumped the bank and departed. 
 
 From the heights he looked down. He 
 saw the pack, strung out into three big 
 bunches, stream up the slope and turn in, at 
 full cry, through the gully gap. High-voiced 
 Kimrie and his followers charged along, over- 
 ran the scent, dropped their voicing to a 
 whimper, circled, and fell all at fault. Legs 
 sniffed disdainfully. He watched the worry- 
 ing hounds cast about afresh, and presently 
 the hunt came thundering toward the check. 
 " Hike ! on, Kimrie on, Trailer hi-ii ! 
 Bright Eyes Jake ! " 
 
 No use. Legs's plane geometry laid out 
 upon the deadening sand had them all at 
 fault. But presently he saw the pack drawn 
 off, and cast again in a big circle. Its sphere 
 drew perilously close to the watching coyote, 
 and, after a moment's reflection, he trotted on. 
 But once more a chocolate-spotted hound 
 the inevitable Kimrie appeared before him. 
 
LEGS. 75 
 
 The hound was ranging far ; he had cut off 
 the straight line that Legs had set toward 
 the distant Sardis range, the straight line 
 that every coyote takes when a hunt is on 
 his trail, and Legs, to escape, was forced to 
 circle wide. The move was almost fatal. 
 The other hounds, drawing on, cut corners, 
 and once he was nearly headed. No more 
 circling after this, thought Legs, as he 
 streaked away to the Whitney place, where 
 there was sanctuary in a box across the rail- 
 road track. Gasping and blown, his heart 
 burning in his breast like a live coal, he 
 reached the box, leaped into its shelter, and 
 had hardly turned when the hounds were 
 baying fiercely at the opening. 
 
 They took up the hounds and went away. 
 Legs's last view of them was the black- 
 bearded man peering purple-faced through 
 the door of his retreat. " Got off, eh ? But 
 what we'll do to you the next time, mind 
 you, '11 be a plenty!" But Legs resolved 
 that he'd have no such heart-burning again. 
 He would see to that, he would. 
 
76 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 A fortnight passed. Legs, undisturbed, 
 took up life on the big hilly plain above the 
 railroad. Once or twice they heard him sing- 
 ing down the moon, and made plans for the 
 pack to bounce him out again. But with 
 the change of the moon he turned back to 
 the Harris country, where a dead cow lay in 
 a gully and there were more rabbits in the 
 runs. Here at last they found him again. 
 From his coign of vantage he saw the hounds 
 laid on; Kimrie, as usual, ranging up the 
 wind. Disgraceful, he thought. Here he 
 had just dined fitly upon the post-mortem 
 cow, and was in no mood or condition to go 
 streaking across the country. So he made a 
 bolt for the nearest den-box, but, by ill chance, 
 drew near it just as a bunch of stragglers 
 came ripping up the gully. With his tail 
 flying low, he turned and fled away, laying 
 his chest to the ground, and fairly sobbing at 
 every stride. Three miles of this, however, 
 warmed him up ; he ran more easily, and 
 again, ahead of the chase, dashed into sanc- 
 tuary, safe. 
 
LEGS. 77 
 
 It was a good run too good, in fact, for 
 the health of Legs. Though he knew it not, 
 he was a marked coyote. He made good 
 sport, and that settled it. They ran him at 
 every chance. Life became a continual tor- 
 ment. He went back to the Sardis country, 
 was bounced anew, and streaking back toward 
 the railroad, circled wide to reach the box. 
 But Kimrie must have learned. When Legs 
 galloped on in a big circle, Kimrie shot 
 across on the chord, and blocked the runway 
 to the box. There was nothing left for Legs 
 but to stream off anew toward the Harris 
 range. So back he went, and, half dead, 
 made the box his first home just in the 
 nick of time to save his hide from the lead- 
 ing bunch of hounds. 
 
 Then the dry weather set in, and Legs 
 took heart again. The trailing was slow, 
 and often the pack were at loss to work their 
 noses on the brittle, dusty ground. So he 
 sat on the hilltops watching, and his old 
 contempt returned. Once he grew big with 
 daring and showed himself. Wild with 
 
78 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 excitement, the leaders burst into cry, but 
 their speed was no match for his preliminary 
 spurt. He lost them easily in the first big 
 gully, and then sat down hard by while they 
 puzzled and whimpered over the trail. Pres- 
 ently he went rabbit hunting, quite con- 
 vinced that he was supreme. 
 
 The weather changed. The top soil fresh- 
 ened with dampness, and the old trails and 
 tracts in the sand were washed to a level. 
 Once more Legs heard the snarling of the 
 horn, the shrill cries of the hunt, the dog 
 music, and the thudding of hoofs as the 
 riders came faring along. He arose and 
 lunged sullenly to the hill-crest. The pack 
 was streaming wide. He saw the old hounds 
 working on ahead, the puppies babbling now 
 and then at their heels. But Kimrie where 
 was Kimrie? Look there up along the hill! 
 See that sharp tail carried high, that quick 
 form working through the grass. There was 
 Kimrie, and the coyote bounced forth with 
 the self-working hound almost upon him. 
 
 Away they went, short shift for Legs. Far 
 
LEGS. 79 
 
 away a good ten miles was the Whitney 
 place, for the pack was already between him 
 and his old-time home, the box in the gully 
 bank. It was afternoon. Legs had slept off 
 his last heavy meal, and was lean and fresh. 
 He leaped to the nearest gully, raced up the 
 sand, and jumped the bank. But the top 
 surface broke beneath his eager pads, leav- 
 ing a damp, hot trail behind. Instinctively 
 he knew it, and a fierce dread came into his 
 heart. Stretching out into the open, he fled 
 away, the whole pack bunched and close upon 
 his heels. Away away toward the Sardis 
 ranges to the deep gullies beyond to 
 the hard ground and the sheeplands where 
 he might baffle pursuit. His perils oppressed 
 him. He shot away, forgetting to save his 
 strength. The crying voices hurried in his 
 train, and there ahead desperation! a 
 patch of heavy timber blocked him. He 
 turned in full view. There was no other 
 chance his instinctive choice of open coun- 
 try forced him. The hounds, in full sight, 
 cut corners. He strained his muscles, flying 
 
8o IN THE FOREST. 
 
 at dizzy speed across pasture and heavy 
 plough. Beyond was his sanctuary, but the 
 pack was creeping up. Two centuries of 
 blood and breeding against a pariah of count- 
 less starveling generations. The strain told. 
 Over his shoulder he saw them coming, and 
 in the rear the tan-faced man of the black 
 beard urging onward a wide-gaited thorough- 
 bred. Others plied at his heels. Terror 
 was in the heart of Legs Legs, the thief, 
 pariah, alien. Oh, for a sanctuary ! He 
 swung circling toward the box beside the 
 railroad, and there was Kimrie backed up 
 by the black hound Trailer. Wisely they 
 had cut the corner ; again he was headed off. 
 There was no other way. He must lead the 
 mad chase far away. But, perhaps His 
 memory recalled the haunts in Sardis many 
 miles beyond. Speed now was his only hope. 
 The climb to the hilltop was stiff, but it left 
 the heavy hounds behind. He took fresh 
 hope, but short-lived indeed. They were on 
 him anew. No use. He must turn and 
 fight, and against what odds ! 
 
LEGS. 8 1 
 
 He leaped into the nearest gully, looking 
 for a niche to back down so that he might 
 fight them off in front. He ran up and 
 down, seeking. But the blank walls of sand 
 faced him on every side. A bunch of hounds 
 sailed into view, and headlong plunged into 
 the gulch. Backing into a bush, his paws 
 before him, Legs snapped snarling at the fore- 
 most. 
 
 " Bow-ow-ow / " roared a heavy bass of 
 hound music. Legs stood there at bay, his 
 dripping fangs shown in menace to the 
 leaders. They fell back an instant, then over 
 the bank raced Kimrie and at his flank was 
 black Trailer. The couple leaped upon him. 
 He set back, and one had him by the throat. 
 Then the cloud of hounds flung themselves 
 upon the fight. He struck right and left 
 with his fangs, the teeth clicking as they met 
 in flesh and fur. Trailer he bit through the 
 face, and the hound snatched off, only to fall 
 on far more savagely, and with a wide leap 
 Kimrie launched himself on the coyote's back, 
 silent and dreadful. Legs bit him in the 
 
82 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 flank, but the hound gave no heed. He 
 sunk his teeth to the coyote's spine, there 
 was a sharp scrunch, and the pariah and 
 thief was done. He fell back, his haunches 
 trailing useless, and that was the end. 
 Though he still bit and fought about, the 
 crushing pack fell upon him. Once he 
 howled. 
 
 Over the hill came the horsemen, thunder- 
 ing down the slope. Legs, in the midst of 
 the baying hounds, was fighting but weakly 
 to the last. With the last show of 
 strength he turned upon a puppy, and bit 
 it on the ear. Then the pack buried him 
 under, and he struck no more. 
 
 Thus ends the story of Legs. 
 
"Over the bank raced Kimrie. . . . Then the cloud of hounds flung 
 themselves upon the fight." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TRAGEDY THE STORY OF A MOOSE. 
 
 OVER there in the north by the edge of 
 the upper Ottawa lies a chain of ponds 
 lost in the heart of solitude. Murmuring 
 sedges rim their turgid waters, and summer 
 sheets them with a rank, sick greenery of 
 matted lily pads. Around lies a waste of 
 bush on one side the swamps of the black 
 Beauchene; on the other, a wide sweep of 
 heavy timber choked with torn and broken 
 windfalls. Here track the moose, crossing 
 from shore to shore, gorging on the lush and 
 spongy lily roots, or wallowing in the mal- 
 odorous mud. Peace is theirs. Few jour- 
 ney in this wild, and there they grow big 
 moose, the bulls with antlers spreading an 
 arm's breadth across. 
 
 Chabot Chabot of the Algonquins sat 
 at his cabin door. Below, on the shore of 
 
 83 
 
84 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Bumb Creek, his canoe lay beached, still 
 piled with his pack, an axe, and three rusty 
 bear traps. He had just come down from 
 the north from the Beauchene and his 
 larrikins showed it. One was as full of holes 
 as a rotten rabbit blanket, and the other 
 dragged behind a disconsolate, flapping sole. 
 As Chabot said explosively with an oath, the 
 Beauchene was a place to send an enemy, 
 but never to take a friend. " Moccasin dam 
 gone ! " he exclaimed, ruefully reflecting upon 
 the condition of his footgear. In a bucket 
 at his elbow stood a new pair, fresh from the 
 H. B. store, soaking against the time when 
 he should try them on. But presently his 
 face lightened, and his air of slow dejection 
 vanished like a cloud before the summer sun. 
 " See um moose," said he this to Peter, 
 heir of all the Chabots. " See um one, two, 
 four moose one big, dam bull!" Peter 
 evinced a proper interest, but Chabot had 
 halted, again studying the deplorable condi- 
 tion of his moccasins. From this he turned 
 to an inspection of the larrikins soaking in 
 
TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 the bucket. Having turned the water out of 
 them, he tried on the pair, thrusting his feet 
 into their soggy depths. Then he arose, 
 squashing the leather into shape with a grunt 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 " How big dat moose ? " demanded Peter, 
 desiring accurate information. 
 
 " Um dunno. Mebbe so big bimeby 
 dunno." He spread his arms to denote the 
 width of antlers, and Peter, in derision, 
 grinned. But Chabot gave no heed to the 
 doubting of his heir. " Big moose, dat. Mos' 
 big moose I ever saw." He turned slowly 
 toward the north, his fat, bland face staring 
 into the direction of the distant Beauchene. 
 " Bimeby I go call dat moose. Mattawa fel- 
 ler give me 'leven twenty forty dollar. 
 I kill um dat moose. Dunno go shoot urn 
 dat moose, sure 'miff." 
 
 Peter still sat, scratching his head in 
 thought. A month before, by the judicious 
 trading of certain mink and musquash skins 
 and an otter pelt, he had become possessed 
 of a gun. It was an archaic arm, a relic of 
 
86 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 bygone days, and was calculated to slay all 
 within its neighbourhood without discrimina- 
 tion in favour of its owner. But Peter, having 
 tried it with disastrous effect on a neighbour's 
 geese, was eager to use it on the moose, a 
 quarry yet to fall before him. 
 
 " Bimeby," said Peter, thoughtfully, "bime- 
 by I go kill um dat moose myself." 
 
 "Hunh!" exclaimed Chabot, with scorn 
 and disgust. " Bimeby I take um club." 
 He reached out, and with a brawny hand in 
 Peter's hair, his oily, black, and tangled hair, 
 lifted Peter to his feet. 
 
 " Sure," said Chabot, " sure you go up in 
 Beauchene, sartin you get lost. Bimeby you 
 run round holler. Bimeby you fall down. 
 Den muckwa^ come, and den Peter goo'-by. 
 You try dat, sartin I take um club." 
 
 Peter frowned in recollection of that club. 
 More than once he had felt it play a lively 
 staccato upon his ribs a sore memory that 
 still stirred his imagination. But even so, 
 he ached to go north into the Beauchene, 
 
 1 Algonquin for bear. 
 
A cow, the summer's calf, and a spike-horn bull ; behind them a lord 
 of the swamps . . . swinging his antlered crest." 
 
TRAGEDY 87 
 
 though he knew he should ache still more 
 were his fond parent to find him straying 
 upon any portage in that wild. 
 
 Summer waned. Over there in the north 
 the nights grew crisp, and a growing, glitter- 
 ing moon stared down upon the solitude. 
 At midday a murmuring host of flies still 
 came forth, but in the chill night air they 
 died. Then the moose took comfort. Here, 
 now, along the last pond in the chain came a 
 herd of four a cow, the summer's calf, and 
 a spike-horn bull ; behind them, a lord of the 
 swamps, a great bull, swinging his antlered 
 crest lightly as if these heavy fronds were 
 wisps of straw. His horns, though fully 
 grown, were still in the velvet broad, and 
 spread widely with massive palms. Follow- 
 ing at the heels of the cow, he swept his way 
 through the brush, strong and valiant, a 
 black giant, slouching and ponderous in his 
 stride. 
 
 The sun dipped toward the hills, and 
 already the night fog was lifting in the shad- 
 ows of the trees. Stalking to the shore, the 
 
88 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 herd plunged into the shallows, and rolled, 
 wallowing deeply in the mud. Grunting 
 with satisfaction they lay there, and the baf- 
 fled flies, droning in disappointment, with- 
 drew and left them in peace. 
 
 But short was their peace, indeed. The 
 cow, rising to turn around, halted, and stood 
 fixed there rigid in alarm. Across the pond 
 the crack of a breaking twig sounded faintly 
 in the listless air. With twitching ears she 
 stared into the bush ; again a twig crackled 
 under the tread of a heavy foot, and at that 
 instant a passing breeze shook the spires of 
 the black spruce overhead. Woof / With a 
 snort of fright the cow drove the calf to its 
 feet, and rushed to the shore, at her heels the 
 spike-horn crazy with fear. But the big bull, 
 facing the alarm, still stood out in the pond, 
 his head fixed on high, temerarious, yet pre- 
 pared discreetly for an instant flight. 
 
 The bushes parted, and a man stepped 
 forth, and following was a boy Chabot and 
 the heir-apparent Peter. Once more Chabot 
 had come up into the Beauchene to find 
 
The cow . . . stood fixed there, rigid in alarm. 
 
TRAGEDY. 89 
 
 where the moose were using, and as a signal 
 favour, brought Peter with him too. Here 
 they stood, now, and the bull stared, red-eyed 
 and fixed with wild surprise. His gray-black 
 mane pushed forward, jets of steam spumed 
 from his wrinkling nostrils, and woof ! 
 he snorted loudly. Then a passing gust 
 swept him the terrorizing taint. Woof ! He 
 lunged about, slow and awkward, snorted, 
 and with a wild leap ploughed to the bank, 
 breasted a windfall, and away went slashing 
 through the forest. 
 
 " See um dat moose, now ? " asked Chabot. 
 "Dat big moose mos' big moose I ever 
 
 saw." 
 
 Peter stood transfixed, his mouth rounded, 
 and his eyes great with eagerness. Then he 
 gasped. 
 
 " Sartin dat big moose," said he. " Bime- 
 by I shoot um dat moose hey? " 
 
 " Hunh ! " exclaimed Chabot. " Bimeby I 
 take um club ! " 
 
 There was no answer to this logic. But 
 within, Peter's soul cried out in protest. For- 
 
9 o IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ever asked Peter of himself forever was 
 he to be a mere hewer of camp-wood ; forever 
 a common drudge ? No, cried out the inner 
 voice ; and, following at his fond parent's 
 heels, he took up the trail to camp. 
 
 Now came the frosts, touching the maple 
 with a brush of fiery red. Overhead, the 
 moon grew round and big, and flights of 
 southbound fowl traded from pond to pond. 
 Fall had come, and along the ranges the 
 rut was under way. Peace no longer pre- 
 vailed; in the herd of four the spike-horn 
 bull was appreciating the first sad fruits of 
 existence. He noted with growing concern 
 the bellicose attitude of the master-lord ; for, 
 surly and jealous, the big bull mooned about 
 the ridges grunting fiercely, or in the swamps 
 beat his heavy antlers against the alder's 
 trunks. Around his face hung the tattered 
 velvet from his horns, now white and sharp 
 about the points ; and sometimes he dashed 
 frantically down the hollows, and as fran- 
 tically returned. Again, he prodded the 
 spike-horn brusquely in the ribs, and the 
 
TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 spike-horn wondered why. Uneasily the cow 
 looked on. She watched these demonstra- 
 tions, and bided her time. Then, one night, 
 when the bull had gone charging down the 
 slopes, she fled the opposite way, taking the 
 calf, but leaving the bepuzzled spike-horn 
 to settle his own affairs. Outraged at this 
 desertion, he stood upon the hilltop, and 
 felt resentment surging in his heart. Hark ! 
 There was the big bull coming back. The 
 spike-horn's mane ruffled forward, and a red 
 gleam shot from his eye. Rage possessed 
 him. He spread his legs apart, squaring 
 himself for the combat. Oonh ! he grunted, 
 and at the sound there was an answering 
 roar from the oncoming lord. In masterful 
 imitation, the spike-horn beat his clubs 
 still cloaked in velvet upon the bushes. 
 Oonh! he roared. 
 
 Crack crash ! The big bull tore through 
 the brush, and with glowering eyes stood 
 confronting his younger rival. But rage 
 had seized the spike-horn, and he cast dis- 
 cretion to the winds. Roaring, he fell sud- 
 
92 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 denly upon the big bull's flank, and jabbed 
 him viciously with short and stubby horns. 
 A bellow of rage and pain burst from the 
 giant; he swung about, and, driving down 
 upon the spike-horn, threw him heavily upon 
 his haunches. Then he gored brutally while 
 the vanquished young one struggled to his 
 feet, and, turning tail, the spike-horn fled 
 squealing down the ridges before his infuri- 
 ated vanquisher. 
 
 Three days after this, still sore and aweary, 
 the spike-horn lay in a swamp, where the 
 black mud brought balm to his wounded 
 ribs. Life was no longer what it had seemed 
 in the first heyday of his youth, and solitude 
 oppressed him. His heart grew fond with 
 longing; he thought of a young, sleek, vel- 
 vety cow he had seen days before wallow- 
 ing in the upper ponds. Where was the 
 charmer now? He heaved slowly to his 
 feet, and slunk down to the open water. 
 Oonh! he grunted softly. 
 
 What was that? From a neighbouring 
 ridge came a dulcet tremolo, a soft answer 
 
"Turning tail, the spike-horn fled squealing down the ridges before 
 his infuriated vanquisher." 
 
TRAGEDY. 93 
 
 to his call. E-ee-unh ! It arose whispering 
 on the night air, a seductive chord; and with 
 his eye aflame, the spike-horn charged across 
 the shallows, and burst his way into the 
 arbour beyond. There stood that self-same 
 sleek and velvety cow, blandly cropping at 
 the browse, and quite unaffected by his mas- 
 terful presence. The spike-horn was non- 
 plussed; he halted in his stride, and stared 
 at the charmer. Then he grunted again, 
 and at this his adored looked superciliously 
 about. Somehow, he had created an effect, 
 so, to push his suit, he fell to beating the 
 bushes with his spikes, feeling strength and 
 valour stirring in his breast, in his heart a 
 deep love. Surely the brave deserve the 
 fair; the spike-horn lifted his head and 
 roared defiantly to the world. At first 
 the world gave no answer, so the spike- 
 horn roared again. Oonhl Oonh! Then 
 more loudly roonh! The echoes were 
 still beating from the hills across the even- 
 ing quiet, when an answering challenge 
 came thundering down the flat Woonh I 
 
94 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Woonhl hoarse and vengeful, the voice of 
 mastery. 
 
 Silence followed. The spike-horn stood 
 with his mane ruffled in rage, his head 
 lowered for the affray; again the heavy 
 answer roared across the interval. He 
 heard the brush crash beneath the other's 
 tread; still again he roared, and out from 
 the timber yonder strode the big bull. 
 Wrath possessed the colossus. He beat 
 his horns upon the trees till they clashed 
 like steel striking upon steel, and at a clip- 
 ping stride rushed to the combat. The 
 spike-horn irresolutely paused. He beheld 
 his ancient foe, and his spirit weakened. 
 There stood the cow, looking on, and then, 
 mischievously, as if to provoke the affray, 
 she lowed softly oow ! eunh ! 
 
 Enough ; the spike-horn blared back with 
 valiant purpose. He roared loudly, and 
 the big bull, rushing the cover, fell upon 
 him like an avalanche. Then fled the cow. 
 
 The conflict was short. Once more the 
 lord of the swamps smashed down the weak- 
 
The spike-horn lifted his head and roared 
 defiantly to the world." 
 
TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 ling's guard, jabbed him viciously, and with 
 guttural bellows drove the usurper over the 
 hilltop, and far from the scene of his woo- 
 ing. So, sore and violent with impotent 
 rage, the spike-horn again sought seclusion 
 in a swamp, where for a week he lay in 
 silence. 
 
 "Fine night," said Chabot; "sartin I go 
 call um dat moose." Peter grinned. He 
 sat on his hams intently silent, while the 
 head of the house of Chabot stood before 
 the fire rolling a square of birch-bark, now 
 heating it in the flame, now bending it 
 upon his knee. Presently, with a dexterous 
 hand, he twisted it into shape a moose 
 horn with a superior tone, fit to draw from 
 his haunts the wariest moose. Binding it 
 with a thong of spruce root, Chabot trimmed 
 the edges to his satisfaction, and then, with 
 a solemn wink at Peter, lifted it to his lips. 
 Oowl eunhl he grunted seductively 
 eunh I 
 
 " Sartin call um dat moose," said he. 
 
96 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Peter reached out and took the horn. 
 Often in the family manse on Bumb Creek 
 he had listened to his parent practising; 
 often, when there was nothing else to 
 amuse, Peter had tried a simulation of the 
 cow's wooing call. With a sidewise look 
 at his father, he breathed into the horn 
 grunted once appealingly and then 
 throated the long call, the sonorous whine 
 of the lovesick charmer of the wild. Chabot 
 nodded. 
 
 "Not so bad. Sartin bimeby you call 
 um moose. Dunno mebbe." 
 
 Silence lay upon the forest. Treading 
 softly, Chabot and the eager Peter linked 
 through the bush toward the distant pond. 
 Chabot led, bearing his rifle and the moose 
 horn; Peter bearing only a frayed and dis- 
 solute H. B. blanket, many seasons the 
 worse for wear. " Why you bring um dat 
 blanket ? " Chabot demanded, keen with 
 scorn. " Moose hunter dam take no 
 blanket." Part of his philosophy was that 
 to insure success one must suffer every dis- 
 
TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 comfort of wet and cold. " Bimeby moose 
 come no say nothing dam blanket; can't 
 shoot." But Peter had another reason for 
 bearing this extra burden. In a hollow log 
 beside the canoe he had stored his precious 
 gun, and determination nerved him. He 
 was bound to fling at least one bullet into 
 the ribs of that lordly bull, and no threat 
 of club could stay his purpose. But he 
 was also aware that Chabot would never 
 suffer him in the canoe along with this 
 deadly arm. So the blanket was to serve 
 a double purpose to sit upon and to hide 
 his destroying weapon. " Bimeby," he 
 sniffed evasively, "bimeby catch um cold." 
 And Chabot only grinned in derision. 
 
 They launched the canoe, and Chabot 
 went off into the bush a piece, searching 
 for the paddle. Peter, with a dexterous 
 gesture, slipped his gun aboard, and hid 
 it within the blanket. 
 
 "Don't say northin'," warned Chabot, 
 "don't hit um canoe wit' paddle. Bimeby 
 
 see moose." 
 
98 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Peter nodded, and they pushed from the 
 shore. 
 
 In the quiet air arose a soft appealing 
 murmur, a low, seductive cadence. It stole 
 through the silent, austere forest, filling 
 the world with a querulous echo. A gang 
 of ducks, disturbed from the neighbouring 
 sedge, arose with a heavy splash, and 
 whisked away above the trees, clamouring 
 at the disturber. Back from the hills beat 
 the sound, and after it silence. A half- 
 hour passed; the sun had dropped below 
 the distant hills, and a light vapour eddied 
 about the chill surface of the pond. Again 
 the moose-horn tried the distant covers 
 louder and more appealing. No answer. 
 
 "Sartin dat moose long way off," ex- 
 claimed Chabot. 
 
 "Dunno," answered Peter, in dejection; 
 " mebbe he got um cow a'ready." 
 
 Long shadows stole across the pond, and 
 the moon overhead, fleecy, first, in the light 
 of the dying sun, gave forth a radiant gleam. 
 Darkness came. Once more Chabot tried 
 
TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 the horn. E-unh! E-ee-oo-ooo-oonh I A 
 long, wailing bellow, agonizing and full 
 of lovelorn sorrow loneliness, a cry of 
 solitude. 
 
 A quick movement of the two set the 
 canoe rocking upon the placid pond. What 
 was that! They listened, their nostrils 
 spread, their breath whistling in the still- 
 ness. Oonh ! Then Runh ! 
 
 " Over there ! " hissed Chabot in a whis- 
 per. He pointed to a neighbouring hill, his 
 eyes glittering with satisfaction. 
 
 " No not over there ! " cried Peter. 
 " Hunh listen ; over here ! " 
 
 They hearkened again. " By gar ! " ex- 
 claimed Chabot, "hear um two moose; 
 bimeby fight, mebbe." 
 
 The spike-horn bull stood in a cedar 
 swamp, his feet spread apart and his head 
 hanging low. All day he had been running 
 up and down the ridges, and now that night 
 was come he paused to listen. Perhaps in 
 this quiet he would hear the voice of his 
 charmer perhaps ; but he had scant hope. 
 
ioo IN THE FOREST. 
 
 A near-by owl screamed, and he started, ner- 
 vous at every unwonted sound. But then 
 silence fell again upon the forest, and only 
 his heavy breathing disturbed the quiet air. 
 Unh I what was that ? He heard a soft ap- 
 pealing murmur a low, seductive cadence 
 
 steal through the whispering night. With 
 beating heart he listened, and the echo died 
 away. Silence again. Cautiously he moved 
 in the direction of the sound. Once again, 
 as he plied through the darkening forest 
 aisles, he heard the call go up ; then again 
 
 loudly and distinct. Unh I he grunted 
 
 unh oonh! 
 
 Across the hills came another sound, a 
 fiercer, deeper answer to the horn woonh 
 
 runhl But the spike-horn, ploughing 
 through the bush, for a while heard nothing 
 but the dulcet obbligato, the soft appeal, 
 the birch horn simulating the cry of love. 
 The big bull, swaggering and self-conscious, 
 was bound for the wooing too. At his 
 heels trotted the sleek and velvet cow, 
 vainly trying to draw him from her rival. 
 
TRAGEDY. 101 
 
 But the big bull, arrogant in his might, 
 was disposed to pay double court; at any 
 rate, to look upon the charms of this other 
 cow. Aarnhl whined his doleful mate 
 aarnh ! But he still made on. Again she 
 whined, crying like a whimpering hound, 
 when the bull halted and looked back. 
 Should he go or not ? Truly he that hesi- 
 tates is lost. Once more the tones of the 
 horn floated over the interval, and with a 
 loud answer he pressed forward, ignoring 
 the appeals to return. 
 
 On the hilltop overlooking the pond 
 paused the spike-horn bull. Oonh! Oonh! 
 he grunted. The effect was magical. Be- 
 low from the pond came a soft, insinuating 
 answer ; from the opposite hill, a loud, roar- 
 ing challenge. Eagerness fled from the 
 heart of the spike-horn ; it was his enemy's 
 voice. He stood there, wild with rage, yet 
 prudently prepared for flight. Once more 
 the horn sounded, and the big bull gave the 
 answer, ending with another challenge roar. 
 No, the spike-horn had learned a lesson of 
 
102 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 discretion, and at heavy cost. He would 
 not answer the challenge, but still he would 
 steal down to the pond for at least one look 
 at his charmer. So softly, gliding like a 
 shadow, he stepped down the ridge, silently, 
 with no more noise than a hunting mink 
 would make. In this way he reached the 
 soft ground below, and was just turning 
 toward the pond, when a light air wheeled 
 across the flat. Whoo! What was that? 
 His nose stretched forth, wrinkling, and 
 tried the passing breeze. Whoo I One 
 gulp of the tainted air turned him right 
 about, and he fled, stealing away terrified. 
 
 On came the big bull unwarned. He 
 reached the low ground, and stood there, 
 beating his horns upon the trees. Again 
 he grunted, again and again. Slosh slosh 
 slosh! He heard the fair one treading 
 along the shadows, so he thought; but it 
 was Chabot threshing the water with a 
 paddle. Ow-eunh! called Chabot. 
 
 A sudden crash broke from the bush. 
 " Coming," hissed Chabot. Peter, with a 
 
TRAGEDY. 103 
 
 convulsive movement, dragged forth the 
 gun beneath him. He stretched it out over 
 the bow of the canoe, and with thumping 
 heart waited, his finger on the trigger. 
 Again another crash. Out into the shal- 
 lows rushed a black hulk a moose! It 
 stood for an instant revealed in the moon- 
 light, and Chabot, dropping his gun, cursed 
 aloud. It was the cow; she had rushed 
 in to drive away her rival. There she 
 stood, looking everywhere, grunting in her 
 rage. 
 
 "Dam!" said Chabot. "See um dat 
 dam " 
 
 A ripping detonation cut him short ; from 
 the bow of the canoe shot forth a streak 
 of flame, lighting the black shadows under 
 the leaning trees. Night roared with a 
 thousand echoes, and the choking fumes of 
 powder hung heavy upon the air. There 
 for an instant stood the cow in silence, 
 but only for an instant. A hoarse bellow 
 of fear burst from her; she turned about, 
 and galloped madly for cover. Crash 
 
io 4 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 crash crash away she went, and before 
 her fled the bull. 
 
 "What for you shoot um dat cow?" 
 cried the wrathful voice of Chabot. " By 
 gar, you miss um, too. Sartin by gar 
 sartin I take um dam " 
 
 High into the night arose the swift stac- 
 cato of a thumping club and the loud yells 
 of Peter, heir of all the Chabots. 
 
 Once frightened, a moose goes far. For 
 three days Chabot tracked the forest, cir- 
 cling widely, before he found again where 
 the big moose was ranging with his cow. 
 Meanwhile, Peter was marooned in camp, 
 his back and ribs still a sore reminder of 
 that dramatic night. Beyond the last of 
 the Beauchene ponds Chabot at last ran 
 upon the quarry 's track a deep-beaten 
 runway where the moose came down to the 
 water in the night. An open barren lay 
 around the pond a dark pug-hole fathoms 
 deep with mud. Chabot looked about. He 
 picked up the trail, and followed, marking 
 the way toward the timber. Deviously it 
 
TRAGEDY. 105 
 
 led along the barren's edge, and at last 
 turned toward a neighbouring ridge. Under 
 foot the dried leaves lay deep, noisy, and 
 alarming, and for fear of starting the game 
 again, Chabot dared go no farther. But 
 he made sure before returning that it was 
 the big bull, or, at any rate, one quite as 
 large ; for where the moose passed between 
 two trees at least an arm's breadth across, 
 his horns had chipped the bark on both. 
 
 " Sartin dat big moose," Chabot reflected ; 
 "sartin dat same bull." 
 
 Peter still sat by the fire, cleaning his 
 beloved gun, when a cracking twig gave 
 warning. Thrusting the rifle into the 
 bushes, he settled into a dejected attitude, 
 and gave no answer to Chabot's surly 
 "Hunh!" But presently Peter noted that 
 his father's sullen reserve was melting like 
 spring snow on a southern hillside. 
 
 " See um dat moose ? " asked Peter, ten- 
 tatively. 
 
 Chabot turned round. "No see um 
 moose find track." 
 
106 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Delight spread upon Peter's solemn face. 
 " You find um, hey ? Moom good ! Bime- 
 by I go " 
 
 Chabot's hand reached for the kettle- 
 prop a long and supple staff of ash 
 and his fingers closed upon it. " Hoh ! " 
 he cried, and Peter said no more. 
 
 " Bimeby / go call um dat moose," Cha- 
 bot announced ; " bimeby / go kill um." 
 
 He settled himself before the fire, and 
 with his skinning-knife fell to trimming 
 the edges of his moose horn. Peter de- 
 bated. What course should he pursue? 
 Over yonder was the big bull, and he had 
 never killed a moose. Forever should he 
 be a hewer of camp-wood ; forever a com- 
 mon drudge? 
 
 " Where you see um dat moose ? " he 
 asked, his keen eyes belying the innocence 
 of his voice, and Chabot fell a victim to 
 the duplicity of his son and heir. 
 
 " No see um moose find um by big 
 barren hunh ! " 
 
 Peter arose and sauntered into the bush. 
 
TRAGEDY. 107 
 
 Once out of sight, he took to his heels, and 
 ten minutes later was stripping a square 
 of bark from a birch, and twisting it horn- 
 shape, whistling gayly as he worked. This 
 finished, he slouched back to the fire. 
 
 " Peter, you sit by fire ; I go call um 
 moose." Chabot arose, gun in hand. " Fine 
 night, sure 'nuff ; hear um moose bimeby 
 see um." 
 
 He strode off up the trail, and Peter 
 leaped to his feet. He waited till the re- 
 treating footsteps died away; then kicked 
 out the fire and snatched up his gun and 
 horn. With one last look around, he sped 
 away in pursuit, and silence once more re- 
 sumed her own. 
 
 Up and down the ranges ran the spike- 
 horn, still looking for his cow. From the 
 lower Beauchene, eastward into the edge 
 of the big barren, his chase led on. He 
 raced along the ridges, grunting now and 
 then, or in the swamps halted, pawing pot- 
 holes in the black mire and beating the 
 alders with his horns. A frenzy possessed 
 
io8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 him, for the rutting rage had filled him anew 
 with valour. What was the big bull to him, 
 or any foe before him ? Runh ! he grunted 
 hoarsely, and, almost as if in echo, the dron- 
 ing call of a wooing cow sounded across the 
 barren. A moment's silence, then he roared 
 the answer. 
 
 On a neighbouring ridge lay the big bull 
 and his cow. He, too, heard the call and 
 pricked his ears. Unh! he grunted softly, 
 and the cow, lying in a neighbouring thicket, 
 lifted to her feet. There she stood, listen- 
 ing, her ears wagging like a semaphore, and 
 a sullen light in her eye. In truth, the 
 course of true love to her had proved a 
 rough, uneven path, an experience hardly 
 to be desired. Before her lord she had 
 been driven from range to range knocked 
 about in the bull's moments of frenzied dis- 
 pleasure goaded, gored, and harried along 
 the runways. Now she awaited only the 
 opportunity to flee his presence ; and once 
 more the call of another charmer sounded 
 in his ears. 
 
TRAGEDY. 109 
 
 Runhl Runh! The big bull swept his 
 horns from side to side, beating the bushes 
 in his way. With a long stride he marched 
 down toward the barren, the cow close at his 
 heels. She was silent now on the watch, 
 waiting. She followed till they reached the 
 edge of the cover, and there the bull raised 
 his voice again wunh ! runh ! Across the 
 barren came an answer unh I oonh ! the 
 challenge of the spike-horn. Then silence. 
 
 A light air sighed among the trees. It 
 swept over the bull and his cow, eddied a 
 moment among the tops, and then blew 
 straight across the opening. Whoo! The 
 spike-horn sniffed the breeze, tainted with the 
 blended scent of man and moose. Whoo I 
 he sniffed, and was silent. Softly he crept 
 along the forest edge, cautiously trying the 
 air. But once more the breeze had died 
 away, and the scent was gone. Now came 
 again the horn's low voice, stirring the echoes 
 on the hill. Hoarsely the big bull answered, 
 and, forgetting all, the spike-horn roared the 
 challenge back. 
 
no IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Far down the barren arose the cry of an- 
 other cow. Dismally soft, it wavered over 
 the sleeping forest and murmured to the 
 skies, rising and falling in waves of sorrow- 
 ful sound. Chabot, hidden in the brush out 
 there upon the barren, heard, and raised 
 his head to look. 
 
 " Hunh ! Dam cow call um away." 
 
 A dense silence fell upon the forest world ; 
 on one side stood the big bull listening, on 
 the other the spike-horn raptly intent. Then, 
 breaking from the cover, the spike-horn raced 
 down the open barren, grunting as he sped 
 along. Runhl roared the big bull, follow- 
 ing. In vain Chabot yodled upon his horn. 
 Once he stopped the pair, but a soft grunt 
 from the other charmer down below tolled 
 them along anew. 
 
 " Hunh ! " exclaimed Chabot, suddenly and 
 with attentive ear. " Hunh ! What dat ? " 
 He listened anew to the other call, heard it 
 come floating out of the distance, throaty 
 and alluring, and with a savage curse struck 
 his hand upon his knee. 
 
TRAGEDY. in 
 
 " Who call um dat moose ? " he cried 
 aloud. 
 
 It was Peter the graceless Peter gone 
 moose-hunting on his own account. Chabot 
 swore again. 
 
 The spike-horn bull halted with a crash 
 of breaking wood. Whoo! The air was 
 rank with the scent of man. Whoo I he 
 snuffed aloud, and the big bull heard him 
 snorting. But before he could turn to flee 
 aarnl aarn! e-unhl came the whine 
 of a moose-calf. Peter, indeed, was trying 
 all his arts. Again the big bull roared, and 
 though the spike-horn had detected the cheat 
 of the horn, he stood there, awaiting the 
 climax. 
 
 Oonhl Oonh! he grunted, and at the 
 challenge, out rushed the big bull, crashing 
 down the thickets, and like a whirlwind 
 tearing into the open. Oonh! Woonhl he 
 bellowed and a crash like a clap of 
 thunder broke from the bush before him. 
 
 Hill spoke to hill in the trail of the rip- 
 ping report. Over the barren floated a 
 
ii2 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 cloud of white and fleecy smoke, and the 
 air was rancid with its odour. Cling-bang ! 
 Again the night shocked with the thunder- 
 burst, and with one wild plunge the big 
 bull swayed, gasped with a deep-drawn 
 breath, and fell to his knees. His head, 
 crowned with massive horns, shook from 
 side to side; his breath whistled in a deep- 
 drawn sigh. Clip-bang! His head fell for- 
 ward, he heaved once with a violent shudder, 
 and fell, rolling upon his side. 
 
 Out of the thicket raced a form wild- 
 eyed, with a white and drawn face. With 
 demoniac yells of joy it raced up to the 
 flank of the dying quarry, and screamed 
 anew. It was Peter, and around his head 
 he waved a smoking gun, ruined forever 
 now, and with its fore end shattered from the 
 barrel. " Whoop ! " he yelled, and at that 
 juncture a stout hand reached out in the 
 darkness and seized him by the hair. With 
 an agile wrench Peter tore himself free. 
 
 "Sartin I kill urn dat bull!" he yelled. 
 " Look you see um dead ! " 
 
TRAGEDY. 113 
 
 Chabot looked, and his mouth opened 
 wide. There lay the bull, a colossus, whose 
 head was crowned with antlers an arm's 
 breadth across. " By gar ! " he exclaimed, 
 " sartin you kill um big moose." 
 
 Beyond, among the ridges, a pair of moose 
 swept along the runways. One was a sleek 
 and velvety cow, the other a spike-horn bull. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SURVIVORS A STORY OF THE LAST 
 
 BISON HERD. 
 
 P I ^HEY were years of a ruthless sacrifice 
 -* when the bison went their way. Over 
 the dust-blown prairie, stirred by the feet of 
 fleeing herds, the uproar of the killing thun- 
 dered. Brown hulks of the dead and dying 
 dotted every plain; destruction loomed in 
 the trails; the slaughter grew. Spurred by 
 incessant fear, bunch after bunch fled from 
 the main body, and edged northward through 
 the gulfs of the wooded wilderness. There 
 their nature changed. They crept to the 
 thickets, not less crafty than the blacktail 
 and the herding elk stampeding at every 
 unwonted sound. Some, by terror-stricken 
 marches, reached deeper into the heart of 
 the wild, and of these two bands survived. 
 One pushed northward northward into 
 
 114 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 115 
 
 that limitless expanse of eternal cold that 
 lies under the rim of the Arctic Circle. 
 They faced their fronts to the icy, killing 
 blasts, and in that blank solitude sought 
 respite from the destroyer. The other, no 
 less determined and alert, dipped down into 
 a basin set among the peaks of the Yellow- 
 stone. Over them, like a benediction, hov- 
 ered the dead silence of a desert world, and 
 for a while they gorged in peace upon the 
 bunch grass, and fell anew into a stupor of 
 fat content. But again the destroyer fol- 
 lowed ; the heights volleyed with the rifle's 
 roar, and a myriad ill-omened birds an- 
 swered, screaming to the cry of the killer. 
 Then at the end the law stepped in. 
 
 It is written now that the bison of the 
 Park are the nation's wards to be kept 
 inviolate, guarded like a last heir in a court 
 of chancery. Eternal vigilance is the price 
 that is paid for their peace, and to save them 
 against the greed of the waylaying poacher 
 the patrols of the government push to and 
 fro across these forest ranges. Of these men 
 
n6 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 a few come to know all about the buffalo 
 where they feed and when, and what things 
 are doing in the herd; and some there are 
 who can even follow them by night Under 
 the darkest sky they ride afar, watching the 
 raiding pot-hunter from across the Wyoming 
 and Idaho lines the reckless scoundrels 
 that kill for head and hide; and neither fear 
 nor any fatigue turns them from the trail. 
 
 Markovitch was one Markovitch, a pri- 
 vate of the troop. He came West with a 
 city draft, drawn obviously from the un- 
 washed army of the unemployed, and never 
 changed while he went from post to post. 
 Famine 'was written gauntly upon his face, 
 and he confessed, with unassuming frank- 
 ness, that it was hunger and not the martial 
 spirit, nor yet again the insinuating English 
 of a recruiting dodger, that had first plunged 
 him into a military life. He was a mixed 
 Muscovite of some sort or other, speaking 
 with the thick singsong guttural that comes 
 from a use of tongues like the Yiddish ; and 
 he was the first of his kind that had ever 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 117 
 
 come West in a draft. Further, he was 
 scant in stature, slow-moving, and perhaps 
 a little stupid. But the first day he was 
 turned loose on the Park ranges he showed 
 that he knew the work. 
 
 " Eye-igh ! " he cried in wonder, " var from 
 comes the auerochs ? " 
 
 A bunch of buffalo had just pitched over 
 the edge of a slope, and with rolling shoul- 
 ders, heavy-gaited and slow, came slouching 
 down the open. " Eye-igh dar I see him 
 
 the auerochs ! " 
 
 Slim Logan, the trooper who rode at his 
 knee, eyed him with airy scorn. " Orrocks 
 
 hell! You mean them?" He pointed 
 toward the herd now spreading along the 
 interval. "Guess there ain't any circuses 
 where you hail from, Dutch. Them's buf- 
 falo. Orrocks my eye ! " 
 
 But the officer who rode ahead overheard 
 and halted. "Aurochs what d'you know 
 about aurochs, Markovitch ? " 
 
 The emancipated Muscovite blushed and 
 squared himself to attention. "Yeaas I 
 
n8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 know him. Chu vant to know how ? Den 
 mine mooter she var a woman of Lithov, 
 that var Lithuanie in Rooshia. Dar is vere 
 the auerochs bin. I have seen him many 
 dimes ; in the forest I have watched him at 
 his feed. They are the buffalo the same 
 no ? " 
 
 The lieutenant nodded, asking casually: 
 " Your father was he a keeper of the 
 herd?" 
 
 A faint flush burned upon the prominences 
 of the trooper's cheeks, and his eyes wan- 
 dered uneasily away. " Mine vatter no. 
 He var of Yaroslav." His hand at this up- 
 lifted with a little gesture, half deprecatory 
 and half in pride. " Mine vatter he var of 
 the army an officer. Mine mooter she 
 var a dowter only of a borzatnik a borzat- 
 nik, a hunter and he var an officer of the 
 army." 
 
 At the air of astonishment in the officer's 
 eye Markovitch's colour deepened. " And is 
 he still in the army ? " asked the lieutenant, 
 curiously. Markovitch shook his head. 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 119 
 
 " I should not know," he answered, his 
 words slow and halting, and his gaze fixed 
 in a dull scrutiny of the distant herd. " I 
 have not ever seen him. He var gone be- 
 fore I var horned." 
 
 The last of the band had streamed into 
 view, and were grazing slowly toward an 
 opening in the hills. At the edge of the 
 timber the herd bull turned and roared 
 across the interval. His mane and fringes 
 were grimy from the wallow, and the hair 
 had torn in patches, raggedly, from his 
 flanks and back. Sturdy, big, and masterful, 
 he faced them, and again he roared, a deep- 
 throated bellow that rang among the silences. 
 
 " Mine vatter he var from the army," ex- 
 plained Markovitch, "and he vent avay." 
 
 But the officer understood the drear story 
 that lay beneath the apologetic words, and 
 silently rode on. So, too, understood Slim 
 Logan, who rode at the other's knee. He 
 gleamed at him from the corner of his eye, 
 his mouth fixed in a mocking smile. " Say, 
 Dutch he var from the army, eye-igh ? " 
 
120 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 he mimicked, and Markovitch slowly nodded. 
 Logan laughed under his breath at this can- 
 dour, and curled his lip anew into a sneer 
 that bristled one end of his stubby mustache. 
 In primeval days man showed his fangs as 
 the wolf and the dog do even to-day. Slim 
 Logan, now, was showing his teeth. He 
 drew his horse away and rode alone. But 
 Markovitch gave no heed. His mind, at 
 the sight of these buffalo, first cousins to 
 the aurochs of Lithuania, was occupied with 
 other thoughts the memory of days long 
 in the dead past. So Logan, scoffing, eyed 
 him unnoticed, and, once back at the post, 
 set his tongue to work. Here was fair 
 game, indeed, for that active member of 
 the detachment. " A foreigner a damned 
 scattermouch," thought Logan, "and like 
 enough a * sheeny* too." Almost anything 
 weak and unprotected was game for Slim 
 Logan's sport. 
 
 tf Oh, my eye ! " he laughed, laying out his 
 gossip ; " and if he didn't lay claim his peggy 
 dad was a straps an officer gent. The 
 
"The last of the band . . . were grazing slowly toward an opening in 
 the hills. At the edge of the timber the head bull turned and roared 
 across the interval." 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 121 
 
 catch-colt ! " He spat contemptuously, and 
 uplifted his voice. " Hey, you oh, Dutch ! 
 I say, Peddler! Come here and tell us about 
 yer distinguished payrent Brigadier Gen'r'l 
 Markovitch what was. I hear tell he's the 
 real thing." 
 
 Markovitch stood up, his bland, homely 
 face staring upon them in round good 
 nature. " Yeaas he var of the army an 
 officer. But he var not a brigadier, no. He 
 var " Here he hesitated, open-mouthed, 
 pained and startled at the ripple of gibing 
 laughter that ran around the circle. 
 
 " He var from the army eye-igh ? " mim- 
 icked Logan again, and had just launched 
 into a fresh gibe when Mulligan, the troop 
 sergeant, touched him upon the shoulder. 
 
 " Enough of that, Logan let the man 
 alone." 
 
 Logan's answer was brief, but, to his 
 mind, strictly to the point. " Oh, devil 
 take the Jew he's fair game." 
 
 But there seemed some other sport for 
 men more fitting than this baiting of a mild 
 
122 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 and unoffending creature, and the sergeant 
 looked Logan squarely in the eye. 
 
 " I misdoubt, Slim Logan," he slowly 
 drawled, "that he's a Jew at all, and may- 
 hap he's as white or whiter'n you. D'ye 
 hear?" 
 
 Slim Logan threw up his head, his brows 
 knit into a black frown. " It's your chev- 
 rons lets you say such things, Sergeant ! " he 
 sneered. 
 
 " The chevrons ey ? I stand ready to 
 take off my coat any time you say, Logan, 
 outside." 
 
 But Logan only looked away, and there, for 
 the time, the incident closed. And Logan, 
 to be sure, gibed Markovitch no more at 
 least while the sergeant was about. 
 
 Out in the Park a countless horde of 
 wild things wandered, and the days were 
 a dream of delight to Markovitch. Some- 
 times, though, he was set to guard the 
 geyser basins, and this he did not like. 
 The weird, ungodly manifestations of the 
 under world filled him with a dark awe 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 123 
 
 the spuming of the pits, the dull rumbling 
 of the tortured ground, and all the other 
 sounds and sights of that inferno. Given 
 his own choice, he would have kept from 
 the place forever, avoiding the sinks as the 
 Shawnee and Blackfeet did in the days long 
 ago. It was not only this superstitious awe, 
 but the work of the place, that disgusted 
 him. But he did this duty solemnly in 
 fact, as he did all his other work chevying 
 the imbecile tourists that tried to write their 
 names on the geyser rocks or strove to stir 
 up the pits with soft soap. Much better to 
 stretch far out there under the peaks to 
 watch the deer trailing among the glades, 
 the bison in the parks, and the long bands 
 of elk that streamed across the passes. So 
 after a while he was set to riding the ranges, 
 the long patrols that reach from Mt. Everts 
 to the southern heights, from Absarokas 
 to the western line. And that, indeed, was 
 the thing to do, thought Markovitch, riding 
 on his way. 
 
 Through all the parks and the open tim- 
 
124 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 her ranged the buffalo, and Markovitch 
 ranged with them. Sometimes he followed 
 the bands when they moved, and sometimes 
 he lay among the trees, idling like his heavy 
 charges. He marked the bison bulls at 
 their play and in their battles royal, lying 
 so still upon the grass that the wood mice 
 crept across his feet, and the rock coneys 
 came out to whistle at his elbow. There 
 was one big bull a mammoth, a relic of a 
 bygone host that filled him with wonder 
 and admiration. The great creature's front 
 was draped with a thick and matted shield 
 of hair, brown and curling upon the down- 
 hanging head, and long, ochred, and stream- 
 ing about its shoulders. Masterful was this 
 overlord among the herds. In the spring, 
 when the battling rage broke forth, it drove 
 to and fro among the bands, sweeping vic- 
 tory before it. Markovitch wondered at 
 its vigour, the vitality that kept it potent 
 through all its many shocks of war; and 
 when the monarch and the following herd 
 drifted too near the passes where the 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 125 
 
 poachers cross, he spent many hot and la- 
 borious hours rounding up the bull and the 
 cows and the calves, driving them into the 
 safer central ground. Whole weeks passed 
 in the joy of herding his colossal charges, 
 until summer sped away and blind squalls 
 of snow swept about the mountain peaks 
 and came drifting across the lowlands. 
 Then, as the drifts deepened, he took to 
 skis, and on the long runners plied from 
 post to post from Soda Butte through 
 all the miles of woodland, open and hilly 
 ground, far away to the last reaches of 
 Snake River. In this expanse of solitude 
 he gloried, though the same loneliness, the 
 same bleak and oppressive lands of silence, 
 sometimes drove other men to madness. 
 On his lonely marches he moved silently, 
 for all like any other creature of this wild, 
 seeing the buffalo as they pawed the snow 
 for the frozen bunch-grass underneath, trav- 
 elling with the elk, and finding where the 
 silver-tip and the cinnamon had hived in 
 their dens for the winter. 
 
126 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 "The damn, slinkin' coyote," observed 
 Slim Logan, with his usual spleen. " I'll 
 bet a hard-tack agin a month's pay he ain't 
 up to any good. Say, I see him to-day, 
 'way out there, snoopin' round like any of 
 your mean, no 'count, sneakin' wood cats." 
 
 " Oh, you did, Slim, did you ? " said Mul- 
 ligan. " And what was you up to, yourself, 
 out there ? " 
 
 Slim, for an instant, seemed baffled, and 
 he looked away with uneasy eyes. 
 
 "Oh meanin' me? Why, I was just 
 workin' patrol, to be sure only just skid- 
 din' along when I see him. He was " 
 
 "That was a long way off your beat, 
 Slim," cut in the sergeant. " And may I 
 make bold to ask what you were doing so 
 far off your line ? " 
 
 Logan's explanation was clear, but not 
 quite satisfactory. " Oh, I was just a-fol- 
 lerin' to see where a bunch of buffaloes 
 went yes, there was six cows, a calf, and 
 the old bull the big one, you mind? I 
 see him the Dutchman snoopin' round, 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 127 
 
 too, so I quit. He ain't no good, that 
 Dutchman, says I." 
 
 " You say too much, you do," snapped 
 the sergeant, tartly, but Logan seemed too 
 busy at something to give answer. 
 
 What Markovitch was doing was for the 
 good of the government and its charges. 
 On his lonely way from over beyond the 
 winter post at Hayden Valley, he had found 
 strange ski tracks in the newly fallen snow. 
 Strange tracks in that country meant no 
 good to the game, and Markovitch walked 
 on, watching. The tracks led across the 
 low ground, turned, and stretched into the 
 hills. Two men were running on the snow, 
 and before long he found where a third, 
 coming in from the post, had joined them. 
 He followed along, going cautiously, but 
 after an hour's stalk a snow-squall burst 
 from the hills, and with a downfall of heavy 
 flakes obliterated the trail. 
 
 Again, the day following, he was out, 
 sweeping in a wide circle about the outly- 
 ing ground. Then, from far over among 
 
128 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the open parks, he heard the crack of a gun, 
 a second shot then a fusillade. Guns in 
 the Park are tabooed, and a gun-shot means 
 only that there is lawlessness afoot. Re- 
 binding the ski thongs about his feet, Mar- 
 kovitch skimmed with all his speed along the 
 slopes, making for the place. Down one 
 ridge and across another he loped, and had 
 just pushed out into the open when a loud 
 shout hailed him, "Hey, you oh, Dutch!" 
 Slim Logan was driving across the snow, 
 waving wildly toward the hill crest at his 
 left. Markovitch, halting, saw him draw 
 his army Colt's and fire four times, yelling 
 at every shot. " There they go ! " cried 
 Logan, and with that he beckoned Marko- 
 vitch to follow. But when they reached 
 the summit, only a blank stretch of un- 
 trodden snow lay before them. " Come 
 along ! " still cried Logan, swinging further 
 to the left. Markovitch protested ; that way 
 led directly off from the place where he 
 had heard the shots. But Slim Logan 
 pushed forward, a spurt of smoky snow 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 129 
 
 rising from the trailing j&'-pole as he 
 plunged, racing down the declivity. For 
 ten minutes he held on his way, then 
 halted and wiped his brow. 
 
 " Gee I guess we lost 'em," he grunted. 
 
 " Yeaas," answered Markovitch, " dey var 
 gone." 
 
 Despite Logan's protests, he turned back 
 upon the trail, and went off in a new line, 
 Logan quitting him at the turn. So for 
 an hour Markovitch plodded on, and then 
 again he found the tracks upon the snow. 
 There were three all fresh two coming 
 in together and joining the third. He saw 
 from the marks that they had stood about 
 for a while; then the third man had left 
 them and turned back over his own trail. 
 Markovitch followed the two, and a half- 
 mile beyond found where a bunch of buf- 
 falo had stamped out of the timber. The 
 sheeted surface was torn high in furrows 
 where in their frantic efforts they had 
 driven through the drifts, and then he 
 found a blur of blood and an empty shell, 
 
i 3 2 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 fronted Markovitch. "You will go blab 
 on me hey you with your lyin' tongue? 
 Take that ! " He struck the other a violent 
 blow in the face, and followed with a kick 
 as Markovitch tumbled backward. 
 
 Uproar followed. Markovitch, a bloody 
 cut across his mouth, struggled to his feet, 
 stupefied with astonishment and pain. " Vat 
 vat var you " he began, when, violently 
 as before, Slim Logan aimed a second blow 
 at his head. Markovitch, warding him off, 
 swayed to and fro with half-spoken ques- 
 tions baffling on his lips. "I'll learn ye!" 
 roared Logan, and with that threw himself 
 upon his victim. 
 
 A sudden change a pallor, a quick 
 twitching of the mouth and eyes over- 
 came the little trooper. With an abrupt, 
 forceful gesture he gripped Logan by the 
 throat, and with his breath whistling be- 
 tween his clenched teeth, shook him as a 
 terrier worries a rat. He grunted once 
 with exertion " Ugh-rr-r ! " and Slim 
 Logan's heels beat upon the floor like 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 133 
 
 flails. Vainly he fought for breath, to es- 
 cape the killing clutch upon his throat, but 
 Markovitch still held on. The others then 
 flung themselves upon him, one throttling 
 the man with an elbow crooked about his 
 neck. Yet still he clung to Logan's throat, 
 until, with a stifled cry, he was torn loose, 
 and thrown backward upon the floor. Once 
 he strove to rise, and a private threw him- 
 self upon his chest. " Ugh-rr-r ! " he grunted, 
 his limbs stiffened rigidly, and with a sud- 
 den shocking of the muscles he was still. 
 
 Logan, still gasping, sat up and felt his 
 throat. " Let me kill him ! " he whispered, 
 crawling toward the prostrate man. But 
 the trooper sitting on Markovitch's chest 
 leaped up with a startled cry. " Good God 
 the man's dead!" Silence followed, the 
 man staring about, white with fear for the 
 consequence. But Markovitch was still 
 alive. He breathed once, stertorously, and 
 his eyelids fluttered like the wings of a 
 wounded bird. " No ; he's alive. He ain't 
 dead," cried the trooper. Then with deep 
 
136 , IN THE FOREST. 
 
 an outlying park he hobbled the roan, 
 stretched out on the grass, and lay staring 
 dreamily at the sky. 
 
 A half-mile below grazed the bison herd. 
 The big bull, bigger and more surly than 
 ever, lurched up and down the open, toss- 
 ing his heavy front and hooking the cows 
 in boorish gallantry. The winter coat 
 hung in ragged folds from his flanks and 
 back, and the red gleam of conquest was 
 in his eye. Once he challenged the hills 
 with a raucous bellow, a clamorous call 
 that beat back in trumpet echoes from 
 the slopes. Markovitch sat up, looking 
 idly toward him. "Eye-igh! It var the 
 spring," he murmured abstractedly. A 
 younger bull tolled in toward the cows, 
 advancing with a halting, hesitating stride; 
 and the colossus, snorting the earth, faced 
 the intruder, pawing the ground till the 
 sods flew in volleys about his ragged sides. 
 Again he roared ; his head swung side- 
 ways, and at a plunging gallop he charged. 
 Away went the younger bull, turning tail, 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 137 
 
 and with thudding hoofs scampering to the 
 forest's edge. Markovitch grinned, while 
 the big bull, rounding up his cows, drove 
 them from the place of this disturbing gal- 
 lant. 
 
 Once more down the river rode the 
 little trooper, his face stretched into a wide 
 grin, and a bunch of flowers resting on the 
 pommel of his McClellan tree. An hour 
 later Slim Logan, riding by, saw the roan 
 hitched to a fence paling, and with a mock- 
 ing grin got off and went in. " It's a fine 
 day, Miss McGinn," he observed pleas- 
 antly; "and what the devil is that Dutch- 
 man doin' here ? " 
 
 Miss Dealie McGinn, with that ready 
 wit which will always be remembered in 
 the Park, arose smartly to the occasion. 
 " And if you please, Mr. Slim Logan," she 
 inquired, "of what business of yours is it 
 to ask, I make bold to say ? " During this 
 she halted in the intricate processes of 
 pie-making, and fixed him with a disapprov- 
 ing eye. " Your langwidge is not fit for a 
 
138 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 lady's ears, Slim Logan, and will you be 
 pleased to step out the way you came in ? " 
 Slim Logan leaned against the door- 
 post, curling his lip and grinning impu- 
 dently. "Oh it's that way, is it?" he 
 mocked, and, after another leer, walked out, 
 whistling in derision. Markovitch sat by, 
 blandly smiling, for the subtle inflection of 
 Logan's phrase conveyed nothing at all to 
 his mind. But Dealie McGinn knew the 
 ways and disposition of Trooper Logan, 
 and was of a mind to keep clear of his 
 company. Her anger now was apparent, 
 and Markovitch looked into her face per- 
 plexed. She was not fair to look upon, 
 perhaps, but the little trooper saw nothing 
 of this. She was to him much more than 
 all the other natural wonders of the Park, 
 and she filled him with an awe as intense, 
 almost, though of a different sort. The 
 sun had touched her face with a ruddy 
 glow that the blazing stove had done its 
 best to heighten ; her hair was of that raw 
 yellow of bunch grass that has grown too 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 139 
 
 long in the sun, and guileless good humour 
 shone often in her eyes. Markovitch's 
 mind had turned back to Lithuania to 
 a girl of his people, one with such a face, 
 but deeper, sadder eyes. It had been first 
 misery, then want, and after that famine 
 that shone in the eyes of that girl of the 
 people, and 
 
 " Mr. McKovick," said Dealie McGinn, 
 after a prolonged and deepening silence, 
 " will you be that good to tell me what, 
 too, brings you here the day? And I am 
 minded to ask what brought you the last 
 Choosdah and the Choosdah afore that, to 
 say naught of Mondah week and a Thoors- 
 dah or so ? " Her tone of vexed inquiry re- 
 called Markovitch from his reflections, and 
 after a moment's pause he widened his mouth 
 into a broad, bland, and childlike grin. His 
 hands, dangling between his knees, plucked 
 at each other, and he looked upon Dealie 
 McGinn with winking, softened eyes. 
 
 " You bin mine shaatz," he gurgled, with 
 ill-concealed delight. 
 
140 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Dealie McGinn, with impetuous scorn, 
 beat him across the shoulder with her roll- 
 ing-pin, and Markovitch, at this off-hand 
 tribute, laughed aloud with joy. " You bin 
 mine shaatz," he gurgled. 
 
 " Your shots hey ? It's you that's shot 
 half shot, Mr. McKovick." 
 
 "Yeaas I bin you; you bin mine mine 
 shaatz mine sweetheart." And Dealie 
 McGinn, with a loud laugh, fell into a chair. 
 
 " Saints be ! " she screamed with merri- 
 ment. "All right, then. Sit by and do 
 your coortin' regular. His shots oh, 
 glory be!" 
 
 So the wooing proceeded, proclaimed on 
 the side of Markovitch by long and im- 
 pressive silences ; on the part of Dealie 
 McGinn by gales of merriment and the 
 uninterrupted baking of biscuits and pie. 
 He sat in one seat invariably, his fists be- 
 tween his knees, and his square, bland face 
 fixed upon this creature of his adoration. 
 
 To all her observations he made uniform 
 reply, " Yeaas, I bin dink so-oh mineself." 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 141 
 
 And once he made another observation of 
 his own. " I bin dinking," said he. 
 
 " It's your chief speci-#/-ity, Mr. Mc- 
 Kovick," she rallied, but Markovitch went 
 on. He leaned forward, and with a sudden 
 gesture, much as a lion might pounce upon 
 a mouse, possessed himself of her hand. 
 "You bin mine shaatz. Den some day 
 yeaas some day we bin leave the army. 
 I been dink I should be a farm." 
 
 Dealie McGinn emerged from her fit of 
 laughter with a snort. 
 
 "You'd be a farm, eh? I'm thinkin', 
 Mr. McKovick, you'd be not much bigger 
 nor a potato patch with the size of you. 
 You mean a farmer, hey ? " 
 
 Markovitch nodded. That was his am- 
 bition. With thrift and sober living he 
 had hoarded all his meagre pay, till now 
 he had a snug sum laid by in his kit. Yes, 
 he would take up a homestead claim, and 
 rear cows and sheep, a horse or so, with 
 perhaps another brood that already ap- 
 peared large and vigorous in his mind's 
 
142 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 eye a fine picture that set his heart beat- 
 ing big within his breast. " Yeaas I bin 
 dink so-oh," he murmured, and Dealie 
 McGinn, rocking with merriment, cried, 
 " Ah, git out with you ! " Markovitch, 
 without understanding the turn of this 
 idiom, arose perplexed, and so took him- 
 self away. But when again he came back, 
 Dealie McGinn looked at him softly, and 
 for a while stilled her fits of high merri- 
 ment. 
 
 Out along the edge of the towering hills, 
 the herd took its way, journeying into pas- 
 tures new, still stirred by that instinct 
 which, in times now passed, had moved the 
 buffalo multitude from one grazing land 
 to another. They crossed from range to 
 range, drawing down toward the trail that 
 leads in from the western line; and the 
 herd bull, petulant from many cares, lolled 
 at the front, shielding his cows from the 
 younger bulls who followed with a wise 
 eye for opportunities. Absolute and men- 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 143 
 
 acing, the big bull roared when they drew 
 too near with their gallantries; and, know- 
 ing the consequences, the others kept their 
 distance. Thus they took their way down 
 the ranges, and on the edge of a crest 
 halted, troubled with a sudden alarm. 
 
 Three heads bobbed against the sky line, 
 and the sun glinted sharply upon the barrel 
 of a levelled gun. Irresolutely the bull 
 faced the height, the cows staring stupidly 
 and crowding in toward him. Crack! a 
 rifle spoke. The sharp detonation roared 
 from hill to hill, and at the shock a tremor 
 convulsed the herd. Hunching up his 
 shoulders, the big bull plunged forward, 
 halted, stirred again, and fell forward upon 
 his knees. From his black muzzle gushed 
 a jet of blood, but with a mighty, violent 
 plunge again he regained his feet. Once 
 more the rifle cracked as he strove to lead 
 the band in flight, again and then again. 
 The spluttering fusillade racked the wild 
 with endless echoes, and the big bull, roll- 
 ing on his side, sighed deeply with all the 
 
144 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 last strenuous power of his lungs, then 
 breathed no more. 
 
 A galloping roan, flecked with froth, 
 crashed out of the edge of the timber and 
 came rating across the open. Markovitch, 
 with a carbine held on high, was riding 
 fast, and at the sight of the dead bull 
 standing by his huddled cows, a shout of 
 rage and despair broke from his lips. The 
 roan shied from the dead hulk lying on 
 the grass, and Markovitch, clutching at 
 the saddle, regained his seat and galloped 
 on. He rode straight for the hill, and at 
 his coming a coatless figure rose and 
 scutted toward the trees. But the cut of 
 the trousers and the way he carried his 
 shoulders betrayed him. Markovitch saw 
 and yelled again, " Eye-igh Logan. Halt ! 
 Surrender ! " 
 
 A puff of smoke streamed from the hill 
 crest, and the roan, in full flight, dropped 
 his nose to the earth, and rolled headlong 
 like a rabbit stopped by a gunshot. Spit- 
 ting out the dust, Markovitch freed himself 
 
The roan shied from the dead hulk lying on the grass, and 
 Markovitch . . . rode straight for the hills, and at his coming 
 a coatless figure rose and scutted toward the trees." 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 145 
 
 from the gear of the fallen horse, snatched 
 up his carbine, and charged onward. In 
 his despair, vindictive at the death of the 
 big bull, he forgot all caution, and what it 
 meant to go against such men single-handed 
 men like Van Dyke, Howell, and Pendle- 
 ton those reckless, scut-faced rascals whose 
 names are of ill omen in the Park. He 
 dodged as they fired again ; the bullet missed 
 him, and one of the two arose and followed 
 Logan toward the trees. The other, work- 
 ing at the breech of his gun, jammed by an 
 empty shell, was still striving at it when 
 Markovitch whirled upon him. " Surrender ! " 
 he screamed ; and in answer the man clubbed 
 his gun and struck him with all his force 
 full upon the head. 
 
 They were gone; and Markovitch lay 
 stretched upon the ground, with tense fin- 
 gers clutching at the grass. Beyond lay the 
 body of the bull, and a raven from the neigh- 
 bouring wood hopped down to look about. 
 An hour later a patrol that had heard the 
 shots galloped into the opening, and saw 
 
146 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 first the bull, and then Markovitch. No 
 sign of life was there but the inert forms, 
 the marks on the hilltop, and the hoof- 
 prints of ponies tethered in the wood. But 
 they told the story plainly as if written. 
 
 Logan had long returned to the post. 
 He hung about for a while, cleaning the 
 bore of his carbine, and whistling a loud 
 and rollicking tune. An hour passed in this 
 way, then up the trail came the patrol, riding 
 fast. 
 
 "Markovitch they've got him for fair. 
 They were at the buffalo when he caught 
 
 'em." 
 
 Logan shook himself together, and the 
 tune failed on his lips. " He's sure dead ? " 
 he asked. " Ain't he ? " He leaned against 
 the sweating troop horse, looking intently 
 at the rider. 
 
 " No he ain't not yet," answered the 
 trooper, "but he's hard hit. They got 
 him with the gun butt. Hurry up there ! " 
 
 " Ain't dead ! " gasped Slim Logan, but 
 the man never noticed. Slim Logan, with 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 147 
 
 white lips, swore softly under his breath, 
 and watched the patrol with eager, shifting 
 eyes. " I'm off for the surgeon," he vol- 
 unteered, and went inside. No one stopped 
 him ; he was still safe. He slipped into the 
 men's quarters, glanced swiftly about, and 
 fell to tumbling about the belongings in 
 Markovitch's kit. Presently he found what 
 he sought, and, dropping the packet into his 
 coat, the packet that held the whole hoard 
 of Markovitch's savings, went spurring 
 down the trail. The day following an aban- 
 doned troop-horse, jaded and with hardly a 
 foot left to stand upon, was found straying 
 many miles beyond the Park lines. Logan 
 was gone, a deserter, an outlaw with a price 
 set for his capture. 
 
 " I saw him go by, ridin' awful," wailed 
 Dealie McGinn. " Oh, if I had but known ! " 
 
 Markovitch come back to life slowly, 
 through many weeks of fever and delirium. 
 Only by the ministrations of the surgeon 
 and Dealie McGinn was he coaxed back from 
 the brink of death, and then it was a strange 
 
148 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 awakening. Past memories, speech, and all 
 that experience had taught were swept away. 
 His speech he regained quickly enough, and 
 some memories returned with it too. But 
 Dealie McGinn was as if he had never seen 
 her no more to him than the remotest 
 stranger. 
 
 " Don't you know me, lad ? " she de- 
 manded, looking into his face intently. " I 
 am Dealie McGinn." 
 
 "Yeaas chu var Dealie McGinn," he 
 answered, ,but with no real recognition, and 
 turned dully away. 
 
 " Var is mine money ? " he cried one 
 day. They could not find it, nor could he. 
 " Var is it gone ? All gone ! " 
 
 The affair of Slim Logan and the accom- 
 plice poachers was quite obliterated from 
 his mind. The other men termed him now 
 "the dummy," and as he seemed mending 
 too slowly to meet the demands of the 
 service, he was forthwith discharged, paid 
 off, and told he would be shipped back to 
 the point where he had been recruited. 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 149 
 
 But the next day he disappeared from the 
 Park. 
 
 Like the last refugees of the bison herds, 
 Markovitch drifted to the north. He got 
 work, first, as the cook of a cattle outfit, 
 and after the round-up went toward the 
 line with a pack train. Then, after roam- 
 ing from ranch to ranch, ever apparently in 
 search of something or some one, he crossed 
 into Canada, and from Calgary at length 
 reached Edmonton with a stray trader of 
 his own tongue, an adventurer who had set 
 forth on a pirating cruise through the 
 Hudson Bay Company's protected ground. 
 There the trader, for a variety of reasons, 
 saw that it was wise to turn back; but 
 Markovitch stayed, and there, too, the first 
 of that wild, fatuous pilgrimage to the Yu- 
 kon the trying of the Edmonton trail 
 found him stranded, willing for any work. 
 
 Along these chilled and wind-swept ranges 
 north of the Little Great Slave Lake was a 
 relic of the former multitudes the herd of 
 wood bison, long ago come up from the 
 
150 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 south. Generations had taught them the 
 fear of man, and like uneasy wraiths they 
 kept on the move, incessant in their change 
 from place to place. They trafficked stealth- 
 ily among the stunted timber, hardly ven- 
 turing into the reaches of open ground, and 
 they were fleet of foot, and as shy and 
 crafty as a long-hunted white-tail buck. 
 No stress of weather, no storm of sleeted 
 rain or snow, dismayed them, and, once 
 started, they travelled in wild flight many 
 leagues. Few indeed fell to the guns of 
 the Chipewyan or the Cree, and in that 
 bleak desolation of muskeg, stunted fir, 
 and rock land, they fought their struggle 
 against their foes hardily, a survival of the 
 fittest. 
 
 Foremost in that mad folly the Edmon- 
 ton trail to the Yukon went Markovitch. 
 Inspired by the false and criminal encour- 
 agement of men that had much to gain and 
 nothing to lose, he herded with the other 
 unfortunates and plunged onward into that 
 frozen wild. Day by day they toiled north- 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 151 
 
 ward, on foot and by canoe. High up in the 
 north winter overtook them ; they camped, 
 and the scurvy broke forth. Some were 
 abandoned on the trail, the others tried 
 again to push forward, and the horror of 
 that enterprise reached all the way from 
 Athabasca Landing into the last remote 
 reaches of Nelson River. Markovitch turned 
 back. Starvation was at hand, but he knew 
 that if he could reach the abandoned caches 
 far behind he would live to escape. A dis- 
 heartened company went with him, their 
 faces cracked and blackened from the kill- 
 ing cold, stricken with swelling scurvy, and 
 hardly able to plod. But he never com- 
 plained, and with the stolidity that always 
 marks his kind led the faltering caravan 
 along that heart-breaking trail. Storm fol- 
 lowed storm, and one day they missed the 
 trail. Some were for turning back again, 
 but Markovitch held on, swinging away by 
 the compass. But after this their Dog 
 Rib packers halted, and, beginning a wild 
 pow-wow, would go no further. 
 
152 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 They had come, then, into the sterile land 
 that lies between the headwaters of the Hay 
 and Peace rivers, and the Indians were dis- 
 mayed. It was a land of evil spirits, where 
 the wolf-woman and the other wild and 
 awful spirits walked, and their hearts were 
 turned with fear. They must strike toward 
 the south, said the Indians, in distress, sul- 
 len and with fierce gestures. So they turned, 
 and a half day's journey beyond saw the 
 smoke of many camp-fires blurring the sky 
 at a mile's distance. Markovitch's face 
 beamed with exultation. 
 
 " Now we shall not die in this so awful 
 place." 
 
 Loud shouts hailed them, and the last 
 stragglers, in answer to the greeting, quick- 
 ened their gait and came dashing up the 
 ridge. 
 
 "Food we shall eat!" cried Marko- 
 vitch. 
 
 Like theirs, this party was but another of 
 the luckless ventures of that trail of famine 
 and death. It had turned back, easily dis- 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 153 
 
 heartened, long before it quit the last of the 
 muskeg. Now, at full speed, it was hasten- 
 ing over the back track, bound for the Little 
 Lake, abandoning most of its outfit on the 
 way. 
 
 "Food we shall eat!" 
 
 At the sound of Markovitch's voice, a man 
 standing by the fire swung abruptly upon his 
 heel. His face, cloaked by a caribou-hide 
 capote, was hidden. Only his eyes showed, 
 and in them there was a gleam of astonish- 
 ment, a sudden quick look of apprehension. 
 
 "Dutch you " He checked himself 
 as Markovitch looked around. 
 
 "Who calls?" asked Markovitch, but 
 there was no answer. In Markovitch's eyes, 
 too, was a gleam a light of reawakening 
 that came with a swift, sudden memory of 
 some forgotten event. But it died quickly 
 enough as he hung, hovering, over the fire. 
 
 They camped that night, and in the morn- 
 ing travelled together. For three days they 
 kept on across the widening muskeg, through 
 the dark and tangled thickets of fir, journey- 
 
154 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ing by a dim trail from day to day. Always 
 the man in the capote travelled at the heel 
 of Markovitch, watching. "You're called 
 Dutch, ain't you?" he asked, and Marko- 
 vitch nodded affably, with a little smirk. 
 
 " He's a little gone here," said one of the 
 party, touching a ringer to his temple, indi- 
 cating Markovitch with a toss of his head. 
 "He's a little gone, you know sort of a 
 dummy. But you can't beat him in the 
 woods. He's a wonder. Can pick a trail 
 almost blindfolded." 
 
 The man in the capote nodded. " Sort of 
 a damned Jew, ain't he?" 
 
 " Jew ? I guess not ! " answered the other 
 hotly. " If it hadn't been for him, when 
 those Dog Ribs lost us, we'd all gone to pot, 
 you bet." 
 
 Scowling, the man in the capote walked on, 
 his eye following Markovitch. 
 
 A trail crossed the snow, fresh marks upon 
 that almost unbroken sheet. Markovitch, 
 with a quick start, leaned down to study the 
 deeply printed slots. " Look so ! " he 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 155 
 
 whispered, all excitement, and the Dog Rib 
 guides and a Cree packer crowded around, 
 and with them again the man in the capote. 
 " Yes, look at 'em ! " the man in the capote 
 cried, eagerness in his tone. " They told me 
 they were in the country, but I didn't know 
 they came thus far south. Look three 
 five a dozen a whole herd of them ! " 
 
 They were fresh, these tracks, not an hour 
 old. The herd had just gone by, and the 
 Indians, overcome with a desire to take the 
 trail in pursuit, were arguing hotly with 
 the head men. 
 
 " Fresh meat ! " said the man in the capote. 
 His eyes were glittering, and his hands shook 
 as he cast aside his pack and unslung his 
 rifle from its case. Markovitch swung 
 around. The Indians, with heads bent to 
 the trail, were away, the white hunter fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 " The buffalo ! " he muttered. " They will 
 kill the buffalo." 
 
 He stood erect, and with one swift glance 
 followed. 
 
156 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 The two Dog Ribs and the white man 
 were scudding over the crusted snow, driving 
 onward at full speed. Their pace was heavy, 
 famine had told upon the Muscovite's 
 strength, and he could not break their lead. 
 But with all his courage he followed. 
 
 Under the lee of a fir thicket stood the 
 herd. It had come down from the north, 
 fleeing many leagues before a band of prowl- 
 ing Chipewyans. Here, far in the south, it 
 had halted for food and rest. A cow, stand- 
 ing on the nearest summit, kept watch while 
 the herd grazed up the wind. They were 
 bigger and rounder than the bison of the 
 Park ; their hair was of a darker hue and 
 finer; and longer, cleaner limbs told of gen- 
 erations of speed. 
 
 Off at the right went the two Dog Ribs, 
 trailing their antique smooth-bores, the man 
 in the capote taking his own way. He was 
 circling to the leeward, and on the crest of 
 the rise he stopped, dropped to his knees, 
 and, motionless, looked ahead. Behind was 
 Markovitch, racing on the snow. He saw 
 
Under the lee of a fir thicket stood the herd . . . here, far in the 
 south, it had halted for food and rest." 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 157 
 
 the man thrust aside the capote and bend his 
 eye to the sights. Near by were the Indians, 
 loping along. They had not seen the herd. 
 
 A hoarse shout broke from the lips of 
 Markovitch. He had recognized the other. 
 There was Logan on the hill ; below, in the 
 hollow, was the herd. 
 
 " Hold ! You shall not kill the buffalo ! " 
 
 A shot followed, then a thunder of stam- 
 peding hoofs. Again Markovitch roared, 
 the shout coming like an infuriated challenge 
 to the man upon the hill. The Indians, dis- 
 mayed, stopped and looked on. Markovitch, 
 with his arms waving in a wild menace, was 
 rushing upward toward the man in the capote. 
 
 " Logan Slim Logan chu shall not 
 kill the auerochs! Ahr-rr!" 
 
 The Indians were running again, this time 
 toward them. 
 
 " Surrender ! " screamed Markovitch, and 
 Logan beheld him with outstretched, violent 
 arms, charging the hill, a wild, maniac light 
 in his eyes. With a sudden terror Logan 
 turned and tried to run. But his snowshoes 
 
158 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 tripped upon each other ; he fell again to his 
 knees, and with a curse levelled his rifle at 
 the running man. Markovitch dodged, and 
 the bullet went wide. " Chu shall not kill 
 the auerochs ! " he screamed. " It is the law 
 of the Park ! " But again Logan fired, and 
 the bullet went whining over the Indians' 
 heads. With one impulse with one fear 
 that the man would kill them first they let 
 drive at Logan together. He was still kneel- 
 ing, one hand working furiously at a shell 
 jammed in the breech of his repeater, and 
 at the two shots he pitched forward convul- 
 sively, spun around, and fell. 
 
 "Hoh he is dead!" roared Markovitch. 
 His eyelids twitched, a pallor swept across 
 his face, and he, too, fell upon the snow, 
 lying there with a sudden stiffening of his 
 limbs. 
 
 Hastened by the shots, the other men of 
 the party raced toward the hill. There was 
 the tragedy before them. Logan was dead, 
 Markovitch just reviving. He sat up, gasp- 
 ing and weak, and stared at the motley train, 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 159 
 
 at the Indians and the whites, all with faces 
 drawn and cracked by the cold. 
 
 "Vat vat var it?" he demanded. His 
 eyes swept the stretch of desolation laid 
 before him, and widened in grave surprise. 
 "Var is the mountains? Var have they 
 gone ? " Then he saw the body of Slim 
 Logan lying upon the snow. " Cheaas he 
 var of the droop. Vat vill the post say ven 
 they hear he shall kill the buffalo of the 
 Park ? " 
 
 The man, thought the others, was plainly 
 out of his mind. "What Park? What's it 
 all about ? " 
 
 Markovitch's air of wonder was renewed. 
 "This the Park of the Yellowstone!" he 
 cried. " He var Slim Logan of the droop, 
 and he have bin shot." 
 
 They thought, indeed, that Markovitch 
 had killed him, but then they saw he had no 
 gun. After this the Indians were questioned. 
 They sat there in the snow, and with a babel 
 of Cree and Chipewyan, with many signs and 
 rude figures, made it known that they had 
 
160 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 killed the man. They were in fear of death ; 
 he was shooting them instead of the bison, 
 and this man and the other were both mad. 
 
 " No, I am not mad," exclaimed Marko- 
 vitch. "But the Park var is the Park? 
 And Slim Logan vor vy is not the uniform 
 of the droop, but this a blanket clothes ? " 
 
 Down from the upper forks of the Yellow- 
 stone came Markovitch, riding into the Park. 
 He swung aside into the foot hills, and at 
 the edge of a wide and open glade halted, 
 looking across the interval. It was spring, 
 and a loud bellow challenged from the tim- 
 ber's edge. Out into the open came a herd, 
 a shaggy bull in the lead, followed by his 
 companion cows. " Eye-igh it is the 
 spring!" he murmured, and rode on. He 
 clattered then along a well-remembered trail, 
 and after many miles drew up and dropped 
 the bridle-rein across the pickets of a fence. 
 Then he walked manfully up the path. 
 
 A woman was standing in the doorway, 
 and it was Dealie McGinn. She stared at 
 
THE SURVIVORS. 161 
 
 the man, threw up her hands, and cried aloud, 
 "Oh, glory be!" A wide and bewitching 
 grin spread upon his face. 
 
 " D'you know me, laddie ? " she shrilled, 
 and the grin grew wider. 
 
 " Yeaas ! " he gurgled. " Yeaas ; you bin 
 mine schaatz." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ON THE SNOW. 
 
 ONWARD led the track a deep, un- 
 swerving trail still pushing along the 
 forest's snowy floor northward toward the 
 upper reaches of the Kippewa. Beauchene 
 now lay far in the rear, and through an 
 interminable silence of unbroken winter 
 woods the chase fared on, striking from the 
 lower swamps upward along the open tim- 
 ber. Lemaire led, no longer stealing, cau- 
 tious, with catlike steps through the bush, 
 but plunging on, determined to wear down 
 the quarry by a sheer persistence. One day 
 was gone, another dying, and the moose a 
 big bull still was travelling, vigorous in his 
 stride. Once, lingering, curious and fearful 
 to find whether the pursuit still held in his 
 trail, he had shown himself among the trees. 
 Then a futile bullet drove him on still faster. 
 162 
 
The moose a big bull still was travelling, vigorous in his stride. 
 
ON THE SNOW. 163 
 
 Verily, Lemaire was right. " Hunh deer," 
 said he, "deer run round and round." He 
 leaned over and heaved his pack higher 
 up on his shoulders, moving the tump-line 
 band where it had cut deeply into his brow. 
 " Deer go round an' round. Moose not like 
 deer. Moose know a place far 'way moose 
 go there!" He beckoned me to follow, and 
 took up the trail. In the beginning, his 
 eye had glistened with a vivid passion of 
 the chase, but now it pored dully upon the 
 tangled covers. " Bimeby moose get mad. 
 Then moose turn round fight." But now 
 the second day was ending, and the bull still 
 postponed his temerarious last frenzy of fear. 
 
 The track dipped over the brow of a tall 
 ridge, where, on the right, a thicket of black 
 spruce turned their slender spires whisper- 
 ing toward the sky. Yet even this secret 
 murmuring of the wind among the tops 
 added to the utter quiet of the woods. Soli- 
 tude was there, and a deep silence too. 
 
 Lemaire paused and brushed away the 
 matted hair hanging before his eyes. He 
 
1 64 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 swept the woods with an inquiring glance, 
 hurried onward, halted, and then, turning 
 abruptly from the trail, pushed through the 
 abattis of a windfall. Beyond lay an open- 
 ing in the trees, a narrow interval sheeted 
 with snow, and at its head he stopped, 
 transfixed. 
 
 Age had told lightly upon Lemaire. He 
 carried the weight of his threescore years 
 strongly, as the bull moose swings his heavy 
 yellow antlers in the rut. His blanket 
 mackinaw hung squarely upon his broad, 
 determined shoulders ; his eyes gleamed 
 keenly, almost with the fire of youth. He 
 stood, drawn forward, peering beneath his 
 uplifted hand. Had he seen the game 
 quick where was it? Lemaire shook his 
 head and breathed deeply. His hand 
 stretched slowly out, pointing along the 
 interval. " Look so," said he. 
 
 In the glade's centre was a cross, rude 
 and uncouth, a vivid emblem of the loneli- 
 ness of death, shining there against the 
 black background of spruce, solitary in this 
 
ON THE SNOW. 165 
 
 appalling stretch of solitude. Lemaire lifted 
 the tump-line from his brow and made the 
 holy sign. Silently, as before, he turned 
 then, and pushed on. Night was drawing 
 down, and anew the evening wind stirred 
 among the trees. Dark and dejected, 
 Lemaire threaded the dusky closes of the 
 wilderness, silent till he reached a hollow 
 under the hill. "Camp now," he muttered 
 brusquely. " Pretty soon dark bimeby 
 cold, sartin mighty cold." 
 
 Still in this dark humour he scraped away 
 the snow and laid a fire. He hung over it, 
 husbanding its first flickering blaze, and in 
 the glow his face showed heavy and drawn. 
 From under the rim of his sable cap he 
 pored blankly upon the fire; then, when it 
 had burst into a cheerful flame, he put on 
 the frying-pan, the bacon, the kettle, and 
 the tea. " Tired out, Lemaire ? " He 
 turned stolidly, his expression unchanged, 
 and slowly shook his head. "Hunh!" he 
 answered, " tired to-morrow nex' day 
 mebbe. Not tired now." Once more he 
 
166 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 bent over the fire, turning the bacon with 
 his skinning-knife, and shaking the kettle 
 of tea. But this done, he fell anew into 
 his slow dejection, and sat, stolidly gloom- 
 ing upon the dark forest's flank until the 
 bacon was in a fair way to burn. 
 
 " Hoh-tay-0 / " he cried abruptly, in the 
 tongue of his Algonquin mother. " Wee 
 wuish a-shum-sun. Tea I am hungry ! " 
 Leaping to his feet, he snatched off the 
 bacon and the tea, laid out his cups and 
 birch-bark plates, and with a clattering knife 
 fell to work at his food. 
 
 Overhead the stellar host burned with all 
 their brilliance in the unclouded winter sky, 
 and around the night camp a swirl of pun- 
 gent smoke wreathed among the trees. 
 Lemaire drew his blanket about his knees, 
 and a garrulous pipe came forth and added 
 strong incense to the clear and frosty air. 
 Once a fox barked shrilly in the distance, 
 and in the north an owl screamed its af- 
 frighted note. Lemaire listened. The echo 
 passed, and the dead forest regained its quiet. 
 
ON THE SNOW. 167 
 
 " Over there," he said, waving his arm 
 broadly toward the north, " are many graves 
 of my people. Where shall you find them ? 
 Mujizowaja Abittibe the lost Kwing- 
 wishe yes, in many places ; from there to 
 the big water on the edge of the high 
 ground. There is where they sleep many 
 of them yet / I am here. Listen. Many 
 winters ago more snows than you have 
 seen the moose went eastward, and the 
 caribou travelled far out there, far beyond 
 this country up there where there are no 
 trees. Hunger then came to the tribes, and 
 many died in the lodges. It struck the old 
 people, and they were dead. It touched the 
 little children, and they breathed no more. 
 I myself saw it for I was a young man then 
 among my people I and my brother." 
 
 He spoke, halting in his words, his lan- 
 guage partly English, partly the patois of 
 the French-Canadian, and here and there a 
 hoarse guttural of Algonquin. 
 
 " There was no meat among my people, 
 and the summer's dried fish was gone. Nor 
 
1 68 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 were there rabbits, for it was the year of 
 their evil, and they died. 'Come,' said my 
 brother, 'we will go south to the Temis- 
 camingue, the Deep Water, to the company 
 post where my father's money waits. Then 
 we shall buy flour and fat meat, and our 
 throats shall no longer parch for want of tea. 
 Come/ Fear, then, was in my heart. Many 
 winters before had my father lived here 
 among these my mother's people. He was 
 a white man like you from the place 
 where there are many houses. Yes, I have 
 seen him. I am a big man like him, and my 
 blood is strong. I do not blame him. He 
 went away ; but many years, when the fur 
 canoes came down from the north, there was 
 money for us at the post. He did not for- 
 get, twenty yes, thirty snows ago, when 
 there was no money, I knew he was dead. 
 
 " My brother said these words, * Let us go.' 
 In my heart was fear. I looked about, and 
 my mother's eye was on mine, as she lay 
 weak among the rabbit blankets of fur. 
 Down there there at Temiscamingue we 
 
ON THE SNOW. 169 
 
 should laugh in our hearts at death. But 
 how should our mother find her way ? Even 
 now death had touched her, and her breath 
 whistled as she breathed. My brother spoke 
 again. ' I cannot stay/ he said, and my 
 mother's eye turned from him to me. ' Go,' 
 she whispered ; * you are strong, and for me, 
 death scrapes his finger upon the lodge's 
 door. I shall go the long journey. 1 
 
 " ' Why do you go ? ' I cried strongly, for 
 he was my brother and I loved him. An- 
 other I should have pushed out into the snow, 
 to go his way as he chose. But he was my 
 brother. He did not speak, but turned away. 
 Then I cried roughly to him. There was 
 hot blood in our hearts, and he struck me on 
 the mouth. No man had done that before, 
 and my anger was great mad like the she- 
 bear in the spring. We fought strongly, 
 for we were big men. And as we fought 
 there was a cry. We looked about. Our 
 mother was dead. Then we fought no more. 
 I heard the wailing of women in other lodges, 
 and I longed to cry out too. But I was a 
 
170 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 man and must not. So I sat beside my 
 mother, and took her hand, and my brother 
 sat on the other side, and took her hand too. 
 I saw his heart had softened, and I was glad, 
 and I thought that the hunger, maybe, had 
 made his heart bad before. But then I did 
 not know. 
 
 " The good father at the post had taught 
 me many good words, and I prayed. I 
 prayed in my own tongue. I felt it was good. 
 My brother heard, but did not understand. 
 He knew only the rum trader and the head 
 man at the post ; also only the fur traders 
 who go up to the big water along the water 
 trail. They say the words I spoke only in 
 anger, and using them strangely. He heard 
 my words, but did not know. * Listen/ he 
 said. ' You cannot wake our mother. She 
 sleeps on the long journey. Come, we will 
 bury our mother, and take the trail to the 
 Deep Water. Let us go.' 
 
 " He went away in the darkness, but soon 
 he was back. ' Look/ he said, * I have food. 
 Eat and we will go.' I looked at the food 
 
ON THE SNOW. 171 
 
 and wondered. It was the meat of the cari- 
 bou, dried, and there had been no caribou 
 since two snows had gone. * What is this 
 meat ? ' I asked, and my brother turned his 
 face. * Eat,' he said, and I ate, tearing the 
 meat with my teeth, like the gray wolf at the 
 moose's throat. Yet I wondered. ' Come, 
 we will bury our mother now.' But we were 
 too weak with the long hunger. We could 
 not dig the snow, and how should we, then, 
 break the hardened ground. ' Peace, mother,' 
 said I. * I shall return in the long days 
 peace and sleep.' 
 
 " My brother waited by the lodge. I saw 
 that he stepped more strongly, and wondered. 
 Had not the long hunger made me weak who 
 was once so much stronger than my brother ? 
 But my thought was like a dream, and I was 
 dizzy like one who has the hot sickness and 
 cries out strange things that have no mean- 
 ing. I followed, but I knew that it was the 
 upper trail the long path leading to the 
 big water the Kitci-gami at the edge of 
 the high ground where there are no trees. 
 
172 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ' This is not the trail,' said I ; but he shook 
 his head and bade me follow. 
 
 " There was light, for the night had gone. 
 We went to the north, and by and by there 
 was a trail of two people in the snow. I 
 looked and saw that they led back and forth, 
 and that one was a woman. My brother 
 took my little bag of food from me, and 
 threw it down at the door of the last lodge. 
 It was the place of the chiefs son, and he 
 was wealthy. Many winters have passed 
 since then, and I have forgotten his name 
 Muckwa, I think it was Muckwa the bear. 
 He too died in the long hunger. But I cried 
 out, knowing that he had much and we little 
 for the journey. It was many camps beyond 
 to the deep water, and I tried to seize the 
 food. But my brother laughed, not like a 
 man, but like the cackle of Kwingwishe, the 
 meat bird. ' Leave it. Peace ! There is 
 more and better, and I give him that. Go 
 on/ I came away, for I walked still in a 
 dream, and nothing was as it should be. 
 Then we came to where the long muskeg 
 
ON THE SNOW. 173 
 
 touches on the pond of many moose, and we 
 crossed upon the ice, following in the tracks 
 that the man and woman had made. There 
 my brother stepped from the trail sharply, 
 as one turns from the moose track when the 
 wind is blowing and the moose has turned 
 to lie down where he can smell the foe on 
 his trail. ' Come/ said my brother, but I 
 kept on. He called again, but I kept on 
 many steps. Before long I saw a man in 
 the snow, and he was lying down. He slept, 
 I thought, and there was the trail of a sledge 
 in the snow and the tracks made by the feet 
 of many huskies. ' Look,' I said, crying out, 
 ' here is a man from the big water where the 
 streams run the other way. Come, we will 
 waken him.' I saw he was from the north, 
 for he wore the high moccasins of fur made 
 from the big otters without legs, that play 
 on the rocks of the big water over there. 
 Also, he -still held in his hand a bone knife, 
 such as there was not among our people. 
 ' Hoh ! ' I cried, but he did not awaken. 
 Then I saw that he was dead. He had 
 
174 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 been stabbed in the back, and there were 
 the marks of the woman's feet beside him. 
 1 Hoh ! ' I cried, ' he is dead ! ' But my 
 brother did not come, but beckoned me on. 
 I followed, and called out to him, but he 
 gave no answer. Then I ran, falling this 
 way and there, like my people when they 
 have tasted the trader's rum. But my 
 brother ran too, and we reached the edge of 
 the bush. I heard then a dog bark, and 
 another. In our people's keep were no dogs, 
 for the last had been killed long before in 
 our hunger. Then I looked and saw a 
 sledge and dogs, and it was of the country 
 where there are no trees. I knew, for the 
 sledge runners were of bone, and lower than 
 we use here where the snows are deeper 
 than the reach of the biggest moose. But 
 I saw no more, for I fell, and my mind 
 turned from me. I was like the dead man 
 in the trail; I knew nothing. 
 
 " When I awoke, I lay in a sledge and we 
 were on the ice. We crossed there and 
 went up into the bush. There I saw a 
 
ON THE SNOW. 175 
 
 woman waiting among the trees, and now 
 she ran with the dogs. I covered my face, 
 for still I was weak and did not know. 
 * Hoh ! ' I cried, * it is our mother's spirit, 
 and she walks beside us in the snow ! ' But 
 a laugh answered, and it was not my mother's 
 voice. I looked again, and the woman 
 turned. I saw it was Pin-e-ah, Muckwa's 
 wife, the stranger-woman who came from up 
 there where there are no trees. She was 
 smaller than our women, and her face was 
 round, with eyes turned up so. Nor could 
 she speak our tongue when first she came 
 among us. She ran now beside the dogs, 
 and I said, 'Tell me, O Pin-e-ah, where is 
 thy husband? Does he come with us? And 
 this, no doubt, is his dog-sledge.' But she 
 laughed, and ran beside the sledge. ' No,' 
 she said, 'this is the sledge of good 
 Maatuke, who rests up yonder a while. 
 Peace to him.' I thought for a while, but 
 did not understand. Then I knew. ' Hoh 
 it is Maatuke lying up there in the snow. 
 He is dead, and, brother, thou hast slain the 
 
176 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 stranger.' My brother's heart was black, 
 and he made no answer. But Pin-e-ah 
 laughed, crying out, *'Twas I that did it,' 
 she said, and I wondered at this woman of 
 evil. She laughed, singing, like the hunter 
 when he has killed the moose, and blood was 
 on her hand. 
 
 " ' Listen,' she said. * He was my lover 
 over there in the land where there are no 
 trees. Then Muckwa came, and he was 
 stronger, so I went with him. He brought 
 me here, into the land of the big sticks, and 
 I was his. Now, in this the long hunger, 
 Maatuke comes with his dogs to take me, 
 for he has heard of the trouble among your 
 people from the hunters that have gone into 
 the north. Yet I do not go with Maatuke. 
 He is waiting. He is lying in the snow to 
 rest after his journey.' She laughed again. 
 
 " ' Hoh ! ' I cried, stopping the dogs. I 
 arose, walking beside the sledge. ' Tell me, 
 O Pin-e-ah, why is thy husband Muckwa 
 not with us ? There is food and plenty here 
 for all.' Again she laughed. 
 
ON THE SNOW. 177 
 
 " ' Also he is lying up there beyond. Let 
 him lie and rest himself, for he will have a 
 long journey if he follow, pot dog that he is.' 
 
 " I followed in the sledge trail, wondering, 
 for I did not understand. ' Tell me, my 
 brother,' I asked, 'why does this woman 
 come with us ? ' He looked, and showed 
 me his teeth, like huskies fighting over a 
 rotten fish. * Have done,' he spoke, ' she 
 comes with me.' 
 
 " Three days we journeyed, and I grew 
 strong. Boasting, this woman told me all. 
 At the beginning of the long hunger, be- 
 cause she knew by the signs her people 
 learn that it was there, she had saved 
 largely of Muckwa's food. She had laid it 
 where no hand but hers should take it, and 
 Muckwa soon felt the grip of the hunger 
 upon him. But she had not given him of 
 her hidden store. She had fed herself and 
 then my brother, bringing in her hand a 
 piece each day. Thus they had lived, and 
 our mother had died, for he was to keep up 
 and have this woman for his own. ' And 
 
178 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Muckwa?' I asked. 'What of Muckwa, O 
 Pin-e-ah ? ' She looked and laughed. 
 
 " ' Twice have I said it. Muckwa lies 
 over yonder. He is gone on the long jour- 
 ney. He left nothing, yet good Maatuke 
 brought us meat/ 
 
 " Then I knew that the bag of food my 
 brother had cast before the door of Muckwa's 
 lodge was but an offering to the dead. I 
 cried out, for my heart was sad, * Peace, O 
 Muckwa, son of Kab-a-o-sis ! Peace to thee.' 
 For he, likewise, was dead dead because 
 of this woman that had come down from the 
 land where there are no trees. * O Pin-e-ah,' 
 I said, and my heart was hot with anger that 
 was for her, 'thou art a thing of evil. Was 
 not Muckwa thy husband, for he ran beneath 
 the blanket with thee?' And she laughed 
 aloud, while her eyes shone as those of the 
 wolf-devil when he sings outside the hunter's 
 fire. * Ay, he was my husband according 
 to thy people ; but am I a kimack, a mangy 
 sledge dog, that is whipped among the traces, 
 that he should beat me with his hand ? ' 
 
ON THE SNOW. 179 
 
 "Again I wondered, for this woman was 
 not like the women of my tribe. ' Tell me,' I 
 said, * among thy women is not love taught 
 with a hand that is strong ? ' She arose 
 then, drawing her blanket about her. ' Many 
 women are there who listen weakly while 
 the dog whip cracks, yet I am not one. I 
 am the daughter of a chief, and my will is 
 strong, like the mad-wolf, that cannot be 
 driven in the traces among the dogs. Over 
 there' and she waved her arm toward that 
 country many camps beyond ' I am called 
 in our tongue Amaroke, the She-Wolf, and 
 so shalt thou know me.' 
 
 " My brother sat by the fire. He wound 
 a thong about his gun-barrel, that was broken 
 from the wood. He spoke not, but his eyes 
 looked upon the woman, strong with flame 
 for her. Again my heart was troubled, and 
 I looked at him sitting by the fire. 
 
 " ' Hark ! ' I said, ' O my brother ! ' I arose 
 and threw the blanket from my shoulder, 
 for speech was on my lips. ' Hark ! O my 
 brother ! This woman that thou hast taken 
 
i8o IN THE FOREST. 
 
 to thy breast is a she-wolf, and if thou cling 
 to her she will gnaw at thy heart. Turn 
 this woman away, my brother, lest thou die 
 as all have died who follow.' 
 
 " Then this woman looked at my brother 
 in the eyes, and, seeing what they spoke, 
 looked boldly at me and laughed. Nor did 
 she look with hate, but as the young woman 
 looks at her lover when he brings home 
 plenty from the hunt. ' Have done, O Mus- 
 kosi-Amik,' she cried, calling me by my Al- 
 gonquin name ; ' am I to be like the wounded 
 caribou that is driven from the herd ? Thou 
 art a strong man, but I too am strong.' 
 
 " Then she wrapped the blanket about her 
 head and lay beside the fire. 
 
 " Three times again we camped. Three 
 times by the fire I cried out to my brother 
 that this woman was a wolf. ' Let us turn 
 our faces on the trail,' I said, ' and take back 
 this woman to the place where Muckwa lies 
 dead within his lodge.' But my brother 
 made no answer, and Pin-e-ah laughed, 
 looking at me with eyes that burned wetly, 
 
ON THE SNOW. 181 
 
 like the doe's when she licks her spotted 
 fawn. 
 
 "Six camps we had come, breaking out 
 the trail. Late the sun left its place among 
 the trees, and early it lay down again, for it 
 was the heart of winter. My brother went 
 ahead, beating down the snow for the dogs, 
 and the woman ran beside the sledge. I 
 too went ahead when my brother's feet were 
 tired, but it was not I that led upon the ice. 
 One camp over there we came to a running 
 water, and it was singing beneath the ice. 
 * Hoh, my brother,' I said, 'we shall go a 
 little way before we cross this running water, 
 lest we break through and drown.' 
 
 " But he laughed aloud, and there was 
 anger and evil in his eyes. Maybe, then, he 
 had seen the woman looking at me with eyes 
 wet like the mother doe's ; but I do not 
 know. ' Come,' he said, ' is my brother a 
 coward that he keeps the shore like Ginibig 
 the wood snake? Come.' And I said no 
 more. Then my brother drove the whining 
 huskies forward, and the woman fell behind, 
 
1 82 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 watching. 'Thou art a strong man/ she 
 whispered, 'and no coward.' And I saw 
 her eyes peer up into mine. ' Go ! ' I cried, 
 striking her off, but she only laughed. My 
 brother went on, three sledges from the 
 shore, and I heard the ice speaking out. 
 ' Come, O my brother ! ' I cried ; but the ice 
 spoke again. Then it broke across till I saw 
 the river underneath. ' O my brother,' I 
 cried, ' thou art gone, and this woman hath 
 slain thee too ! ' But again I saw him, fight- 
 ing for his life among the dogs, and, forget- 
 ting all, I ran and drew him out. But as we 
 came toward the shore, again the ice split 
 across, and both were in the water. Then 
 I heard the woman, and she was lying on the 
 bank, and her hand was stretched toward 
 me. ' Thy hand ! ' she cried, and it was to 
 me she spoke. ' My brother drowns ! ' I 
 cried ; and again she spoke, but to me. ' Thy 
 hand, and I will save thee.' And I took her 
 hand, but held my brother by his hair, and 
 she drew us both ashore. Then we sat on 
 the bank and looked. Our sledge was gone, 
 
ON THE SNOW. 183 
 
 its dogs, and all our meat. I only had saved 
 my gun, for I had dropped it when I ran to 
 my brother's help. So we sat on the bank 
 till our clothes were stiff, like the fur of the 
 beaver when it is dried upon the splints. 
 
 " ' Come,' I said, ' the deep water lies 
 over there more than seven camps away, 
 for now we walk. But there is no meat, 
 and we shall die ! ' Shaking, my brother 
 arose, for the cold had touched his bones. 
 One day we walked and camped. Half 
 another day we walked, and my brother sang. 
 He saw it was the spring and that the fur 
 canoes came down from the north while the 
 traders sat in the fort. But I, who was of 
 clear mind, saw that it was still the winter, 
 and that my brother went this way and there, 
 like my people when they have tasted the 
 trader's rum. 'Tell me, my brother, why 
 do you sing?' I touched his skin, and it 
 was hot, like the horns of the moose in the 
 spring. I saw his eyes, and they were red 
 and looked nowhere. Then I knew that my 
 brother had the cold-sickness, and my throat 
 
1 84 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 with fear was so that I could not swallow. 
 So I walked on, holding my brother by 
 the waist, and the woman walked behind, 
 saying nothing. We camped, and in the 
 night my brother talked aloud, so that the 
 forest was full of sound. But when the sun 
 came from the trees, he was still breathing 
 like the caribou before it dies. He will die 
 without food, I thought. I will look in the 
 forest. I took my gun and went into the 
 bush, walking a short way. I walked a little 
 further. Maybe I would see a rabbit. Then 
 I looked back, and there was the woman. 
 She was walking behind me. ' Come,' I 
 said, * you shall sit by my brother while he 
 sleeps. You shall not follow me in the 
 snow.' But she held up her hand, holding 
 the palm outward. ' See,' she said, * I have 
 brought the food.' Food she had, indeed, of 
 the dried flesh of the caribou. ' Tell me, O 
 Pin-e-ah, where did you get this food ? ' 
 And she laughed. * Strong man, you would 
 turn me away in the snow. So I have saved 
 the meat of the caribou, and hid it within 
 
ON THE SNOW. 185 
 
 my breast. It was to keep me on the way, 
 so that I could follow in the trail of the dog 
 sledge.' 
 
 " I took the food and held it in my hand. 
 * Why do you give me this ? ' She looked 
 away, but I saw that her eyes were soft. 
 
 " Again I spoke to her. * Why do you 
 give me this meat of the caribou ? ' * I 
 know not/ she answered, ' lest it is that thou 
 art strong and that I would have thee, O 
 Muskosi-Amik ' calling me in my Algon- 
 quin name. Then I spat upon the meat, 
 and threw it on the snow. * Go ! ' I said, 
 and walked among the trees. I came to a 
 ridge, and there was a moose. He was a 
 big bull. He yarded alone because he was 
 big. * Hoh ! ' I cried to myself, * there is a 
 big bull. I will kill him, and my brother 
 shall live.' I raised my gun. Then I put 
 it down again. I prayed, saying the good 
 words the father had taught me. Then I 
 raised my gun, and fired. I saw him fall, 
 and ran in shouting. But he got upon his 
 feet, and went away. I looked, and there 
 
1 86 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 was blood upon the snow. I saw his hair 
 where the bullet had cut it. I saw that 
 it was yellow, and I knew I had hit him 
 too low. I lifted the blood upon the snow, 
 and it showed no froth. ' Never mind,' I 
 said, * I will follow. Maybe he will fall.' 
 So I followed a long way till he came to the 
 ice. There he ran fast, and I could not 
 catch him. So \ came up to the camp. 
 
 " My brother lay by the fire. I heard his 
 voice, and he talked with Muckwa the 
 dead Muckwa, who lay in his lodge over 
 there. They talked as friends, for they had 
 often taken the caribou together. But the 
 woman spoke shrilly, bidding him be done. 
 * Peace!' I said, standing before the fire. 
 She looked at me, and saw that there was 
 blood on my hands, where I had lifted it 
 from the snow. * See,' she said softly, speak- 
 ing that my brother should not hear, 'the 
 strong man returns and there is moose meat. 
 Come, we will go and skin the moose.' 
 
 " ' Have done,' I said, ' I have not killed 
 the moose.' 
 
ON THE SNOW. 187 
 
 " I sat beside the fire. * You have food,' 
 I said ; ' give it to me, so that my brother 
 may eat.' She drew her blanket about her, 
 and rose up. * No,' she said, * he is already 
 starting on the long journey, and needs no 
 food. I and you shall eat.' I thought a 
 while, 'Shall I kill this woman?' Then 
 I remembered the good words the father 
 spoke, and I said, ' No, I cannot kill this 
 woman.' So I said : 
 
 " ' Pin-e-ah, give me food ; I am hungry.' 
 I said to myself, * I will get this food, and 
 give it to my brother.' So she gave me a 
 part of the caribou meat, and I made a pot 
 of birch bark. I thought to myself, * I will 
 boil it for my brother.' She sat beside me, 
 and put her hand upon my shoulder. 'Listen, 
 O Muskosi-Amik,' she said, calling on me by 
 my Algonquin name. ' Thou art a strong 
 man, and shall live. I will go with you.' 
 She looked at me with her eyes wet like 
 the eyes of the mother doe, and I trembled. 
 For I was afraid of this woman, the She- 
 Wolf, who came from the land where the 
 
I88 7 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 streams run the other way; from the land 
 where there are no trees. 
 
 " ' Hoh ! ' cried my brother, rising up. He 
 threw off the skins, and looked at the 
 woman. Then he looked at me, and at the 
 pot of birch bark boiling on the fire. * Hoh ! ' 
 he cried. * There is food, and yet I starve ! ' 
 He reached for the pot, but the woman 
 struck down his hand. * Hoh ! ' he cried, 
 ' am I Muckwa to die like this ? ' He struck 
 the woman on the face, and she fell. ' Peace, 
 
 my brother ! ' I said, and he turned, roar- 
 ing strange words. ' Thou, too,' he said, 
 and fell upon me. The fever-madness had 
 made him strong, and I was a child in his 
 arms. He threw me on the snow, holding 
 one hand upon my throat. In his other 
 he held the skinning-knife. ' Hoh ! ' he cried, 
 putting it to my throat, 'thou, too, shall 
 die.' He raised his hand to thrust, and then 
 
 1 should have died. * Peace, O brother ! ' 
 I cried aloud. Then I heard a loud noise 
 and my mouth was filled with smoke. My 
 brother fell on my face, and his hand 
 
ON THE SNOW. 189 
 
 loosened upon my throat. My eyes were 
 blinded, and my face was sticky wet as 
 with sap when the trees run in the spring. 
 * Hoh ! ' I said to myself, ' I am dead.' But 
 I was not hurt. I pushed my brother from 
 me, and looked up. Pin-e-ah stood beside 
 us, and my gun smoked in her hands. I 
 looked about, and my brother lay upon 
 his face. He was dead. ' You have killed 
 my brother, O Pin-e-ah/ I said, and she 
 shook her head. * No yes and I have 
 saved thy life/ 
 
 " * Thou hast saved my life, but look, thou 
 woman of evil, thou hast slain my brother.' 
 
 " I sat by the fire and the night went away. 
 I saw the sun come out of the trees. I 
 wrapped my brother in his blanket and 
 carried him into the bush. The woman sat 
 by the fire and held my gun between her 
 knees. I saw that it was loaded again. 
 ' Give me my gun,' I said, but she shook her 
 head. ' I will keep thy gun, O Muskosi- 
 Amik,' she answered, * and I shall go with 
 you, following behind. Come, shall we go ? ' 
 
190 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 I looked at her and smiled, lying like the 
 traders in those days when they took the fur 
 of the tribes. 
 
 " * Yes, you shall go, and I shall carry the 
 meat you have, because I am strong.' Then, 
 too, she smiled, calling me a strong man, and 
 handing me the meat. * But I will walk 
 behind/ 
 
 " ' Give me the gun/ I said ; * I am strong 
 and will carry that too/ 
 
 " * No, I will walk behind, carrying your gun.' 
 
 " So I walked ahead, and when we got 
 among the trees I ran. * Do not run ! ' she 
 cried, and I looked behind me. I saw her 
 point the gun, and jumped behind a tree, 
 like the deer when he is frightened. Then 
 she fired, and I went back, unharmed, and 
 plucked the gun from her hands before she 
 could load again. I took the powder and the 
 bullets, and she crouched at my feet like the 
 husky when the whip cracks over him in 
 the snow. * Come,' I said, * we will go. 
 Come, chief's daughter, She- Wolf from the 
 land where there are no trees.' 
 
ON THE SNOW. 191 
 
 " I led her among the trees, and she wept 
 ' Ay-I-ay-I ! You will take me with you 
 on the way ? ' I said, ' Yes/ but smiling no 
 more. ' Yes, I will take you on the way, Pin- 
 e-ah. It is a long journey we shall take.' 
 
 " It snowed then. I went a long way, 
 camping twice, and we came into this coun- 
 try. It snowed again, and hid our tracks 
 almost under our feet. * It is good/ I 
 thought, * for this woman from the land where 
 there are no trees cannot find her way among 
 the bush. Good-by, O Pin-e-ah/ 
 
 I ran and she followed. But I was a strong 
 man, and ran far ahead. Then I hid in the 
 bushes, doubling on my track like the bull 
 moose when he rests. I saw her run by, call- 
 ing; she was calling me in my Algonquin 
 name. But I let her go by. I knew she 
 could not find me, nor could she find her 
 way among the trees. So I laughed, for my 
 heart was bad. I walked away and camped. 
 I sat in the snow, with my blanket about my 
 knees and a little fire between. She should 
 not see my fire, I said. Once I heard her 
 
i 9 2 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 calling in the night. She called then three 
 times, and after that she screamed like the 
 cat-owl when he hunts. I smiled. When 
 the sun came up from the trees, there was no 
 snow in the sky. So I walked back a long 
 way, and there were her tracks. I followed. 
 Sometimes she ran, but not for long. But I 
 was strong and soon caught up. She had 
 fallen in the snow, yet she was not dead. I 
 watched, and she arose from the snow. She 
 looked around and ran. Sometimes she 
 yelled, for when one has a fear among the 
 trees and is lost, he runs and wastes his 
 breath in screaming. So I watched her a 
 long way, and then I went back to my 
 brother where he lay in the snow. ' Come/ 
 I said, ' I will take you to the fort, and then 
 you shall lie among your people. Come/ So 
 I took him on my shoulders and many 
 days I walked and brought him to the fort. 
 " * Father/ I said, * here is my brother. He 
 is dead, and I have left the woman from the 
 land where there are no trees over there in 
 the bush/ 
 
ON THE SNOW. 193 
 
 " ' You have done evil, my son,' he said. 
 * Go find the woman who was from the land 
 where there are no trees.' 
 
 "So I went to find her. Many days I 
 looked, for she had run far among the trees. 
 It was when the sun shines longest that I 
 saw where she fell. A bear had been there 
 Muckwa in his spirit. He had torn the 
 woman from the north, for his rage, no doubt, 
 was great. So I buried her, and this is her 
 cross that stands in the bush." 
 
 Lemaire arose and threw a log upon the 
 fire. The leaping flame lighted his face, and 
 calmness lay upon it. He stood a moment 
 staring into the snow. Then he waved his 
 arm broadly. 
 
 " Many snows have passed since then," 
 he said. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 
 
 EASTWARD from the head of the 
 Little Tobique, the breasting ridges 
 sweep upward into the pinnacle of Bald 
 Mountain in the north. Austere and 
 lonely, the peak, mantled with gloomy 
 conifers, frowns down upon the houseless 
 forest marches where Nictau and Bathurst 
 gleam like gems lost among the trees ; at 
 the south writhes the Mamoziekel through 
 swamp and barren ground, while on the 
 other hand is forgotten country, until one 
 comes into the upper reaches of the Upsal- 
 quitch. 1 Thus in the solitude it stands, 
 genius of the untrammelled wild, long ago 
 the place of Manitou where the pagan 
 Milicete prayed when thunder muttered 
 among its crags. Even to-day the moose 
 
 1 Pronounced Ab-see-goosk. 
 194 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 195 
 
 and the uneasy caribou ply among its 
 thickets ; for, in a word, it is the wilder- 
 ness itself. 
 
 It snowed. The flaws flew across the 
 breast of the mountain in blue, bewilder- 
 ing flurries. It was spring, to be sure, but 
 even in the lowlands winter lingered. The 
 moose herd, haggard from battle with the 
 passing season, had broken yard, and were 
 abroad in search of food. Along the awak- 
 ening streams the red willow was bursting 
 into bud, and on the southern slopes rare 
 sprigs of green showed bravely between the 
 wasting drifts. One by one, the old bull, 
 the cows, and last year's calves wandered 
 from the winter resting-place; and after 
 months of frozen bark and acrid evergreen 
 the tender buds were delicious morsels. 
 They revelled in the feast, feeding heavily, 
 and with the rising day lay down to ru- 
 minate in content. All were uncouth and 
 gaunt ; there were cavernous hollows in 
 their flanks, while, rusty black, their winter 
 coat fell in patches from their sides. In 
 
196 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the lead walked the stiff-legged bull, guard- 
 ing from the trees the horns just sprouting 
 sorely from their pedicles ; and at his heels 
 was a companion cow, weary and big with 
 her burden; behind her, a last year's calf 
 skipping awkwardly, with awakening spirits. 
 Thus they bore down into the lowlands, and 
 there a little stranger came into the world. 
 Surely it was a cheerless coming into 
 life. The snow pellets flipped freezing 
 among the trees; its first sensation was of 
 chill. The wind, rioting down from the 
 mountain, roared a rough lullaby among 
 the treetops, while the shuddering cow 
 stood over her calf, swaying like a weav- 
 ing horse. Then the snow flaw passed, 
 and the sun broke weakly through the cloud 
 bank, dimly lighting the copse wherein the 
 uncouth little one lay. Uncouth, yes; for 
 there was neither strength nor beauty in 
 the calf. Its legs were long, too long for 
 grace. Its puny body seemed hanging un- 
 fitly upon these shambling stilts, and their 
 thinness and utter inability were displayed 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 197 
 
 more obviously when, later, it shuffled 
 loosely to its feet. But mother pride saw 
 much even in the spindly yellow shanks 
 and quivering form. The cow moose, 
 whimpering like an eager hound, drooled 
 over her offspring, mouthing it with tender 
 concern. She rubbed her cheek along its 
 flank, her beady eyes for once doting softly, 
 while the heir to all this heritage of track- 
 less solitude trembled in the wind. 
 
 It was a bull calf, and this much the 
 mother saw : its legs, though seeming puny, 
 were really big of bone ; there was a telling 
 breadth of brow ; and the dip of the chest 
 told, too, that it would have heart and a 
 strenuous power of lungs. She noted the 
 reach of its hocks, and the height between 
 its elbow and the crest of the hump, and 
 knew from these that, one day, as a great 
 bull, this her offspring should be a lord 
 among the giants of the hardwood ridges 
 and the swamp. So she was satisfied. 
 
 The first steps of the heir were in the 
 blind valley where it was born. The place 
 
198 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 was shut in at each side by thickets of 
 birch poles and straggling, stunted spruce. 
 At one end was a steep acclivity; at the 
 other a shallow stream, that leaped and 
 bubbled down the pitch from the dead 
 water above to the big bay in Nictau be- 
 low. Life seemed a pleasing fancy, indeed, 
 until one day the calf learned that there 
 are contrasts in existence. It did not learn 
 then, though, that life is a struggle to the 
 last, and that the last struggle is the last 
 of life. All that came gradually. Its first 
 fear was in its first fortnight. The herd 
 had ranged up to the head of the blind 
 valley, and lay in a tangled windfall under 
 the hill. The calf, rising to turn around 
 in the little hollow it had worn among the 
 leaves, saw something lithe and bright 
 sweep like a shadow from one fallen trunk 
 to another. Softly, as slowly as ever, the 
 lithe creature on the tree trunk crawled 
 nearer, its eyes glittering, its pads velvety 
 upon the bark. Then a gust of wind swung 
 down the hill, and the cow lumbered fran- 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 199 
 
 tically to her feet. The calf, too, smelled 
 something, and, in sudden concern, frisked 
 back to its mother's side. Simultaneously 
 the creature on the windfall leaped, but 
 missed its prey. With a muffled roar, the 
 cow lunged at the intruder, who fled ab- 
 ruptly, with a screech. Then the calf 
 learned that this was something to be 
 feared for a while, a great, gray Canada 
 lynx, a coward to big moose, but a terror 
 to the young. With its nostrils still rank 
 with the scent of the marauder, the calf 
 clung trembling to its mother's side, while 
 they clattered away from this perilous place, 
 seeking rest anew in the black cedar swamp 
 across the caribou barren. 
 
 After this encounter the calf's nerves were 
 on edge for a week, at least A creaking 
 tree trunk or a sudden gust among the 
 tops set its heart pattering with fierce, 
 impulsive beats. But timidity is the first 
 great lesson of life for the creature of the 
 woodland, where eternal vigilance is the only 
 hope of existence, and suspicion the only 
 
200 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 reasonable impulse. With this terror in its 
 breast, it learned to try the wind at every 
 breath, its nostrils wrinkling tremulously at 
 each unwonted sound. Its mulelike ears 
 were forever whirling about, like vanes 
 upon a steeple, eager at every turn, and at 
 the least false note in the droning mono- 
 tone of the forest it would stiffen into rigid- 
 ity, with every nerve aquiver, every sense 
 alert. It learned, too, that when a moose 
 lies down it never fails to make a loop to 
 leeward on the back track, so that it may 
 be warned by scent of any enemy hunting 
 along its track. 
 
 Another adventure taught this when the 
 cow, one time at evening-tide, had slipped 
 down the bank to water at the brook. 
 The calf, lying like a leveret in its form, 
 was trying all the lessons it had learned of 
 artfulness and concealment, when a crac- 
 kling in the brush set every sense alert in 
 verity. It listened acutely, its ears fixed 
 immobile. Again the brush crackled, and 
 something wheezed, Snoo-oof ! In the dusk, 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 201 
 
 the calf saw a rolling, black-haired thing, 
 rollicking through the thicket, rise upright 
 across a fallen log. Its forearms lolled upon 
 its breast, and a sharp, thin nose stretched 
 upward, sniffing. Behind were two other 
 bundles of fur, small and fuzzy, scampering 
 along with ludicrous imitation of every ges- 
 ture of the bigger one. It seemed amusing, 
 very amusing, amusing until a sudden 
 shift in the wind brought to the calf a rank 
 and evil odour. At the horrid, terrifying 
 scent the calf crouched lower; it would 
 not be seen. But here there was another 
 thing to be learned, here something that 
 was trying along the forest with a sense of 
 scent sharper than any sight. The big, 
 black figure of fur could not see the calf 
 crouching in the nest of leaves, but it 
 could smell. Snoo-oo-oof! The first slant 
 of wind had brought the scent to the bear ; 
 for this was the marauding enemy that had 
 fallen upon the trail. Snoo-ooo-oof ! The 
 calf heard. The bear stood as rigid as 
 stone, its head alone moving as it swept 
 
202 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 to and fro, searching the idle air. A pause 
 followed, the cubs sitting up on their hams 
 and wondering at their mother's manner. 
 Snoo-oof! The hair on her neck ruffled 
 forward and her eyes gleamed. It seemed 
 like a dream ; was the creature moving ? 
 Yes, softly, catlike, step by step forward, a 
 shadow dark and menacing. On came the 
 bear, nearer, nearer. The calf closed its 
 eyes to shut out the horrid sight. 
 
 A crash a thunder of feet ! The brush 
 crackled with a heavy tread; there was a 
 snort of fierce angriness. The eyes of the 
 calf flew open. There was the mother cow 
 charging down the hill, her beady orbs 
 flashing red, her mane upright. Her rush 
 carried her down upon the cubs, and with 
 one dexter stroke she trampled down the 
 bigger of the pair, maiming it for life. 
 Roaring in turn, the she-bear, with open 
 paw, struck a swinging sweep at the cow's 
 flank, but failed to stop her onslaught. 
 She rushed the hill with broadening stride, 
 and butted the calf to its feet. Possessed 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 203 
 
 of every terror, the little moose swung into 
 its mother's gait, when a long cry sounded 
 behind them, a thin, wailing note. It 
 was the cub in agony. Hooting and 
 whooping like a thing bereft, the she-bear 
 whirled in her tracks, abandoning the 
 futile chase, while the cow and her calf, 
 splashing across the shallow dead water, 
 rejoined the herd, and swung away to the 
 northward through the dark forest closes. 
 With the rising of the moon they had 
 turned the shoulder of the mountain and 
 were footing the oozy shallows of Mud 
 Pond, where high above the whispering 
 trees frowned the pinnacle, gray with lunar 
 light. 
 
 With all these perils, timidity became 
 the second nature of the calf, fear its first 
 instinct, and flight a ready impulse. It 
 learned to skulk and crouch like an over- 
 harried deer, in coverts whose colour shaded 
 into the hue of its hide. It came to dis- 
 tinguish sounds and their meanings, to 
 school itself in the sense and scent of 
 
204 W THE FOREST. 
 
 woodland ways, to fear or to ignore as the 
 circumstance showed. Meanwhile it grew. 
 Man then came into the wilderness. 
 The summer was well under way, and at 
 evening-tide the cow and calf stood breast- 
 deep in a dead water, guzzling the tender 
 grasses, skimming the surface with dis- 
 tended maws, while they tore away great 
 mouthfuls. They fed with the eager move- 
 ment of wild fowl, drawing in their necks 
 and then distending them at full length, 
 their flaccid lips fingering the vegetation. 
 Their mouths made a busy, clucking sound 
 while they ate, and sometimes they plunged 
 their heads to the muddy bottom and 
 wrenched the grasses by the roots. Be- 
 yond them stood the bull upon the bog, 
 wagging his ears in a cloud of pestering 
 flies, but otherwise soberly content. The 
 last year's calf was there, too, up to his 
 back in the water, and only his hump and 
 head showing. He had finished feeding, 
 and was laving his flanks in the tepid 
 swamp water. With dreamy eyes the little 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 205 
 
 one looked about, and there out in the 
 pond was something loglike floating softly 
 along. Curiously the calf gave it a second 
 glance. It did not seem like driftwood; 
 there was neither wind nor current to set 
 it along, yet it moved, gliding nearer and 
 nearer to the moose family faring at the 
 mouth of the bogan. The calf turned 
 around; the bull saw too. He muttered 
 once, and in fixed rigidity stared across the 
 pond. But, like all moose, the bull, despite 
 his sagacity, lacked the power of distin- 
 guishing form. Movement he could dis- 
 cern at a glance; a muskrat or a mink 
 skittering across the pond would have 
 caught his attention. But his mortal en- 
 emy, man, might have sat on a log ten 
 yards away and passed unnoticed, were the 
 wind wrong and the man unmoving. How- 
 ever, there was something familiarly evil 
 in this floating bulk out there upon the 
 pond. He had seen such before, far down 
 the little Sou'west Miramichi, when a flash 
 of flame streamed from a log like this, and 
 
206 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 something wheening through the air bit 
 him deeply upon the shoulder. In mem- 
 ory, too, his ears dinned, as if he still heard 
 the crash of thunder that followed the 
 spurt of flame. Niff-ff ! The bull drew 
 in a deep breath, his nose ranging upward 
 slowly, like a halter-bound horse. They 
 were all standing stiffly now, peering at the 
 yellow tree-thing out there in the water. 
 It did not move ; there was no sound ; and 
 they felt their confidence return. 
 
 Across the pond a rising gust flickered 
 the leafy treetops. The flaw came on, 
 blurring the glassy surface and stirring 
 the sedges on the shallows. It sped mur- 
 muring on its way, a momentary visitor, 
 and wheeled southward over the moun- 
 tain's flank. Plunging about in his tracks, 
 the big bull pounded across the bog, the 
 water flying in his trail ; with crash after 
 crash, he sought the forest cover. At his 
 heels shacked the last year's calf, crazy 
 with fright, while the cow, in a sudden 
 flurry, ploughed up the bank, driving her 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 207 
 
 own before her. Scent told its story. 
 Mindful of its lessons, the calf nosed the 
 passing gust, and sniffed in that harbinger 
 of evil, a subtle, terrifying taint, noways 
 like the scent of the marauding bear and 
 lucifee. The cow's terror inspired the calf 
 to haste, but as it followed the flight it 
 took opportunity to read with its nose, for 
 future reference, the telltale warning in the 
 wind. Thus they flew across the bog at 
 energetic speed, and, trampling through 
 the fringe of high-water drift, dived into 
 the forest blackness as a rabbit skips into 
 a warren. 
 
 This was the first meeting with man. 
 Fraught with vague terrors, the calf 
 breasted through the brush in the wake 
 of the cow, leaping the windfalls with a 
 snorting breath and the clatter of swift- 
 pounding hoofs. Through the swamp they 
 plunged, routing out a herd of woodland 
 caribou, who fled before, their round, broad 
 hoofs clacking like castanets, and the din 
 lending desperation to the calf's endeavour. 
 
2 o8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 It had seen and scented man, and terror and 
 frenzy fixed the memory in its mind forever. 
 Autumn found the moose family ranging 
 on the long ridge at the north of Nictau. 
 The calf, lusty with gathering strength, 
 forgot a few of its fears. It was alone with 
 its mother; for between Nictau and the 
 Mamoziekel the cow had lost the big bull 
 and the last year's calf, and it was not 
 sorry. With the first touch of September 
 rutting wrath the bull had grown rough. 
 His horns, hardened and strung with 
 ragged strings of velvet, seemed menac- 
 ing; and besides, he had a way of shoul- 
 dering the others in a manner annoying. 
 Once he charged the calf, who sought 
 refuge in a bunch of birch poles, where 
 the big bull, with his wide-spreading ant- 
 lers, could not follow. Grunting savagely, 
 the bull turned on the last year's calf, 
 and, roaring, drove the youngster over the 
 crown of the hill. The last year's calf 
 had been swaggering about before this in 
 the proud consciousness of a pair of stubs. 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 209 
 
 He had tried them once upon the calf, 
 after an evening spent in brushing them 
 up against an alder pole, when the calf 
 squealed in pain. These spikes were less 
 than a span long, and were not handsome ; 
 but the last year's calf thought them 
 mighty weapons. So when the big bull 
 chased the roistering braggart down the 
 ridge, the calf was sincerely glad. It 
 hearkened while the pursuit clattered down 
 among the hard wood, the last year's calf 
 squealing in terror, and at this juncture 
 the cow turned and made off in the oppo- 
 site direction. The calf had no alternative 
 but to follow. Deserting the others, they 
 rounded the mountain again, and once more 
 returned to the thick swamp at the head 
 of Mud Pond and the Bathurst Carry. 
 Here they made their stay, clinging to the 
 cover during daylight, and stealing down 
 to the shore of the pond only when dark- 
 ness drew its mantle over the woods. 
 
 Here they were standing one night when 
 the calf heard from the other shore a long- 
 
2io. IN THE FOREST. 
 
 drawn note go droning over the moonlit 
 water. It was simple and low, ending 
 abruptly in a plaintive guttural. The cow 
 and the calf cocked their ears, listening, while 
 the faint echo spoke from hill to hill. Then 
 silence fell anew on the forest, and the cow 
 went on feeding. A half-hour passed. The 
 same moaning intonation droned again, now 
 louder and more appealing. The calf lifted 
 its. head, looking eagerly at the cow, and 
 wondering why she did not move away from 
 this vexatious sound. But the cow knew the 
 meaning of the disturber : it was only another 
 cow calling, and what heed should she give 
 to this intruder's untoward plaint? She 
 sniffed as if in disdain, and resumed her 
 feeding ; and the calf, convinced that this was 
 not a source of peril, was guzzling at the 
 grasses once more, when still another note 
 struck a discord upon the silent night. Unh I 
 The calf had heard that sound ! It had not 
 heard the love call of a cow moose before, 
 but it remembered how the big bull had 
 grunted when he chased the last year's calf. 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 211 
 
 Unh-oonh ! Was it the big bull still hector- 
 ing the arrogant stripling ? The calf listened. 
 The bull, whoever he was, swung over the 
 crest of the ridge, stirring the night with the 
 clanging of his horns upon the hard wood, 
 and at every other stride grunting, Unh-unh- 
 oonh ! 
 
 E-ee-eee-u-uu-o-ooo-eunh ! It was a cow's 
 answering call, soft and muffled, a dulcet 
 murmur of invitation. On the ridge there 
 was silence for an instant; then Unh-unh- 
 unhl the bull was coming on. He was 
 eager, too eager for safety. He plunged 
 down into the pond, slosh, slosh, slosh, 
 grunted once, and was silent. 
 
 A rippling detonation crashed upon the 
 stillness. The roar rattled against the moun- 
 tain side, and beat back with staccato echoes 
 pealing heavenward in a chaos of sound. A 
 second followed; then night became abomi- 
 nable with the rattling, crashing reports. 
 Dimly the calf heard between the shots a 
 heavy splashing on the shallow shore, a turmoil 
 of pealing echoes, and a cry, " He's down ! " 
 
212 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 The cow and the calf fled from what they 
 knew was a horror for them. But it was 
 a triumph for the men beyond on the pond. 
 The big bull had been sacrificed to his pride 
 of conquest. He had been tolled in to die in 
 the pursuit of a graceless, grotesque imitation. 
 His last liturgy had been his own masterful, 
 deep-lunged answer to the hollow cheat of 
 the birch-bark horn. He lay on his side now 
 in the mud, one broad-palmed antler jutting 
 from the water that was red from the slaugh- 
 ter. For the first time the calf had been in 
 the presence of death. 
 
 They abandoned the precarious place, 
 ranging leagues northward into the untold 
 fastnesses of the Upsalquitch. Here they 
 found refuge again, clinging to this drear, 
 unlovely solitude ; the cow, lorn in her lone- 
 someness, making sorrowful the darkness 
 with her call. At the waning of the moon 
 she was solaced, for across the night came 
 the bark of an unmated bull hastening to the 
 courtship. She answered ; the bull drew 
 nearer. At length he stood in a thicket 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 213 
 
 across the bogan, and beat the bushes with 
 his horns, striving to draw the cow to him. 
 He was taking no chances; but when the 
 calf squealed for the cow to return, the bull 
 knew this was no cheat, and came rioting 
 across the bogan, bristling and bold with 
 ardour. The calf hung about, complaining, 
 but the others gave no heed, and for once in 
 its life the heir was left to its own devices. 
 Then, when the dawn came, all three slunk 
 into a thicket, the calf forlorn and drear. 
 
 It was growing cold, bitter cold. The 
 bull, the cow, and the calf wandered south- 
 ward, homeward once more to the mountain. 
 Between Nictau and the Mamoziekel was a 
 long hardwood ridge, where they would yard 
 for the winter. The bull's interest in possi- 
 ble rivals soon ceased. He was no longer 
 the eager, braggart bully of the rut, but once 
 more a suspicious, slinking creature, shy and 
 timorous. With the first of the snow they 
 shortened the range, and settled down in 
 preparation for the long winter siege. At the 
 base of the hill was a brook, and over the crest 
 
214 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 a hollow pocket sheltered from the wind. 
 Thickets stood on every side, and the browse 
 was rich and limitless. With all this food 
 and water comfort seemed assured. 
 
 Into this haven wandered, one day, another 
 moose. He was battered and lean ; one ear 
 was slit almost to the butt, and a long, fresh 
 scar lay on his flank like a burn, the marks 
 of encounters with other bulls. With a sud- 
 den concern, the calf saw that the frayed 
 newcomer was its early enemy, the last 
 year's calf. But there was no more insolence 
 or oppression remaining. He was content 
 to take a peaceful place with the herd, and to 
 feed about, insignificant and almost unnoticed. 
 
 Softly fell the snow, day after day. It 
 sifted through the trees silently as the falling 
 of a star, clogging the brush with its heavy 
 mantle. Erelong the herd's excursions were 
 cut down to passage along the ridge upon 
 which they ranged. In their prospecting for 
 feed the moose trod great paths to and fro, 
 breaking out fresh lanes through the heavy 
 banks as the browse became exhausted. Ice 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 215 
 
 and snow had transformed them before De- 
 cember ended. The bull's horns were caked 
 with frozen slush ; his mane was a tinkling 
 fringe of icicles. Their hair, too, was heavy 
 and often blurred with dirt, and they walked 
 laggardly and with hanging heads. Their 
 struggle against wind and weather had begun. 
 
 Over the crest of the hill came a crouch- 
 ing figure, a man. He was peering here 
 and there eagerly, crawling onward a step at 
 a time. His eyes were sharp and keen ; his 
 swart Indian features were drawn with the 
 striving passion of the chase. On the soft 
 going his snowshoes made no sound, and as 
 silently the twigs parted across the smooth 
 fabric of his mackinaw as he shouldered a 
 way through the brush. 
 
 Something moved the cow to suspicion. 
 She rose heavily and whirled about, staring 
 at the figure on the hill. The Milicete's 
 head rested on his arm, and a brief pause in- 
 tervened. Then the woods dinned with the 
 rifle's roar, and the cow plunged forward on 
 her knees. Leaping to their feet, the other 
 
216 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 moose halted, snorting. A second shot 
 added its clamour to the reverberating echoes, 
 and, wheeling in their tracks, they hurled on- 
 ward down the hill, the brush cracking and 
 crashing in their wake. Again the rifle 
 cracked, and the calf lunged forward. It felt 
 the lead rip like fire along its flank, and, 
 spurred to mad desperation, it pushed ahead, 
 the crack-crack of the gun following as it fled. 
 Then it plunged over the dip of the hollow 
 among the hills, and silence once more fell 
 in its train. It was alone; for, far behind, 
 the cow lay on her side, her head resting 
 across the round of a fallen tree, the snow 
 red and dreadful about her. Eastward went 
 the calf, and then, miles beyond, unable to 
 stagger farther, it rounded to on the ridge 
 overlooking the second and third Bathurst 
 lakes. Convinced now that its safety lay in 
 solitude, it drew away from the other moose, 
 and, worn and lonely, yarded the remainder 
 of the winter, orphaned and dull. 
 
 Spring came, freeing it from the prison 
 of snow. Remembering the quiet of the 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 217 
 
 Upsalquitch, it wandered northward, and, un- 
 molested in this desert of swamp and bogland, 
 grew lustily. By the end of the summer it 
 had become as sly and crafty as any creature 
 in the wilderness ; also, it was growing a pair 
 of stubs on its forehead, and dignity was in 
 its ways. As the fall came, with a brush of 
 reds and browns for the trees, a new, whim- 
 sical humour seized it. In its heart was a 
 longing to wander, to return once more to 
 the mountain in the south, to see what things 
 were happening on the range, and above all 
 to seek the society of a mate. Leaving the 
 Upsalquitch, it rambled on its way ; pausing 
 at times to paw up potholes in a swamp, or 
 to beat its stubs upon an alder bush, as the 
 big bulls did. 
 
 Ranging to the shore of Mud Pond, the 
 yearling sloshed across the shallows, tread- 
 ing the soft ooze and spattering mud head- 
 high while he pushed his way through the 
 tangled bush upon the shore. There in the 
 thicket he paused, listening to the soft voices 
 of the night. His heart was filled with ardour, 
 
218 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 and the lust of battle surged dimly in his 
 mind. He longed to prove himself among 
 
 the other bulls, but discretion warned. Yet 
 
 v 
 
 once, to try himself, he grunted the guttural 
 challenge of the mating bull, and the answer 
 was electrical. E-ee-eunhl H,e heard the 
 soft and wooing response, E-ee-eunh / His 
 mane bristled, and the hair on his neck 
 puffed outward. After a moment's pause 
 he grunted anew, Unh-uoonh ! Many 
 minutes passed, while silence fell again upon 
 the wilderness. Then again, E-ee-eunhl 
 a short, muffled call. Unh! UNH ! the 
 yearling grunted, Unh / oonh / Like a 
 whirlwind he roared out of the thicket, a 
 deep guttural punctuating every stride. At 
 full speed he drove across the mud bank, 
 smearing himself to the flanks, and with his 
 hair bristling, his eyes red and snapping, he 
 swung about the point, and snorting hunched 
 himself to a standstill. 
 
 There, almost under his nose, was a canoe, 
 clearly revealed in the moonlight, and the air 
 was strong with the scent of man man, his 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 219 
 
 mortal, terrifying enemy. Too frightened to 
 flee, he stood there staring down on the birch 
 bark, and softly and silently it moved. Pal- 
 sied, he beheld it drawing near, yet flight was 
 forgotten. Nearer and nearer it came ; then 
 che bowman dropped his elbows, and at this 
 gesture the moonlight glinted on a gun barrel. 
 
 " It's a calf ! " said a voice, disgustedly. 
 
 At this the canoe swung abruptly around, 
 but still the calf stood there in stupid aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "Sartin fool moose hunh!" spoke an- 
 other voice, unmistakably Milicete. 
 
 A setting pole hurled through the air, end 
 on like a spear, its blunt end banging the 
 calf in the ribs. A sudden bellow of terror 
 burst from him, and, leaping like a lucifee, 
 he sought the bank and sped away, sweat- 
 ing in an agony of fear. That ended his 
 romancing for a time, but still the season 
 had another lesson in store for him. The 
 encounter on the pond taught him then and 
 there that circumspection and craft are 
 needed even in matters of love ; but it did 
 
220 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 not teach him that age and weight count 
 much in a tilt at arms. He had ranged over 
 to the dead water north of the Mamoziekel, 
 when he came face to face with the slit-eared 
 bull, his old acquaintance. 
 
 Oonh! said the slit-eared bull. 
 
 Unh / challenged the yearling. 
 
 They came together with a crash of flying 
 deadwood, the yearling forced back on his 
 haunches. He struggled to his feet, and 
 resumed the charge gamely. But by a sud- 
 den turn the spike-horn bull caught him on 
 the hip, pierced him almost to the vitals, 
 and then, pressing the onslaught, drove the 
 yearling, baffled and bellowing, down the 
 closed reaches of the cedar swamp, and 
 away to safety over a near-by hill. That 
 finished the yearling for the season ; but he 
 laid by, for future reckoning, a memory of 
 this shameless, unmerciful beating. Fate 
 destined that he must wait. The year 
 passed, and a second season found him 
 glorying in the company of a mate, a sleek, 
 velvet-sided cow, who had never walked 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 221 
 
 abroad before in the glamour of a honey- 
 moon. Jealously he guarded her from the 
 attentions of another stripling who was ply- 
 ing about the premises. There on the cari- 
 bou barren he had beaten him off in a battle 
 royal, and, scarred and bleeding, but withal 
 triumphant, he returned to find his old 
 enemy, the slit-eared bull, in charge. For 
 an hour they fought and trampled upon 
 the oozy battleground, until once more the 
 younger bull was an outcast and a wanderer; 
 and, beaten, disgraced, and without heart, he 
 slouched away to his old retreat between 
 Nictau and the Upsalquitch. 
 
 The years had passed, six, eight, ten, 
 perhaps. Plenty snows, mebbe, as Tom 
 Bear, the Milicete, said. Somewhere be- 
 tween the Sisson Branch and the head of 
 the Little Tobique the bull was wandering, 
 black, bulky, and heavy-humped. He was 
 a colossus now ; no longer like the weakling 
 that had come into life in the blind valley 
 on the mountain's flank. His horns, broadly 
 
222 .IN THE FOREST. 
 
 palmed and fixed with a fringe of bayonet 
 prongs, were the terror and envy of the 
 herds. He had run a long course, and in 
 the burnt ground below the Wabsky and 
 the Odell, he was a monarch absolute, his 
 crest scarred with the wounds of a violent 
 sway. Time had taught him nearly all that 
 a moose can know. He could discern the 
 cheat of a birch bark horn almost as far as 
 he could hear it; he had been tracked, 
 hunted, and fired at, until the crack of a 
 rifle was almost as familiar as the crash of 
 a tree falling in the woodlands. Yet he 
 still lived, mammoth and noble. 
 
 "Oh, so big hunh!" exclaimed Tom 
 Bear, the Milicete, stretching both arms to 
 match a spread of horns. Tom was in diffi- 
 culties. He was in jail at Andover, and with 
 no vision of relief before him. But there had 
 come a man from the lower settlements, look- 
 ing for moose, and had sought Bear in his 
 enforced retreat. 
 
 "Yeh umph! They got a wickhagan^ 
 
 1 Milicete for " trap." 
 
"He was a colossus now ... his horns, broadly palmed and fixed with 
 a fringe of bayonet prongs, were the terror and envy of the herds." 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 223 
 
 on Tom. Ain't so bad be in lockup. Only 
 debt, this time." 
 
 " Only for debt, eh ? How much ? " 
 It was not a great amount, and the man 
 from the settlements freed Tom Bear by a 
 payment. Then they journeyed north, the 
 Tobique in their wake, and the Sisson Branch 
 before them. And about this time, perhaps, 
 far up at the head of the brook where the 
 flying caribou traffic among the barrens, a 
 mighty contest was waging on the forest edge. 
 Once more the bull confronted his slit- 
 eared rival. The other's strength and re- 
 sources had grown too. His horns matched 
 almost, in their bigness, the bull's broad 
 spread, and he was big, too, in bulk and 
 limb. Oonh! Unh! he grunted. His cow, 
 lying hidden in a thicket, revealed herself, 
 walking with a slow, stretching stride out 
 into the open barren. The bulls' crests 
 hung low before their swollen necks and 
 manes bristling with eager rage. The cow 
 coaxed urgently, as if gleeful of the coming 
 encounter for her sake. She plied back and 
 
224 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 forth along the prospective battleground, 
 watching, waiting; then the champions 
 swung together with a crash. 
 
 The night clattered with the sound. The 
 bulls' antlers clanged like meeting metal. 
 Their palms gritted as they strove and 
 struggled, grunting, gasping, fire in their 
 eyes. Unh-unh! They locked their horns 
 anew, their shaggy heads shaking, and the 
 froth flying with the strokes. The moon 
 arose, staring down upon their baresark 
 frenzy, while they drove their hoofs into the 
 soggy soil; and each time they shocked 
 together the solemn reaches of the wilder- 
 ness clanged with the tumult. Standing at 
 a distance, the cow whimpered and whined 
 and drooled across the open ground with 
 moaning intonation. At the call the two 
 fought with further maddened energy; and 
 at last, inch by inch, the slit-eared rival 
 began to give way. His head was matted 
 with blood and froth, his eye was dim and 
 evil. At the first sign of conquest the com- 
 ing victor plied himself afresh to conquer. 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 225 
 
 He lunged back suddenly, and again, sweep- 
 ing forward, his hocks straining for the im- 
 pulse, launched himself upon his foe. Clang ! 
 clang ! Their antlers struck together, wres- 
 tling. The slit-eared bull fell back. He 
 tried to turn and fly, but the victor unmerci- 
 fully pressed him down. They wrestled 
 then anew, their antlers grappling like arms, 
 when, with a sudden, swift onslaught, the 
 slit-eared bull was hurled backward, van- 
 quished and half dead. With his last re- 
 maining strength he fled to cover, the victor's 
 prongs thudding a quickstep on his ribs 
 and thighs, while the cow, calling low and 
 clearly, bade the victor return to her charms. 
 Thus, in the rising dawn, old scores were 
 wiped out, and a memory of disgraced 
 defeat lived down. 
 
 Across the bog, at noon, came Tom 
 Bear and the man from the settlements. 
 
 " Uh ! " exclaimed Tom Bear, clutching 
 him by the elbow. " So see ! " 
 
 The ground in a dozen different ways 
 was torn and trodden, and hoof beats marked 
 
226 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the acres. The Milicete ranged to and 
 fro like a working hound, marking a fleck 
 of blood or a patch of hair upon the wasted 
 moss. He saw the battle in these signs, 
 and pointed at last where the beaten bull 
 had fled to cover for his life. Then, rang- 
 ing wider, he found the slots of the victor 
 and the cow, moving northward across the 
 barren to the heavy covert where the caribou 
 had beaten an open trail. Swiftly and soft- 
 footed he followed, and at the edge of the 
 open hard wood halted, and raised a warning 
 finger. 
 
 "So big moose big fellow. Call 
 him out, mebbe. Think same one yes, 
 mus' be big fellow so big." He spread 
 his arms again, his dark features lighting 
 with elation and the lust to kill. " Call him 
 out to-night, mebbe dunno. Try all same." 
 
 Every instinct of the Milicete was aroused 
 in his awakened craft. He pitched his pack 
 into a windfall, and strode off, catlike, into 
 the forest. Presently he was back again, 
 satisfied that the bull was resting, not far 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 227 
 
 away, from the rigour of the conquest. He 
 drew out his bark horn, and shaped and 
 trimmed it anew, a lurking smile on his 
 dark visage, yet, as if ashamed of his out- 
 burst of excitement, more taciturn than ever. 
 He watched the sun sweep across the ze- 
 nith, and at last, when it was setting behind 
 a dusky fringe of brush upon a distant hill, 
 the two crawled out upon the bog, and 
 sought concealment in a bushy island at 
 the centre. There the first sorrowing of the 
 moose call spread its tremolo across the for- 
 est passes, whining away into the distance 
 in low appeal. The hills gave back the call ; 
 then silence followed, while the dusky shad- 
 ows trooped across the solitude. So rose 
 the moon, her pale light transforming the 
 woodland aisles, now ghostly dim and super- 
 naturally quiet. 
 
 The echo of the horn beckoned from 
 ridge and summit, at last tapering away 
 into a perspective of hollow sound. Then 
 silence fell. Somewhere in the distance 
 a night bird cried, its booming note trying 
 
228 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the straining silence anew, while the dead 
 air lay soundless among the sleeping trees. 
 Once more the Indian called, the birch-bark 
 horn persuasively ringing the sonorous ca- 
 dence of a calling cow, E-ee-ee-uu-ooo~uuu- 
 o-unh ! Their ears roared in the stillness as 
 they strained to catch the faintest sound. 
 Minutes passed ; they called again, and then 
 out of the distance came the answer, Unh I 
 Unh ! Oonh ! 
 
 "Zut! Listen!" The Milicete bent 
 his ear to the earth, his nostrils quiver- 
 ing. "Moose comin' now big bull 
 huh listen ! " 
 
 Far distant was the sound, sharp, ab- 
 rupt. It was half the stroke of an axe, half 
 the bark of a dog. They heard it draw 
 nearer ; now a deep guttural, emphatic with 
 passionate rage. It swung across the edge 
 of the barren, drawing nearer, while the Mili- 
 cete's tense respiration roared like steam 
 from a vent. 
 
 " Big moose mus' be careful Let him 
 come 'long slow ! " 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 229 
 
 Over the night floated a low, imploring 
 call. The Indian held up a warning finger. 
 "Cow try call him back huh!" He put 
 the birch bark to his lips, and, with the 
 horn close to the ground, moaned softly, 
 E-euh! A crash in the brush answered, 
 and again the real cow complained to the 
 deserting bull. Strong in the faith of his 
 recent conquest, he plunged on through the 
 brush, beating his antlers upon the trees 
 and grunting harshly. But his craftiness 
 and learning did not forsake him in this 
 venture. He strayed only to the edge of 
 the bog, and there stood, grunting and 
 threshing in the thicket, eager but suspicious. 
 In vain the Milicete coaxed and besought, 
 the forest sorrowful with the horn's plead- 
 ing ; the bull clung to cover, and would not 
 show himself. Even the squealing bawl of 
 a calf moose failed to stir him. 
 
 " Mebbe him mad yet," muttered Tom 
 Bear. " Try him wit' fight." 
 
 Rasping the horn among the bushes, 
 beating and striking at the bushes with 
 
230 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the bark, he simulated the noise of a bull 
 threshing his antlers in a fury. Unh! Unhl 
 he called ; then Ooonh ! It was the last 
 stroke of cunning. Ploughing through the 
 covert, the bull dashed out on the open, his 
 fury awesome, his mane and the hair upon 
 his neck bristling with his spleen. He 
 charged the bushy island, grunting at every 
 stride, a figure of terrifying rage. 
 
 Crack! pealed a rifle-shot, its splitting 
 stroke clattering thunderously. Crack! 
 again it sounded. Wheeling in his tracks, his 
 frenzy spent in sudden fear, the bull sought 
 safety in flight as speedy as his charge. 
 "'Shoot!'" cried the Milicete, his voice pitch- 
 ing across the babel of echoes following in 
 the train of the rifle-shot. " Shoot ! " Again 
 the world reverberated with the shattering 
 explosion, but the bull kept on, unchecked. 
 With a crash of breaking wood, an uproar 
 of cries, of treading hoofs, he was gone, con- 
 vulsed with terror, yet once more unharmed. 
 
 " Hunh ! " the Indian muttered, " big 
 moose so big! " 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 231 
 
 His contempt was obvious. He turned 
 his back upon the shuddering sportsman, 
 and, drawing a blanket from his pack, rolled 
 himself in the folds and ungraciously 
 sought sleep. Meanwhile, across the forest, 
 driving his way before him, and with the 
 timorous cow clattering at his heels, the 
 bull once more turned his way northward, 
 seeking safety from man in the untracked 
 depths at the north of the Tobique. 
 
 " Moose gone ; Injun go home now," said 
 Tom Bear at dawn. He ignored the other's 
 protests, and sullenly set along the back trail 
 for home. Two days later another wickhagan 
 sprung on Tom Bear; for he was taken up 
 in the road at Andover, too drunk to stag- 
 ger, yet muttering and murmuring under his 
 breath, "Huh so big moose damn!" 
 
 Northward, ever northward, worked the 
 big bull. He swept across the bogs and 
 barrens of the Sisson Branch, swinging a 
 little eastward to round the edge of Nictau. 
 But one glimpse through the trees of Bald 
 Mountain looming large upon his path drew 
 
232 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 his heart away from flight. He turned, and, 
 crossing the head of Mud Carry, ranged 
 southward anew, but along the eastern flank 
 of the peak. There, between Bathurst and 
 the Mamoziekel, he halted, and once more, 
 after a week's passage, was unrestrained of 
 fear. So, until the coming of the first snow, 
 he plied his way along the ridges, a master 
 of the range, jealous of his solitude, and 
 ready to try the issue with any other bull. 
 
 In his jail retreat, Tom Bear's memory 
 dwelt upon the moose that had come charg- 
 ing across the open that night upon the 
 bog. Fretting and peevish, he awaited 
 freedom, intent upon returning into the 
 wilderness to take up the trail again. Once 
 out of the limbo of the law, he plunged 
 into the heart of the forest; and then for 
 many days they heard no more of Tom 
 Bear, no, nor for many months. 
 
 December was waning. The last bear 
 had gone hooting to its den, while the cari- 
 bou were " using " now along the open bogs. 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 233 
 
 The prowling marten, the black cat, and the 
 lucifee were already growing lean on winter 
 fare, and the black hide of the moose was 
 dingy and thick in the face of the bitter 
 weather. Following the trails the Indian 
 came into Nictau, where the peak was blue- 
 white with the clustering snows. Thence he 
 ranged southward, ever looking for that track, 
 searching the winter ranges, trying the ridges 
 one after the other, and in the end falling 
 upon a slot a span's length long. 
 
 " Huh ! him so big moose ! " he muttered. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon ; another hour 
 and the dusk would slink into dark. He 
 gazed a moment at the sky ; then wet a fore- 
 finger and tested the wind. Settling his 
 blanket coat about him, he set off almost at 
 right angles to the trail, swinging slowly to a 
 parallel course, and, cautiously working on- 
 ward step by step, sought along the forest 
 for his quarry. His craft told him that the 
 moose was near, and the Milicete's know- 
 ledge "White man go fast; moose go 
 faster ; Injun go slow, catch him lying down " 
 
234 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 was before him. He crawled along, in 
 fact, peering over the crest of the hills and 
 searching the hollows before he showed him- 
 self. Then, on the brink of a little pitch, he 
 straightened suddenly and threw up his gun. 
 
 The bull was lying in the same blind valley 
 where he had been born into the world. 
 Man, for the moment, was forgotten ; yet, 
 there on the crown of the hill, man, evil and 
 destructive, was staring down with glittering 
 eyes. His memory fled back to the day 
 when he had ranged this covert as a feeble 
 calf. There was the place where the leaping 
 lucifee had crouched to spring; here the 
 very windfall under which the mother cow 
 had rested at the time. Overhead, even as 
 in the ages past, the peak loomed heavenward, 
 confronting the clouds with its majesty, its 
 breast clothed with wisps of vapour, and the 
 ageless forests at its feet. 
 
 Listlessly the wind stirred round the gully, 
 and the bull shambled to his feet. He stared 
 up the slope, and saw the Indian's rifle spring 
 to aim. An instant's pause, a moment of 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 235 
 
 baffling effort ; he swung ponderously about, 
 his heavy bulk moving undeterminedly in 
 the close confines. Then the woods clattered 
 again with reverberating echo ; he strode the 
 windfall at a single step, and from his 
 shoulder a gush of blood spattered the 
 untracked snow. In his wake followed the 
 repeating thunder of the gun, while his ears 
 sang with the whimpering bullets flying after. 
 Heaving up the farther slope, he drove madly 
 through the copse ; a riot of sounds, of crash- 
 ing stubs, of horn ringing upon hard wood, 
 marked his way through the thickness. 
 Away to the northward, and behind, a patient, 
 merciless enemy was picking the way, and 
 gloating over the red blurs upon the trail. 
 Night fell, yet still the bull ranged on. 
 The blood had ceased to flow, but his 
 shoulder was stiff and working sorely. 
 Through the silent forest he took his way, 
 clinging to the ridges where his horns were 
 unimpeded, skirting white-veiled ponds, 
 northward, northward toward the blank 
 depths of the Upsalquitch, the one safe haven 
 
* 3 6 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 in this hour of unwonted peril. With the 
 dawn he circled on his back track, and lay 
 down on the crest of a hill, where he might 
 see an enemy from afar. A few hours of 
 inactivity stiffened his shoulder until it was 
 an agony to move. Looking backward, he 
 saw something loping along, keeping stead- 
 fast to his trail, and peering eagerly ahead. 
 It was his enemy coming. Wearily he 
 struggled to his feet, stood watching for a 
 moment with lowered crest, and then took 
 up again the flight. Over hill and barren, 
 northward across the tangled sweep of lake 
 and stream, sounding the ice with staggering 
 feet, the bull plodded, the foam freezing upon 
 his jaws and the wound burning upon his 
 shoulder. Miles farther on he paused again, 
 browsing scantly, and lying down once more. 
 But his rest was vain. The loping figure, 
 persistent, unmerciful, was still clinging to 
 the chase, following the broad slots in the 
 snow, and with the one object of destruction 
 before it. Night fell when the chase had 
 crossed far beyond the upper end of the 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 237 
 
 Nepisiquit Carry, the bull lagging along, 
 blundering his way through the brush, his 
 breath heavy and hoarse. Here he rested 
 during the dark hours, rising at the dawn to 
 plod still farther northward in weariful effort. 
 So far he had outwitted the destroyer ; but 
 then, whose persistence was to win in the 
 end? The Milicete, with the obstinate pur- 
 pose of his race, had determined. It was 
 ordained, for had not nature given the moose 
 for his food and covering ? He had taken 
 up the trail pledged to follow the quarry till 
 endurance on one side or the other should 
 fail. At night he camped on the track, 
 resuming it when the light was high enough 
 to show the way. Onward, ever onward, 
 went the chase, the miles falling in their 
 wake, and the distant pinnacle growing blue 
 in the perspective. 
 
 A sudden frenzy of rage overwhelmed the 
 hunted creature. He turned, a living, quiver- 
 ing form of fury. He beat the bushes with 
 his horns, grunting, his mane bristling as in 
 the days of rutting wrath. The Milicete, far 
 
238 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 behind, heard the challenge, and smiled 
 darkly. He knew. Ere long, now, the quarry 
 would be at bay, But a shift in the wind 
 brought the taint sweeping forward to the 
 swaying prey, and, his fury deserting, he fled 
 as before. 
 
 Desperation fell upon the heart of the flee- 
 ing creature. He felt his strength departing, 
 and a longing, deep as the desire of love, 
 suffused his breast He paused at the crest 
 of a ridge, and looked backward across the 
 rolling stretch of forest to where the moun- 
 tain swept up from the plain and clothed its 
 breast among the clouds. There he had 
 drawn the inspiration of life, and there he 
 should die. The fastnesses of the Upsal- 
 quitch were too remote for him to hope that 
 his remaining strength would bear him to 
 them. Yet irresolutely he felt that safety lay 
 in that dark region far in the north, and 
 irresolutely he turned. Gathering his forces 
 together, he swung westward, and by a long 
 loop cleared his pursuer. Then, with the 
 goal set before him, he shacked away to the 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 239 
 
 south, the last fires of vitality burning with 
 renewed vigour. Night came again, and at 
 the following dawn he was still going. His 
 eye was dull and sickly, and the breath had 
 frozen in long icicles upon his muffle and 
 fringe. He lurched along through the trees, 
 his head hanging low and a fever burning in 
 his wound. 
 
 The first flakes of the coming storm fell 
 among the trees, and the chase hurried on. 
 It crossed the ice at the foot of Nictau, and, 
 skirting the edge of the cedar-bound bay, 
 made onward along the mountain's western 
 flank. The moose hobbled painfully, every 
 step an agony to his burning shoulder. But 
 across the ice, when he paused on the edge 
 of the forest to look back, was the same lop- 
 ing figure, inevitable as the passages of death. 
 He hurried. Climbing the edge of the 
 valley, he plunged over into the hollow, and 
 there before him stood the place of his last 
 mortal struggle. Behind a flanking windfall 
 he paused, his breath roaring, his head to the 
 foe, and a grim resolve manifest in his eye. 
 
240 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 A sound stirred him. A loping figure 
 was swinging through the woods, brushing 
 its way through the thickets, and peering 
 along the vistas. Haste and eagerness be- 
 spoke themselves in the Milicete's manner; 
 the time for the killing had come. The bull 
 drew himself together, his orbs bloodshot 
 and the breath whistling through his flaccid 
 nostrils. Once more fury possessed him. 
 He waited ; the figure of death drew nearer. 
 He gathered his energies in mad earnest. 
 Skulking like a caribou calf, he waited until 
 the Milicete was almost upon him ; then, 
 silent, he hurled himself upon his destroyer. 
 
 A spurt of flame flared through the dusk ; 
 a din of thunders surged in his ears. He 
 felt something shock his very vitals with a 
 touch of fire. Blindness was upon him. 
 He plunged forward ; another crash. There 
 was man, and the rage of the moose was sub- 
 lime. His enemy, appalled, sought to leap 
 aside. His snowshoe tripped upon a stub ; 
 he stumbled and fell. With a downward, 
 cutting stroke of a fore foot the bull struck 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL. 241 
 
 him to earth as he sought to rise, and stood 
 over the prostrate, battered form, trampling 
 in insensate fury. But he could not see ; 
 his knees were weak beneath him ; with a 
 last, gasping roar he lunged forward, strove 
 to rise, and fell back, with his antlered crown 
 resting across the bole of a fallen tree. Then 
 the snow fell, soft and white and obliterating. 
 Overhead was the mountain, dark and austere, 
 looming large upon the houseless woods, and 
 in its shadow the tragedy, cloaked with 
 silence. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 1 
 
 ACROSS the face of nature strode Mc- 
 Taggart, a gallant figure in the fore- 
 ground. Through a vent in the top of his 
 hat a tuft of sandy hair arose like a sprig of 
 sorrel, while over his breast one red suspen- 
 der was latticed in relief as vivid as a ribbon 
 of the Bath upon the breast of nobility. But 
 what cared McTaggart for splendour of 
 raiment ? His trousers, overwrought by 
 adventures with the windfalls, flapped their 
 pennants about his legs, and a jail delivery of 
 his toes seemed impending through the holes 
 in his moosehide moccasins. His manner, 
 however, with all the woe of his garments, 
 was gayety itself, and in one hand he flour- 
 ished a fish spear, three iron prongs upon 
 an ashen staff. Cautiously, with catlike 
 steps, he walked out upon the sluiceway, and, 
 
 1 From the Atlantic Monthly, 
 242 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 243 
 
 peering into the pool below, scanned the 
 depths as one glances down a bill of fare in 
 search of a dinner ; for thus McTaggart pre- 
 pared to dine. 
 
 " Ay," he cried with glee, " a fat fish and a 
 bigun!" 
 
 Lewis frayed and weatherbeaten like 
 his companion looked up from his work in 
 the canoe, and threw back a sarcastic com- 
 ment. 
 
 " Stab him, then, ye thief ; or if he sees ye 
 he'll scoot, and we'll be to bed hungrylike ! " 
 
 Now, even out into the wilderness the 
 laws of her Majesty's province reach a jeal- 
 ous hand. Without payment for the privi- 
 lege, you shall not take her fish, nor shall you 
 kill her game. Also, under no circumstance, 
 shall you stab salmon with a spear. It is a 
 misdemeanour, brother to a felony, almost, 
 but what cared McTaggart for that? It 
 was from Wiggin, lessee of the salmon water, 
 that he was poaching ; and between them no 
 love was lost. Here, by a sharp and grace- 
 less trick, the newcomer had bought the river 
 
244 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 rights, thus ousting Burling, who long had 
 held the lease. Friendship runs deep in the 
 woods, and Burling was the friend of McTag- 
 gart, his patron and employer, so Mc- 
 Taggart consoled his respect for the law with 
 the idea that to steal Wiggin's fish was fine 
 poetic justice. Moreover, he and Lewis were 
 in need of food, in itself a sufficient reason. 
 He raised his arm, his eye upon the salmon 
 scouring the gravel below, and at this instant 
 Lewis called out in alarm : 
 
 " Sawny, quick ! Here's Wiggin !" 
 But the spear had driven downward, Mc- 
 Taggart, with a grunt, striving against the 
 frantic writhing of the transfixed fish. Then, 
 with a dexterous flirt of the elbow, he started 
 the salmon upward, and landed it, gasping 
 and quivering, upon the sluiceway. 
 " Leave it ! " cried Lewis, " leave it ! " 
 McTaggart was not of that kind. But he 
 had worked for his dinner, and would have 
 it even in the face of Wiggin and of all the 
 statutes of the Dominion. He clutched the 
 fish by the gills, leaped for the canoe, and a 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 245 
 
 moment later the bark dipped over the brink 
 of the pitch and ran its frightened course 
 among the rapids. 
 
 A cry told that they were pursued. They 
 saw the lessee and his warden, Gower, launch 
 their canoe in the eddy and ply after them 
 with eager effort. Bending to the paddles, 
 they urged their craft along until, rounding 
 a turn in the stream, they plunged into the 
 mouth of a bogan, and were hidden from 
 view. But still, with galloping strokes, they 
 pushed onward, resting only when a long 
 stretch of dead water lay between them and 
 the river. 
 
 " Ugh ! " grunted McTaggart, " did ye hear 
 'em holler ? 'Twas like the Whooper ay? " 
 
 " The Dungarvan Whooper ye're meanin', 
 Sawny? Like enough it was. I hear tell, 
 man, too, that the Whooper's come back to 
 the upper Miramichi. It's sore for the man 
 that meets him, or Wiggin ayther." 
 
 McTaggart leaned back to laugh, hooting 
 in derision at Lewis's misgiving tone. " Pish, 
 Reddy ! Ye're that much of a born fool ye'd 
 
246 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 be hearkenin' to the last ole woman's tale to 
 be settin' ye dramin' the weeks to come. 
 The Whooper fiddlesticks!" 
 
 " No sich at all," this in protesting key. 
 " Ye'll be sayin' next there's no sich as the 
 bogy. Ye'll hole yer tongue, Sawny McTag- 
 gart, in the face of others better infarmed 
 and ov longer experience. Wit' these eyes I 
 have nex' to seen the Whooper, and was it 
 not me, ay, I ask it, was it not me that 
 found Tighe the teamster dead in the snow 
 wit' a horrid light in his eyes that'll be lookin' 
 heavenward till the last angel trumps ? " 
 
 McTaggart scoffed him idly, for the tale 
 was not new. At every hovel along the 
 river, in every camp in the forest, along the 
 logging roads, and on the spring drive, it had 
 been told with all its variations. At every 
 fireside, woodsmen whispered the deeds of 
 the something that went galloping through 
 the forest aisles, grim and grotesquely crying, 
 whooping into the distance. There were 
 stories detailed and sinister of men left 
 out overnight ; of the brush crackling with a 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 247 
 
 heavy tread, of an unseen horror that shrieked 
 when disturbed. Half-breed, Indian, white, 
 all had their tales to tell, some braggartly 
 scornful, others tremulous with fright. Tighe 
 they always told of, Tighe, the teamster, 
 found dead in a winter logging road, a red 
 mark across his throat, and, far down in a 
 black cedar swamp, the sound of awful deri- 
 sion. McTaggart shuddered mockingly, 
 while Lewis rounded up the story. 
 
 " Horrid, Reddy, and may the Whooper 
 get Wiggin for his sins ! But 'twixt the two, 
 lad, ye'll be losin' yer wits to a cat-owl. Ay, 
 man, but I think Ho ! what's that ? " 
 
 A crackling in the brush broke the silence 
 as some heavy body lunged through the 
 brake. McTaggart, with an exclamation, 
 seized the fish spear, while Lewis, pale-faced, 
 crouched in the canoe. They listened in- 
 tently, the brush crashing anew. 
 
 "Ah-r! Look at there!" 
 
 McTaggart pointed the spear toward the 
 forest edge. A black bulk stepped out strid- 
 ing down the bog growth, a moose, a big 
 
248 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 bull ! But here, high up in the New Bruns- 
 wick wilds, a moose is a familiar of the soli- 
 tude. It was the size of this bull, the width 
 and breadth of his growing antlers, that 
 transfixed them with amazement. It was a 
 bull moose, such as the two had rarely seen ; 
 and silent in admiration their glittering eyes 
 took in its unmatched bigness. At the 
 shoulder it stood higher than a work-horse, 
 black, blurred with the mud of a noonday 
 wallow, in its uncouth greatness it seemed a 
 stray from the primeval ages. Its square gray 
 muffle, tentatively trying the air, swung from 
 side to side ; then, as if assured of safety, it 
 crashed down the bank, plunging to its flanks 
 in the muddy run. 
 
 "Reddy, Reddy, will ye look!" McTag- 
 gart cried, under his breath. " D'ye see the 
 scar on the shoulder, forrard, eh ? D'ye mind 
 the Wabsky the one down there Burling 
 shot at? Ay, 'tis him, the beauty!" 
 
 A long, narrow blaze, half hidden by the 
 hair, showed upon the shoulder, the mark 
 of an old bullet wound. Dipping to his crest 
 
THE DUN GARY AN WHOOPER. 249 
 
 in the muddy run, grunting and guzzling in 
 his hunger, the moose began his evening 
 meal; and while his head was lowered be- 
 neath the surface McTaggart pushed the 
 canoe along, the water whispering under the 
 prow. He was bound to have a nearer view, 
 though Lewis, in the bow, felt his fears grow 
 painful as they glided down upon the feeding 
 lord of the swamps. Stroke by stroke they 
 drew nearer, McTaggart murmuring in ad- 
 miration. The moose looked up, a slow sus- 
 picion manifest as he turned his head along 
 his flank, looking backward toward the canoe. 
 For a moment he stood motionless in stupid 
 fright ; then an angry terror transformed him. 
 They saw the hair of his hump rise bristling, 
 he snorted, and plunged around. 
 
 " Look out ! " exclaimed Lewis, launching 
 himself backward on his elbows ; " look out ! 
 He'll run us down ! " 
 
 A swift stroke of the paddle drove the 
 canoe aside, and at this, the bull's boldness 
 deserting him, he wore around heavily and 
 scrambled up the bank. Breasting frantic- 
 
250 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ally through the brush, his antlers guarded 
 on his shoulders, he shuffled along toward 
 the forest, and, with a final crash of dead 
 wood, swung away into the safe haven of the 
 woods. For some time the two men sat 
 there silent and wondering, while far beyond 
 in the further fastnesses of the bush the 
 panic-stricken lord of the solitudes fled with 
 swinging strides. 
 
 " I'll mind him when the season opens ! " 
 cried Lewis, slatting the gunwale with a 
 heavy hand. " Them horns then'll be worth 
 the price of a quarter's wages o' work. That's 
 my moose yon ! " 
 
 McTaggart glared at this with uncompro- 
 mising severity. 
 
 "Ye'll forgit them words, Reddy Lewis, 
 and it's no sich thing. Him yon is Burling's 
 moose, and if ye offer wunst to draw sight 
 on him in these here patch o' woods, ye're no 
 longer friend o' mine. D'ye hear ? " 
 
 Lewis heard, and his jaw fell. " Five feet 
 and a half them horns spread, and I'd like 
 they was mine. But as you say, as you 
 
THE DUN GAR VAN WHOOPER. 251 
 
 say, him's Burling's moose, though 'twill 
 be lookin' for one cloud after a rainstorm to 
 find him when the runnin' season's on. Wait, 
 though, wait till I find if this be where he 
 works." 
 
 He clattered ashore, all excitement, and 
 followed swiftly in the trail of the vanishing 
 moose. McTaggart watched him out of 
 sight, drew forth a pipe, and prepared to 
 smoke. A mink came skipping along a log 
 to keep him company, a muskrat squeaked 
 in the bank, and overhead a flight of ducks 
 flipped to and fro in search of lodging for 
 the night. Once the big salmon at his feet 
 stirred with a last shudder ; then silence and 
 the twilight settled down upon the wild, and 
 McTaggart stretched himself in an ecstacy 
 of comfort. 
 
 " Got ye there, Sawny McTaggart," a harsh 
 voice croaked. " Got ye, hey ! " 
 
 There almost at his elbow were Wiggin 
 and the fish warden. They had spied him 
 from the bend below, trying the bogan when 
 the main river drew blank, and quietly had 
 
252 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 crawled up behind his back. Wiggin was 
 grinning in delight, and at the sight of the 
 fish lying at McTaggart's feet his elation 
 broke into a cry. 
 
 " There's the salmon, taken red-handed, 
 Sawny McTaggart, you poaching thief ! " 
 
 " No names, there," he growled. " No 
 names, or " 
 
 The remainder was indistinguishable, but 
 McTaggart's manner sufficed. He waved 
 the spear, menacing their approach, and the 
 canoe backed off in energetic haste. 
 
 " Don't bother him, Gower ! Come away !" 
 Wiggin gave these orders with less assurance 
 than his first charge. . " Let him be, Gower ; 
 it's felonious assault, and we'll swear out a 
 warrant for that too." 
 
 Shaking his fist at McTaggart, Wiggin 
 helped paddle the canoe about, when they 
 bore swiftly away. Then Sawny threw 
 his spear clattering into the bottom of the 
 canoe and drew a deep breath. He was in 
 for it. He knew Wiggin's methods and 
 manner, and was convinced that the law 
 
THE DUNG ARYAN WHOOPER. 253 
 
 would be pushed to an extremity, and what 
 would happen then ? " Sawny ! Sawny ! " a 
 hoarse whisper called to him. " Air they 
 gone ? " Lewis had returned, in time to 
 hear an echo of the colloquy between the two 
 canoes. He listened gloomily while McTag- 
 gart told the story, and for once was dumb. 
 McTaggart, as Wiggin had said, was taken 
 red-handed. He must stand the double pen- 
 alty of poaching and of spearing fish, all 
 meaning a heavy fine and perhaps imprison- 
 ment. There was no escape ; even McTag- 
 gart 's ready imagination failed in the face of 
 the situation. Silently the two paddled along 
 the breast of the rising land, looking for a 
 " night chance " to camp, and when the fire 
 was lighted and the kettle boiling, McTag- 
 gart at last made up his mind. 
 
 " There's no other way from out of it," 
 he explained dolefully. " I'll jus' be takin' 
 to the bush for want o' better; and what's 
 to happen to Janie and the bairns, I'm 
 thinkin', when their man's out lyin' in the 
 woods ? " 
 
254 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 There was an answer, dark enough, to this 
 in Lewis's face. But he shook his head with- 
 out other response, and glowered into the 
 fire. McTaggart, indeed, must take to the 
 bush, for no other alternative but jail was 
 offered. A day's work threw up a shack for 
 the outlaw at the head of the big pond, where 
 Lewis left him to paddle down river with 
 the news. And a sad day it was for Janie 
 McTaggart when it came, Lewis fiddling 
 about on one foot, and making the best of it 
 by blurting out the situation. Janie listened 
 with troubled face, but did not weep, for she 
 was of stronger stuff than that. 
 
 " I'd like to know what's best done," she 
 protested. " But what is ut, I'm askin' ? I'd 
 sell the coo " (she meant cow), " but what'd 
 the bairns be doin' for their milk? And 
 what price 'ud it be bringin'? There's no 
 way out, Reddy Lewis, but you to go back 
 to the bush, and bring him in. It's sore times 
 that the man be up in jail, but I'd rather him 
 in it than to be gallivantin' nowheres out 
 there wit' that empty noddle o' his'n. I'll 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 255 
 
 lave him to think it out a week, and then 
 yell be goin' after him, Reddy Lewis, and 
 no thanks to ye for lettin' him and us into 
 days' throubles like this." 
 
 Lewis, with the shock-haired McTaggart 
 children scrambling about his feet, could 
 make no reply. He shambled out with 
 hanging head, Janie's tongue lashing him 
 down the road and out of hearing, and at the 
 bridge he met Wiggin and Gower. They 
 were bustling along, Gower with a paper in 
 his hand that Lewis had no doubt was a 
 warrant. Wiggin confronted the sullen-eyed 
 Lewis, who brushed him aside. " Where's 
 McTaggart ?" demanded the lessee. " I want 
 him." 
 
 " The devil ye do ! " remarked Lewis 
 coolly, with a scowl, passing on. He took 
 satisfaction in the belief that when Janie 
 McTaggart had heard their mission she 
 would wind a blast about their ears that 
 would add some comfort to the oppressed 
 when he heard of it. But, after all, it was 
 little help for the outlaw. With his uncheer- 
 
256 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ful thoughts for company, McTaggart was 
 tramping the solitude far up at the head of 
 the river, and dark times were in store for 
 his clan. A week later, Lewis struck into 
 the woods. Things were in a fair way to 
 set the McTaggarts emigrating across the 
 line, and this dark thought was in his mind 
 when he overhauled Gower lurking along 
 the river in quest of other poachers. He 
 pushed his canoe into an eddy and lay there 
 watching, too, when Gower swung about and 
 saw him. 
 
 " Mornin', Gower," Lewis called doubtfully. 
 
 But Gower did not resent his appearance. 
 His brow was drawn and troubled, and care 
 clung about him with oppressive weight. 
 
 " Oh, is it Reddy Lewis only ? " he mum- 
 bled. 
 
 " Ay only Reddy ; and did ye think the 
 lost angel was claimin' ye for yer sins, Terry 
 Gower?" 
 
 Gower drew up his setting pole and pushed 
 his canoe abreast of Lewis, where he clung, 
 staring into the ripping current. 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 257 
 
 " What's the news ? " Then without wait- 
 ing he branched off into a new drift, rambling 
 about from one thing to another, from the 
 last run of fish to a bank beaver working in 
 the upper dead water. Lewis eyed him 
 stoutly, and then took matters into his own 
 hands. " What's up wit' ye now, Terry 
 Gower; and if ye're thinkin' o' Sawny 
 McTaggart, it's an evil day's work ye done 
 there, what wit' his wife and childern." 
 
 Gower sniffed, while he looked uneasily 
 about him. "Not that, Reddy, it's not 
 that ! " he cried sharply. " The Whooper's 
 come back. I seen him ! " 
 
 Lewis was prone to laugh, but, notwith- 
 standing, his belief in the Whooper improved. 
 "What's that, the Whooper and ye've seen 
 him ? " Gower nodded dully. Somewhere 
 in the past a strain of Indian had been in- 
 fused into the Gower line, and now it showed 
 in the man's low superstition. He was even 
 trembling, and with little pressure told his 
 tale. He had gone up to the big pond just 
 before nightfall to get a mess of trout, and 
 
258 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 while at the work a figure had emerged 
 from the woods. 
 
 " It had a red gash acrost it. I was sittin' 
 on the big log ye'll mind ut at the spring 
 hole when of a sudden I feel all creepy- 
 like. Lor'! I looks up, there's the Whooper 
 beyant ! Wit' that it screamed ah-r 
 awful ! Saints that be, I fell backwuds, and 
 ut screamed agin. God forbid I live to see 
 the like of it afterwards ! " He pressed his 
 hands over his ears as if to shut out the 
 dread horror of the Whooper's cry, the echo 
 of its shuddering scream, while Lewis sat 
 back gaping at his fear. 
 
 " Terry Gower," he delivered impressively, 
 " ye're the fust to see the Whooper wit' mor- 
 tal eye. Ye're doomed, man doomed 
 and may the saints have mercy on ye that 
 have sinned sore. D'ye remember Tighe, 
 the teamster?" 
 
 He pushed on up the river with a lurking 
 grin, leaving Gower crouched in the canoe ; 
 and at nightfall found McTaggart camped 
 out on the pond. " Ye're to come home," 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 259 
 
 he announced. " Janie swears she'll not be 
 bidin' alone by the house wit' you to be 
 cuttin' didos elsewhere. Ye're to come in, 
 and I'm minded the jail's fine to what ye'll 
 feel when yer wife's clapped eye and tongue 
 to ye, Sawny." 
 
 "What's else for the news, Reddy?" asked 
 McTaggart, gloomily. 
 
 " Gower's seen the Whooper," was the 
 prompt answer. " What I was sayin' to ye 
 ye'll remember, Sawny McTaggart, and the 
 Whooper's in the woods." 
 
 McTaggart questioned, and then burst 
 into a fit of laughter. Lewis believed the 
 other's wits gone, until McTaggart drew 
 out of his merriment with a jocose gleam 
 in his eye. "'Twas I, ye dummy!" he 
 tittered. " I seen him fishin' by the spring 
 hole, and but tried him wit' a screech, bein' 
 in mem'ry o' his luny failin's. And the 
 Whooper was wearin' a bloody gash, eh? 
 Ay, 'twas this," and here he stuck a thumb 
 under the lonesome red suspender, and 
 snapped it against his chest. But, much 
 
260 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 against his will, he followed Lewis into the 
 settlements, there to take his punishment. 
 In matters of this order, Wiggin was hardly 
 laggard. He pursued McTaggart into court 
 with a jeer, and swore down upon his head 
 every heinous detail of the offence, omitting 
 only the assault, which he reserved for future 
 reference. But justice, though swift, was 
 lenient, McTaggart's previous good character 
 serving him considerately. Yet the fine 
 imposed was a facer, and when this judg- 
 ment was set forth he was appalled at the 
 figure. 
 
 " A fine, ay ! Then ye'd best be lockin' 
 me up the day. D'ye think I can pay that 
 offhand like as if I made money in me 
 cellar?" 
 
 He was resolved, moreover, to stand im- 
 prisonment rather than to pay, but at this 
 juncture Janie McTaggart stepped in with 
 a firm and decisive tread. "Ye think ye '11 
 be loafin' in the lockup, eh ? " she demanded 
 caustically. " D'ye think ye'll lave the babes 
 and me to nibble our fingers for a dinner? 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 261 
 
 Ye've not the money, I'll grant, but it's a 
 slippery mind ye have under that furze 
 thatch o' yourn, and I'll thank ye, Sawny 
 McTaggart, to think us out o' this, bein' 
 that ye brung us to it unwillin' as a lamb to 
 slaughter. Sorrow on the day that took ye 
 and that other light o' folly, Reddy Lewis 
 beyant, moon-chasin' into the woods together. 
 Speak up, I say ! " 
 
 "Ay, I'll speak. D'you know where's the 
 money to be got? Am I a banker from 
 the States, that I can be writin' it all over 
 the face o' a sheet o' paper? The best I'll 
 be doin' is to give Day, the storekeeper, my 
 hand o' wrote to a mortgage that I'm as like 
 to pay as the whole national debt o' the 
 univarse. What's now ? " 
 
 Janie threw her apron over her head and 
 groaned. His suggestion that he must 
 give the farm as security read like all the 
 awful fiction in the farm newspapers that 
 runs hand in hand with Hubbard squash, 
 sheep rot, ensilage, and valentine verses. 
 She loved her home, and to pawn it for 
 
262 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 whatever purpose seemed to her to be like 
 sitting on the doorstep and bidding disaster 
 step in. McTaggart considered the proposi- 
 tion gloomily, for there was little work in 
 the woods till the fall shooting began, and 
 how could he pay off the debt ? Yet there 
 was no other way. McTaggart shrewdly 
 kept clear of giving a mortgage, pointing 
 out that the farm was there, and he'd not 
 be making way with it overnight, and Day, 
 who knew the man's rugged honesty in 
 business affairs, was willing enough to ad- 
 vance the money on a note. But when 
 McTaggart saw the interest to be paid, he 
 was horrified and showed it after his manner. 
 " Ye're good at figures, Mister Day. Eh, 
 what's that? Oh, I'm but notin' the intrust 
 to be paid." 
 
 With the proceeds from this venture, 
 McTaggart paid his fine, and for an hour 
 breathed freer. Yet it was with heavy heart 
 that he slouched home, and besought his 
 wife to give him peace. " There'll be work 
 yet, Janie, if ye're not drivin' me first to a 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 263 
 
 bedlam. Have done, and give me a bite to 
 eat." Convinced that there was no remedy 
 in sitting with idle hands, she bestirred her- 
 self ; though with the odour of cooking there 
 was wafted in from the cookroom a mono- 
 tone of subtle compliments upon McTag- 
 gart's self-conscious character. But there 
 is an end to all things, and Janie's garrulous 
 complaint ceased abruptly at a thundering 
 knock upon the door, that flung open before 
 the answer, admitting Lewis. 
 
 "Yell git, git out quick!" he cried. 
 " Wiggin's that mad ye've got off wit' a fine 
 he's took out a warrant for assault. Ye'll 
 mind wavin' the spear at him out beyant 
 the day av it all ? Git there's no time to 
 be lost!" 
 
 McTaggart stared stupidly, hardly able 
 to comprehend. But Lewis drove him to 
 haste. Wiggin was determined to hunt 
 McTaggart to the end, and there was no 
 time, indeed, to lose. Without the pause 
 for a sober, second thought, they flung his 
 things together, and once more McTaggart 
 
264 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 took to the bush, leaving Janie, sick at heart, 
 alone in the cabin by the river. Out there 
 in the wilderness, her husband faced the 
 blank solitude, sick and sore at heart, and 
 thus the summer passed with deeper woe 
 confronting. Burling, said Lewis, would be 
 along soon, and then there would be an end 
 to the difficulty. But the weeks sped by, 
 and Burling did not come. Week after 
 week slipped by; the shooting had begun, 
 but there was no work for McTaggart. An 
 outlaw, driven to the woods to keep his 
 liberty, was not exactly the sort of guide to 
 inspire confidence in strangers. None of the 
 shooting parties would engage him, though 
 Lewis tried many. So McTaggart settled 
 down doggedly to wait until Burling should 
 appear, and, in the meantime, hunted about 
 in search of the big bull they had seen that 
 eventful day. And just after the calling be- 
 gan he found the trail. The bull was keep- 
 ing the long ridge far across at the Gulquock, 
 still unmated and ranging widely, day and 
 night, in search of a responsive cow. Me- 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 265 
 
 Taggart knew the track at a glance, for one 
 point of the hoof had been broken, and its 
 bigness was unmistakable. He followed, 
 marking the bull's direction, and on the 
 edge of a small black pond tried him with 
 the horn. At the first low call, the moose 
 answered eagerly, and came rioting down 
 to the water's edge, where he thrashed the 
 bushes with his heavy horns, and, at a re- 
 sponsive grunt from Me Taggart, rushed out 
 into the open. 
 
 " Lors ! " murmured McTaggart, viewing 
 the breadth and bulk of the spreading 
 antlers, " it's my sowl I'd be givin' to have 
 Burling see him wunst." 
 
 He left the bull unmolested, convinced 
 that he would not wander far from the 
 clustering chain of ponds, and his next 
 adventure was to find Wiggin and Gower 
 in the woods. McTaggart, prowling along 
 the ridge, keeping watch and ward over 
 his big bull, spied the two stealing through 
 the timber. He hid behind a windfall, 
 watching, and, to his consternation, saw 
 
266 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 them strike upon the trail where the moose 
 had passed a short time before. Gower, 
 with an exclamation, pointed to the slot, 
 and, stooping over the marks in the soft 
 earth, the two men ranged back and forth, 
 all excitement. Then Gower waved the 
 way the bull had gone, and with rapid strides 
 they went circling off to leeward in full 
 pursuit. McTaggart followed, clinging to 
 the cover, the chase dipping down toward 
 the pond. But here they lost the trail, run- 
 ning afoul, instead, of McTaggart's lean-to. 
 
 " Oh, and what's this ? " he heard Wiggin 
 demand of Gower, as he crawled near, 
 Gower, busily pulling over McTaggart's 
 things, determined soon enough. With 
 that, Wiggin's face was convulsed with 
 anger. 
 
 " I'll have no such vermin in the woods 
 with me ! " he cried, sticking a foot through 
 the side of the bark hut. McTaggart, with 
 a malediction, threw up his gun to his 
 shoulder, and levelled the sights at his 
 enemy. But a swift thought of Janie and 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 267 
 
 his helpless children stayed the shot, and 
 Wiggin never knew how near he had been 
 to sudden death. Tiring of kicking at the 
 sides of the lean-to, he whipped a match out 
 of his pocket, and touched it to a bit of 
 curling bark. He held the splinter down- 
 ward until it blazed and crackled, and 
 Gower, nonplussed at his employer's vin- 
 dictiveness, asked what he was intending, 
 " If ye're goin' to burn him out," he re- 
 marked, " ye'll leave the man no place to lay 
 his head. He'll soon be homeless elsewhere, 
 Mister Wiggin, for I mind hearin', now, 
 that there's next to a mortgage on the farm 
 below he's never like to pay." 
 
 " He has what ? " demanded Wiggin. 
 "And you have not told me this before. 
 Out with it ! " 
 
 His manner was crafty and eager. He 
 ground out the blazing bark with his heel, 
 and extracted fact after fact from his man. 
 Then, gripping his gun, he strode off through 
 the woods, bidding Gower follow. " But the 
 moose the big un," the man protested. 
 
268 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 " Devil take it ! " growled Wiggin, striding 
 on through the forest. They reached their 
 camp, threw their things hastily into a canoe, 
 and pushed off. At nightfall, the day after, 
 the two reached the settlements, when 
 Wiggin's eager inquiries found that there 
 were hard times, indeed, at the McTaggarts'. 
 Janie had told her sorrow and care to the 
 neighbours, for the simple-hearted creature 
 was in sore need of sympathy. She had 
 drawn her children about her, weeping, when 
 a ready-tongued gossip came with consola- 
 tions and a real desire for details. In a 
 month the note would fall due, and she saw 
 no escape. Wiggin heard all this on his 
 way to the settlement store, where, eager 
 and malevolently grinning, he demanded to 
 see Day. 
 
 Mrs. Day admitted the visitor, embar- 
 rassed at the condescension of a call. " Come 
 right in, Mr. Wiggin, come right in. Have 
 a cheer and sit by. Yes, sir, my man's 
 right out to the barn. Tears the air's 
 gittin' sharp hey ? Yes, sir, I was " 
 
THE DUN GARY AN WHO OPE R. 269 
 
 Wiggin inwardly cursed her volubility, 
 cut her short, and sent for Day. The man 
 came in, and the two adjourned to the 
 front room, leaving Gower in the kitchen 
 with his legs sprawling and his mouth open 
 in wonder at his employer's vindictive pur- 
 suit. Wiggin began the business without 
 formalities. He wished to know what Day 
 would take for the note; and when Day 
 stared in astonishment rapped out the ques- 
 tion again, sharply, insistently. The store- 
 keeper demurred, Wiggin insisted, threaten- 
 ing to withdraw his trade ; and the upshot of 
 the matter was that he got the note, paying 
 a stiff bonus for the privilege. It was irreg- 
 ular, unjustifiable, and all that, but Wiggin 
 went out of the place, vengeance stirring in 
 his breast, and an evil day awaiting the 
 McTaggarts when their oppressor's oppor- 
 tunity should fall due. 
 
 More days passed in gloom. Wiggin and 
 Gower had returned to the woods, and the 
 inevitable was drawing nigh. The last 
 week in September, Lewis, going into the 
 
270 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 post-office, found a letter. " How long's 
 this been waitin'?" he asked, recognizing 
 Burling's handwriting. He tore it open, 
 read it rapidly, read it again, and then, crum- 
 pling it in his hand, walked slowly out. 
 Burling was not coming into the woods ; he 
 had written to say it was impossible. On 
 the way up the road he met Janie, but had 
 not the heart to tell her then. " No news," 
 he murmured, shaking his head and walking 
 on. He launched a canoe dejectedly, put 
 his things aboard in a disordered heap, and 
 started out for the woods. He must tell 
 McTaggart, and what should happen now 
 was only too painfully obvious. He poled 
 along, thoughtful and gloomy, utterly down- 
 cast over the prospects for the McTaggarts, 
 who in his affections were as his kith and kin. 
 At the head of the river, he plunged into 
 the forest in search of McTaggart's camp, 
 and in a hollow at the foot of a hill saw 
 some one slinking through the bush. Just 
 as he looked he saw the figure dodge behind 
 a tree, and at this semblance of suspicion 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 271 
 
 Lewis himself was aroused. " Who's there ? " 
 he cried sharply. It was Gower, who, find- 
 ing himself discovered, stepped out into the 
 open. " Oh, it's you, is it ? " exclaimed 
 Lewis, disgustedly; "and what's up now, 
 I'm askin' ? " Gower hastened toward him, 
 holding out a hand that Lewis ignored. 
 " You seem ready to hide yerself, Terry 
 Gower, and what's in the wind ? " 
 
 Gower shuffled about from one foot to the 
 other, uneasily looking over his shoulder. 
 " Well," he hesitated, " I seen a moose 
 an' a mighty big un horns so big!" He 
 stretched his arms to indicate the breadth 
 of the antlers. " Mister Wiggin seen him, 
 too, but sorter got the staggers. Lor', he 
 couldn't shoot at all ! " Lewis looked at 
 him keenly, for the man's eyes were shifting 
 uneasily toward the thicket at the foot of 
 the hill. Lewis's mind was made up that 
 the man had something to conceal, and in 
 a few minutes determined that it lay within 
 the clump of bushes. " Ye've had luck ! " 
 he ventured suddenly, and leaned forward 
 
272 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 to touch Gower's knife. "Why," he ex- 
 claimed, " it's covered all wit' blood ! " 
 
 Gower's face was a study of stupidity 
 and craft. He shook his head, denying 
 the assertion vehemently; but when Lewis 
 walked swiftly toward the thicket, turning 
 a deaf ear to Gower's protests and appeals, 
 a jet of blood along the brown autumn 
 leaves confirmed his opinion that something 
 was amiss, and a search showed he was right. 
 There in the thicket lay the half-stripped 
 carcass of a fat cow moose, and to kill a cow 
 is a grievous offence against the statutes. 
 " So it's this, Terry Gower ! " cried Lewis 
 sharply, " ye was tryin' to hide ! And d'ye 
 know it's a big fine and mebbe jail for the 
 man that kills the cow moose ? " Gower 
 appealingly asserted that it was not his 
 work. Lewis laughed, telling him to try 
 that on the marines. " Not yer work, eh ? 
 And what's this axe o' yourn doin' standin' 
 here by a tree, and is that yer gun yon or no, 
 Terry Gower ? Mebbe not, or have the gun 
 and the axe been out for but a stroll in the 
 
THE DUNG ARYAN WHOOPER. 273 
 
 woods, and stopped by for a rest? Ah-r ! 
 Don't be lyin' like that ! " 
 
 " I tell ye 'twas not me ! " Gower reiterated. 
 " Ye'll not be peachin', will ye, Reddy, for 
 the guv'ment 'd be sore after me, its own 
 warden. What's the woman and her childer 
 to do then ? " 
 
 " Did ye think av that, Terry Gower, when 
 ye laid throuble thick to the door o' Sawny 
 McTaggart ? answer that now ! " 
 
 " Ah-r, 'twas not me, though! 'Twas Mr. 
 Wiggin, Reddy, that did that ; he's yon in 
 the camp now, and '11 tell ye ! " 
 
 A sudden thought transformed Lewis's 
 face with cunning. " Wiggin, yon, shot the 
 cow, too ! " he cried, with a strong conviction. 
 " I've guessed it," this shrilly, " and ye'll 
 not be lyin' agin, Terry Gower." 
 
 Gower nodded ; Wiggin had killed the 
 cow. They had called down the big bull the 
 night before, but a cow had come with him. 
 Gower coaxed and pleaded on the horn for 
 hours, knowing from the marks they had seen 
 on the range that the bull was big. But 
 
274 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 though eager to flirt with another cow, the 
 bull was old and suspicious, and went cir- 
 cling about in the darkness trying to get their 
 scent on the dead night air. Just as they 
 thought they had him coming out into the 
 open, the companion cow tired of the struggle 
 with her lord, and rushed in to investigate. 
 She almost charged the two in their canoe, 
 and, discovering the peril, fled, crashing 
 through the bush, thoroughly scaring the big 
 bull. In vengeful anger at this interruption, 
 Wiggin fired on her just as she charged the 
 bank, and planted a bullet in her ribs. She 
 fell, struggled to her feet, and went on, and 
 at dawn Gower had tracked her to the place 
 where she at last lay down and died. 
 
 " Yer camp's right handy across, eh ? " 
 asked Lewis. " Then I'll be payin' a visit 
 to Mr. Wiggin." He announced this with 
 emphasis, deaf to Gower's objections, and, 
 knowing the way, led on through the forest. 
 Wiggin was cleaning his rifle when they 
 arrived, and seemed perturbed at the sight of 
 Lewis. He nodded coldly, and went on with 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 275 
 
 his work, while Lewis, sitting on a fire log, 
 pulled out his pipe and gravely filled it. 
 " What luck ? " he demanded when he had 
 finished. He leaned forward to pull an 
 ember from the fire, his eyes wandering from 
 Wiggin, while he puffed deliberately at the 
 tobacco. 
 
 " Luck ? " snapped the other, " none at all." 
 
 " Dunno that's a big cow ye got down 
 yonner." 
 
 Wiggin shot a sharp and angry glance at 
 Gower, who dropped his eyes in guilty con- 
 sciousness. " Blast it, man, what d'you 
 mean ? " demanded Wiggin. 
 
 " Nothin', Mr. Wiggin. Cow killin' is agin 
 the laws, though. They took up two fellers 
 on the Wabsky las' week, I hear, for doin' 
 the same." 
 
 " Well, my friend, I suppose you are now 
 going in to lodge an information hey ? " 
 
 " Dunno," answered Lewis, slowly. " Got 
 any reasons why I hadn't oughter ? " 
 
 Wiggin put down his gun and looked him 
 over. He cleared his throat huskily, and 
 
276 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 apparently thought hard. " Now suppose," 
 said he, " that it was made worth your while 
 to let this drop ? " Lewis asked how, and 
 Wiggin told him. 
 
 " Want to buy me hunh ? " he snorted. 
 " Think ye can buy me, hey ? " 
 
 " Every man has his price," was the answer. 
 Wiggin's philosophy included this assump- 
 tion in a developed degree, and now he was 
 disposed to give it exercise. " Every man 
 has his price," he repeated. " Mine's high," 
 answered Lewis. Wiggin named a figure 
 that to him seemed reasonably high. Lewis 
 named one higher. He was mentally cal- 
 culating the amount of McTaggart's note 
 with interest to date, and the price he named 
 was even more. So they sat there, haggling, 
 while Gower, out of hearing, looked on 
 gloomily. In the end, Lewis got his price, 
 and Wiggin prepared to write a check. 
 
 " Is it a check ? " inquired Lewis. " Ye '11 
 save the bother, Mr. Wiggin, for I'll not 
 take it. I want money hard cash it is, or 
 nothin'!" 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 277 
 
 Wiggin laughed lightly, remarking that 
 Lewis seemed to be an old hand in such 
 affairs to have fear that a check might be 
 used against him. " YouVe done this before, 
 maybe ? " he sneered. 
 
 " No, Mr. Wiggin, wit' all ye know av 
 these things, ye're wrong. It's the first." 
 
 He got the amount in money, slung his 
 gun over his shoulder, and walked off whis- 
 tling a cocky air. " Good-by, Gower, and 
 look out the Whooper don't get ye ! Better 
 luck next time, Mr. Wiggin," he called back, 
 turning to wave an airy adieu ; but Wiggin 
 merely cursed. 
 
 McTaggart's camp was deserted, but a 
 square of birch bark set in a cleft stick told 
 where he had gone. He was away tracking 
 the bush, he said, looking to find where the 
 moose were working, and would be away a 
 couple of days. Lewis's elation subsided 
 suddenly. He was primed to push the roll 
 of bills into McTaggart's hand, and to end 
 his melancholy at once. But where could he 
 find him ? He hopped up and ran to where 
 
278 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 McTaggart kept his canoe. It was gone, 
 and Lewis knew from this that the other 
 would stick to the watercourses ; so, shoulder- 
 ing his pack, he pushed along in pursuit, but 
 by chance going precisely in the wrong direc- 
 tion. He spent two days in this pursuit, and 
 then, convinced how futile was a search in 
 the interminable system of interlacing dead 
 waters, bogans, and ponds, returned to the 
 still vacant camp. Here he spent another 
 two days, fretting and fuming over Mc- 
 Taggart's absence, and then went cruising 
 the bush again. But McTaggart had gone 
 far, and the week had passed before he 
 returned to the camp on the big pond. 
 Lewis was away at the time, but McTaggart 
 rejoiced in a letter that told he would return 
 the following day. Weary and discouraged, 
 he prepared his evening meal, and then 
 turned in to sleep heavily. 
 
 The moon arose, big and bright, while the 
 dead forest lay silent under the clear gray 
 light. On the pond, it silvered the wake of 
 the plying muskrat, and se.t the water gleam- 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 279 
 
 ing where the trout lunged along the sandy 
 shallows. But before the moon had cleared 
 the rim of the distant hills, the silence was 
 broken by a pealing murmur. It came soft 
 and dreamily first, and then with the repeat 
 droned higher over the sleeping solitude. 
 McTaggart rolled over in his blankets, and 
 awoke with a sudden shudder. He cocked 
 his ear and listened. A cat-owl boomed far 
 away, and a muskrat flopped in the pond 
 with a splash that set his heart thumping 
 against his ribs. Once more the low note 
 sounded. It was a cow moose calling no, 
 a sudden inflection set his mind at rest. It 
 was some one using a horn, trying to call out 
 from his retreat the lord of the woodland 
 ranges. Softly launching a canoe, McTag- 
 gart stole down the pond, clinging to the 
 black shadow alongshore, and awake to 
 the chance that they might fire on him in 
 the dark by mistake. Softly he pushed 
 along till he heard a bark horn rattle 
 against the cedar splints of a canoe bottom 
 and a rustle as some one rose. Again the 
 
280 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 call droned across the stillness, echoing 
 upon the hilltops and beating back from 
 ridge to ridge. On the quiet air it drifted 
 afar, stillness again following in its wake. 
 E-ee-ee-uu-oooo-O-oonh ! McTaggart listened, 
 and then Unh ! Unh I a bull grunted 
 the answer. 
 
 " There ! " a shrill whisper proclaimed. 
 " I hear him ! " 
 
 McTaggart was near enough to distin- 
 guish the tone; it was Wiggin. Again 
 the bull grunted, and, slowly drifting to 
 the bank, McTaggart crept ashore. As he 
 dragged the canoe after him its bilges 
 scraped upon the bushes, and a sharp ex- 
 clamation a whisper of warning told 
 that the others had heard. He held his 
 breath and waited. 
 
 " Ain't nawthin' but a mushquash, likely," 
 he heard Gower explaining after a pause. 
 " I'll tell ye if the moose comes in. Don't 
 shoot 'les' it's the big un." 
 
 He called again, and once more the bull 
 answered. He was coming fast. Me Tag- 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 281 
 
 gart heard the moose swing over the ridge 
 and plunge down toward the pond. His 
 horns clanged against the tree trunks as 
 he pressed onward ; a dry stub cracked as 
 he surged against it, and at every other 
 stride he grunted unh ! unh I unh ! 
 Then, halfway down the slope he paused, 
 quiet as a mouse, and only the distant 
 booming of a cat-owl broke the stillness 
 drifting down upon the night. 
 
 " E-unh! E-unh!" Gower was trying 
 him again. The muffled note whined dol- 
 orously, simulating with a keen inflection 
 the gurgling of a complacent cow. Even 
 McTaggart admitted the man's woodcraft, 
 and " Unh ! Oonh I " the bull answered, 
 beating his antlers upon the saplings. But, 
 old and suspicious, the moose waited to 
 make sure before plying his courtship 
 further. McTaggart heard their canoe 
 creak as Gower cautiously moved; then 
 slosh! slosh! slosh! close at hand. He 
 started. But it was not the bull ; it was 
 Gower imitating with his paddle the tramp 
 
282 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 of a cow upon the shallows. The moose 
 grunted fiercely; there was a crash in the 
 brush, and peering through the undergrowth 
 McTaggart saw a black form stride out 
 upon the bog. With a rending of dry 
 wood and a resounding splash, the bull 
 stepped down into the dead water, his head 
 held aloft and swinging from side to side. 
 His nose, stretched out, ranged upward 
 trying the air with a deep breath, while 
 the broad antlers lay back upon his bris- 
 tling shoulders. McTaggart stared, a sud- 
 den thought suggesting that this might be 
 the big bull returned again to his old rang- 
 ing ground, the big bull he had been watch- 
 ing for Burling's sake. He saw the others' 
 canoe drift out from the shadow, Gower, 
 with noiseless strokes, driving it down upon 
 the quarry. Along the bank strode the 
 bull, grunting once as he searched on all 
 sides for the wooing cow he had heard 
 from his haunt high up among the hard 
 wood. As he turned, the moonlight shone 
 upon his horns. McTaggart started, an 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 283 
 
 exclamation breaking from him. It was 
 the big bull. In the dim light he watched 
 the canoe drift slowly forward, while his 
 heart beat wildly as he awaited the crack 
 of the rifle. Then, clenching his teeth, he 
 leaped upright, and screamed with all the 
 strength of his lungs. 
 
 A startled cry answered. The bull, 
 splashing across the shallows, halted snort- 
 ing. McTaggart screamed again. A flurry 
 overwhelmed the canoe; he saw Gower 
 struggle to his feet. " The Whooper ! " 
 screamed the man, and tumbled backward 
 into the stream. Crash followed crash 
 the bull, leaping to the shore, burst his 
 way through the thickets. Trembling but 
 satisfied, McTaggart lay upon the ground 
 clutching the pulpy moss, while the moose 
 bounded up the slope, his horns clanging 
 on every tree trunk, the thickets crashing 
 beneath his tread. 
 
 Dawn came. Wiggin and Gower sat in 
 camp Gower, his clothes drenched, lean- 
 ing over the fire vainly seeking warmth 
 
284 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 and dryness; Wiggin enraged and scorn- 
 ful. 
 
 "The Whooper, eh?" He glared at 
 Gower, his lip curling. "You fool!" 
 The man sullenly wagged his head and 
 crouched lower over the blaze. His hair, 
 dull and matted, hung over his low brow, 
 its blackness contrasting the pallor of his 
 face. With his eyes shifting about, he 
 answered heavily, "No, sir no no, don't 
 say that. I see Tighe when the Whooper 
 got him. Oh, sir oh oh " His voice 
 broke into whimpering. " I seen him and 
 it was orful. I seen him lying limp in the 
 snow wit' the red mark acrost his throat, 
 and, way off in a black swamp, the Whooper 
 was howlin' and hollerin' like a luny. Ugh-r 
 it was orful, sir ! " 
 
 He shuddered anew, bending still closer 
 to the cheerful, crackling blaze. Even the 
 daylight failed to clear his terror. Wiggin, 
 as contemptuous as ever, demanded whether 
 he had ever seen the Whooper, and Gower 
 cried please God that he never should again. 
 
THE DUNGARVAN VVHOOPER. 285 
 
 Wiggin laughed mockingly. " You get into 
 that canoe, Gower; we'll see what tracks 
 your Whooper leaves." 
 
 "Oh, sir please!" 
 
 Wiggin cut him short. Baffled and 
 trembling, Gower launched a canoe, and 
 steadied it until Wiggin walked aboard. 
 Then, under direction, he paddled down 
 the pond and into the head of the dead 
 water toward the scene of the night's fran- 
 tic doings. Wiggin eyed the situation 
 keenly; he marked the slots in the mud 
 where the bull had walked out into the 
 open ; then further on his attention was 
 directed to a broad track in the bank. 
 
 " There ! " he exclaimed. " What's that ? " 
 
 Gower looked. To his accustomed eye 
 the trail told its own story. "A canoe 
 some un's hauled ashore there!" He was 
 all excitement, and with a strong stroke 
 drove in to the bank. There in the soft 
 ground he made out moccasin tracks, and 
 with an oath leaned forward to pick up a 
 pipe. 
 
286 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 "By God!" he cried. "That's Sawny 
 McTaggart's pipe or I'm a liar ! " 
 
 " No not McTaggart's, Gower. It's the 
 Whooper's, and what sort of tobacco does 
 the thing smoke?" 
 
 Gower's face was livid with passion, and 
 all the craft and cunning hatred of his re- 
 mote Indian ancestor burned upon his 
 brow. He ground his teeth, and, with a 
 gesture of rage, hurled the pipe far from 
 him. " Hush ! Listen ! " exclaimed Wig- 
 gin, raising a warning finger. " What's 
 that?" 
 
 He kneeled behind a bush on the bog, 
 his eyes glittering. Then Gower, watch- 
 ing this pantomime of expression, saw his 
 face twitch. He pointed a finger across 
 the pond, and Gower looked. There was 
 McTaggart paddling alongshore, and watch- 
 ing sharply ahead. He saw their canoe 
 drawn up on the bank, and halted. He 
 had returned, no doubt, to look for his 
 pipe; and the sight was too much for 
 Gower. He sprung to his feet, snatched 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 287 
 
 the rifle from Wiggin's hands, and sent a 
 bullet ringing across the water. The forest 
 roared with the echoes of the explosion, the 
 empty shell leaped upward from the breech, 
 and Gower fired again. But his rage de- 
 stroyed his aim, and, ere murder could be 
 done, Wiggin knocked up the muzzle and 
 snatched the rifle from his hands. 
 
 " You fool ! " he screamed into Gower's 
 ear. " He was as good as caught. Damn 
 you stand away from me!" 
 
 McTaggart, with a derisive wave of his 
 hand, whirled his canoe about and made 
 off down the pond. But he was hardly 
 out of range when a shout brought fresh 
 alarm. A figure came out of the woods 
 and waved to him, and for an instant he 
 thought either Gower or Wiggin was pur- 
 suing, and crouched lower to escape the 
 expected shot. But the shout was repeated, 
 and looking again he saw it was Lewis. With 
 galloping strokes he drove his craft ashore. 
 
 " They tried murder ! " he cried. " They 
 were shootin' at me ! " 
 
288 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 " Heavens, then, be praised ! " exclaimed 
 Lewis, " I thought they were shootin' the 
 big bull. Is that all, Sawny ? " 
 
 But McTaggart was in earnest, and in a 
 few words he made Lewis understand what 
 had happened. " Murder, ye say ! " roared 
 Lewis, " and by him yon ? The divvil 
 I'll fix him!" He put McTaggart into 
 the bottom of the canoe, bidding him lie 
 hidden, and drove back to the head of the 
 dead water. " If they try shootin' on me," 
 he promised, "I'll satisfy them!" Boldly 
 he paddled up to the bank, where Wiggin 
 and Gower still stood, the employer venting 
 his spleen upon the other's head. " Drat 
 ye, be still, ye loafer!" cried Lewis, after 
 listening a moment to Wiggin's words. 
 " Yes, it's ye, I mean I'll have a word 
 wit' ye, me man ! Ye've been tryin' murder, 
 is it?" 
 
 "A good thing, too," was the answer. 
 "That sneaking poacher would be better 
 off with a bullet in his ribs. I'll see him 
 into jail, now, and make sure of him!" 
 
THE DUNG ARYAN WHOOPER. 289 
 
 " And ye'll follow into it after him, Mister 
 Wiggin," responded Lewis, sharply. "Ye 
 know that ye cannot shoot at a man as ye 
 please even out here in the woods. I grant 
 it, ye'll be sure o' mind what a jury down 
 river'll say to ye, Mister Wiggin, wunst 
 they get ye afore 'em. Ye mind that, eh? 
 Ye and yer man, there, is not much liked 
 eh/ my friend, and what '11 happen when 
 murder's the charge ? " 
 
 The warning was strong with meaning. 
 Wiggin glanced at him, wondering what 
 was the next to come, and on that score 
 Lewis soon set him at rest. " I'll throuble 
 ye, Wiggin," he had dropped the defer- 
 ential prefix and was slanging the other 
 without regard, "I'll throuble ye to hand 
 over the warrant ye have agin Sawny Mc- 
 Taggart, or I'll be down, the day, to the 
 justice, and have ye properly took up." 
 
 Assuming a cool and independent atti- 
 tude, Lewis pulled out his pipe once more, 
 watching Wiggin sharply over his fingers 
 as he touched a match to the tobacco. 
 
290 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 " How about it eh ? " he demanded, whiff- 
 ing out the light. In Wiggin's face anger 
 and self-possession struggled for mastery. 
 Lewis fixed him with an unflinching eye, 
 and Wiggin, cursing under his breath, drew 
 out the warrant, tore it across, and tossed 
 the fragments into the stream. " I've not 
 done with the dog yet, though," he warned, 
 his face wrinkling craftily, and at this Mc- 
 Taggart sat bolt upright in the canoe. 
 Wiggin greeted him with a curse. 
 
 " Ah-r, there you are eh ! You've 
 escaped jail, my man, but you wait you 
 wait ! " Here he shook his fist vindictively 
 at McTaggart's head, grinning with malev- 
 olence. " Mark me at the end of the 
 month, when you're turned out of house 
 and home thrown out, mind you just 
 remember me ! " 
 
 " Ye'll rest content I'll never forgit ye ! " 
 retorted McTaggart. " I misdoubt ye mean 
 the note now hey?" 
 
 Wiggin chuckled jubilantly. " Right you 
 are, Sawny McTaggart. I've got you there, 
 
THE DUNGARVAN WHOOPER. 291 
 
 for I've bought the note from Day, and 
 111 drive you from the place when I'm 
 done." He drew out the note and waved 
 it tauntingly, but Lewis cut in with a hoot 
 of disdain. " Pass up that note there ! " he 
 cried, noting that Wiggin was waving it 
 in McTaggart's face. " Pass it along here ! " 
 he roared. Before the other knew, he had 
 reached across and snatched the paper from 
 Wiggin's hand. " There, now, and this is 
 the money for it, ye pawnbrokin' thief." 
 He tossed the roll of bills into the canoe, 
 and, driving his own craft about, paddled 
 down the pond, McTaggart wild with curi- 
 osity. " It's nothing," Lewis casually re- 
 marked ; " I but caught him in evil and 
 made him pay for it." He told the story, 
 and McTaggart protested. " But, Reddy, 
 it's a jail offence it's blackmail and 
 he'll have the law on ye." But Lewis was 
 as derisive as ever. " He'll have no laws on 
 me, and what odds if he do ? I've no wife 
 or childer, and a trip to the lockup will be 
 but food and fun for the price o' nawthinV 
 
292 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 " Worry be the day," moaned McTaggart, 
 "ye've shifted my sins to yer own head." 
 
 " Sure, Sawny, and now we'll be goin' 
 arter the big moose hey, man ? " 
 
 In the dusk of a gray afternoon, a week 
 later, a moose with horns spreading like 
 the limbs of a wasted pine was pawing 
 potholes in the runway at the foot of a 
 wooded hill. His flying strokes flipped 
 the leaves and soggy soil high over his 
 haunches, and at times he paused to beat 
 a sapling with his antlers. A twig cracked 
 sharply on the hill, and at this, transformed 
 into a statue, he stood, with bristling mane, 
 staring along his flank. One ear hung forward 
 over the beam of the broad antlers; the other 
 quivered backward. His gray nose wrinkled 
 while the neck stretched forth. Then a rifle 
 cracked, the woods clattering with the deto- 
 nation. Down upon his knees crashed the 
 colossus, swaying heavily, and Sawny Mc- 
 Taggart, leaping the windfalls and breasting 
 through the bush, raced down the hillside 
 screaming like the Dungarvan Whooper. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 A SHAFT of sunlight pierced the inter- 
 lacing treetops and fell broadly upon 
 the forest's yellow floor. Spring had come, 
 and with it the woodland life moved anew. 
 At the foot of the knoll a sandy brook rip- 
 pled briskly through the covert, singing a 
 quiet tune; and the air now stirred gently 
 from the south. Higher rose the sun; the 
 breeze died away, and with one last, listless 
 whispering of the foliage overhead, silence 
 reigned. Then putt-putt a sharp and 
 querulous putt! Another moment's silence, 
 and after it, as if in answer ye-onk ye-onk 
 ye-onk I Now what was this ? Out of the 
 thicket stepped majestically an impressive 
 figure, a creature of cardinal crown, garbed 
 with bronze and gold, stalking the brush like 
 a veritable monarch of the domain. Ye-onk 
 
 293 
 
294 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ye-onkl Craft, curiosity, suspicion, invi- 
 tation all were sounded in that sonorous 
 yelp. Ye-onkl Onward stepped the regal 
 presence, confident, yet ready to fly at an 
 instant's warning; primed for braggart woo- 
 ing doubtful on the way to conquering. 
 So up the hill went this majesty forsooth, 
 a turkey gobbler making his way with a 
 hop, skip, and stalking stride, his cardinal 
 crown held sideways, and no end of expres- 
 sion in his undecided, mincing gait. 
 
 Putt-putt ye-onk! That settled it. The 
 voice of the charmer on the hilltop sounded 
 clear and sweetly low. There could be no 
 cheat in a seductive yelp like that. Up the 
 last rise bustled the gobbler, all his craft suf- 
 fused by the glow of amorous conquest, his 
 fan spread in astonishing array, his wings 
 curved sidewise, and his gallant wattles swell- 
 ing in red display. Drumming noisily, he 
 strutted the opening, and there before him 
 stood the charmer. 
 
 Now the bar sinister of turkey bearings is 
 a band of white across the tail ; rarely found 
 
LIBERTY. 295 
 
 among the wild birds of the forest depths, 
 though every mean fowl of the farmyard 
 shows it in its fan. So was this charmer of 
 the hilltop marked a recreant from some 
 squatter cabin. But what cared the amorous 
 knight for this ? Little indeed ! He spread 
 himself before her, regardless of his other 
 queen grubbing a breakfast in the deserted 
 cotton patch below; and with all his bravery 
 stalked and strutted and clucked till she was 
 hypnotized into delirious attention. Ye-onk ! 
 spoke the lady love, softly, timorous in ado- 
 ration. Swelling his snaky neck, he fixed a 
 beady eye upon her, and then rang the woods 
 with his song of love hee gobble hob- 
 ble gobble. 
 
 Nature, with all her admirable qualities, is 
 sometimes sadly at fault. Here, for instance, 
 was magnificence, a bird of regal splendour, 
 and yet voicing noble passion with what ? 
 Hee gobble hobble gobble! Never mind, 
 the demure inspiration of this obligate 
 knew no better, and perchance would have 
 turned a deaf and heedless ear to the swell- 
 
296 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 ing melody of the nightingale or the sweet, 
 melancholy pipe of a wood thrush. Hee 
 gobble hobble gobble was as sweet to 
 her as any other note might be to maiden 
 first wooed by tender lays. Plainly speaking, 
 it's only the system that counts, and here 
 hee gobble hobble was it. So, nearer 
 came the gobbler, tuning his lay of love, and 
 though the charmer feigned a vast indiffer- 
 ence, pecking at the leaves and scratching 
 them aft in a cloud, she could not restrain or 
 resist the advance, and nearer and nearer the 
 bold one drew. Tutl-tutt! said he. Putt- 
 cluttl she answered, giving encouragement. 
 Raising his sinuous crest, he bustled side- 
 ways toward her, and accordingly she squatted 
 in the dust. Putt! With an eager move- 
 ment, his head launched forward, and the hen 
 squawked as his beak descended upon her 
 naked poll with force enough, almost, to drive 
 in her tender brains. But nevertheless she 
 made no move to escape ; victory was his. 
 Putt! the descending blow fell upon her 
 writhing neck the conquest was accom- 
 
LIBERTY. 297 
 
 plished. She was his. A savage instinct 
 yes. Much like the human savage that 
 wooes his bride with a club a system 
 merely a system. Away to the deeper forest, 
 now, far away from the farmyard birthplace, 
 and behind, only the restraint of civilization 
 exchanged for forest love and liberty. 
 
 They walked the forest glades or journeyed 
 into the clearings. He led, and she and his 
 other wives trailed behind. But ere long she 
 found the dream was short. Like other maj- 
 esties, this one had all the selfishness of the 
 kind. There was a tidbit a fat morsel 
 a grub or a swelling kernel. Putt-putt! the 
 gobbler clucked, and again and again the 
 hens ran up to share in the dainty. But 
 putt gobble he wolfed it down himself, 
 and the putt-putt, it seemed, was no invita- 
 tion to the feast, but merely his exultation at 
 the find. So, too, at times, when one of his 
 wives or another had clucked too long over 
 some morsel haply found by herself, a long 
 and snaky neck reached out, and the dainty 
 
298 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 was snatched from sight. How long was this 
 to last ? Not long ; one by one the four wild 
 hens sneaked aside, and in hidden nooks laid 
 their eggs between branching tree roots or 
 in the shelter under some fallen log. Last 
 of all was the demure, brown creature from 
 the farm lands. Perhaps her heart was 
 breaking who knows ? for his greed and 
 cruelty grew upon her. Nearly always he 
 ignored her presence, carelessly; he seized 
 upon her food, and like a dog in a manger 
 was aroused only when some other gobbler 
 disputed his sway. Then his wattles grew a 
 swollen red, his gobbling high-voiced and 
 challenging. Feathers strewed the battle 
 ground after all these sanguinary combats ; 
 these feathered lords rushed together, struck 
 with their heavy wings, and, desperately seiz- 
 ing each other's skinny crowns, tweaked until 
 they drew the blood. Then, when the com- 
 bat was done, and he by his weight and vigour 
 had won, he strutted anew, once more simu- 
 lating his first amorous courtship. But at 
 length she no longer felt even a passing 
 
LIBERTY. 299 
 
 interest in the demonstration ; and while again 
 he was raging against another gobbler, she 
 fled, and left him a lonely monarch, but no- 
 wise disturbed at her defection. Hardly had 
 he beaten off the other when, in answer to 
 his vainglorious gobble, another hen yelped 
 from the hilltop, coming to console him. 
 
 Back to the edge of the forest went the 
 brown hen, alone and unattended. Place 
 after place saw her; at length she settled 
 upon a sunny hillside, and in a deep thicket 
 hid her nest. It was a simple home, 
 nothing but a hollow scooped among the 
 leaves, but so artfully concealed that one 
 might have walked within a foot of it, un- 
 aware of her treasure that lay so close 
 beside. In time there were eight eggs 
 creamy white and splotched with brown 
 lying among the leaves, and there she 
 rested, encompassed by a hundred perils. 
 Once a wandering coon shambled over the 
 log under which she lay, and, sniffing eagerly, 
 trailed about. But she lay still so still 
 that her heart beat a terrifying pulse in 
 
300 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 that silence, ready to wage a hopeless battle 
 against the marauder, to strive and do for 
 her own. But the night prowler made on, 
 and she was safe. Again, a fox came slink- 
 ing down the hillside in the moonlight, 
 dragging his bushy tail with a rustle across 
 the leafy flooring. She heard him, and the 
 soft footfalls of his cushioned pads struck 
 trot trot trot each one a blow upon 
 her heart. Nearer nearer so near he 
 came then he halted, crouching, so close 
 that she could see his beady, evil eyes. 
 In vain she flattened in her cover, spreading 
 her wings to shield these blessed posses- 
 sions, striving to hide with all her craft 
 from the peering, malevolent gaze set upon 
 her. Step by step a sinuous shadow in 
 that ghostly half-gloom the fox drew 
 toward her; there was a swift rush across 
 the leaves, a crackling of brush, and the 
 destroyer had hurled himself against her 
 stronghold. Leaping from the place, she 
 took a half-dozen running steps, and, soaring 
 into flight, went blundering away through 
 
LIBERTY. 301 
 
 the trees. A half -hour passed ere she dared 
 return. Then she found two of the eggs 
 destroyed under the foot of the enemy, 
 and the others rapidly losing their warmth 
 that spark of fire she had so long sought 
 to instil from her own feverish breast. But 
 the fox no longer disturbed her; it was 
 spring and he wandered far, and when 
 again he returned, she no longer feared his 
 cunning. 
 
 There were other perils, though, that 
 beset her simple household. Days later, 
 when she had left the nest for a moment's 
 food, a sense of evil oppressed, and she 
 hurried homeward. There were her fears 
 confirmed, and but for her haste might, 
 indeed, have been far worse. Something 
 fled as she drew near a small red form, 
 leaping the log and scampering across the 
 bark, scratching upward in impetuous haste. 
 She saw it at a glance a red squirrel 
 a chattering, remorseless thief, a noisy mur- 
 derer. The nest was robbed; two more of 
 the eggs were gone, and from the treetop 
 
302 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 the miscreant gibed and jeered, buzzing 
 taunts at her while she settled hopelessly 
 again over her four remaining treasures. 
 With added care and watchfulness, barely 
 daring to leave the nest, she grew gaunt 
 and overwhelmed with terror's torments. 
 A wind stirring the tree tops or raking 
 along the leafy carpet filled her with an- 
 guished dismay; a breaking twig set her 
 heart to beating wildly. Where now were 
 the vaunted privileges of freedom? Much 
 better the lean farmyard and the fields, and 
 the protection that man gives to his own. 
 So passed the days, till at length she felt 
 the awakening lives stirring beneath her. 
 
 They came from the shell one by one, 
 cheeping as they forced through their ar- 
 moured covering four fuzzy, scrambling 
 chicks, scarcely able to stand, and clamour- 
 ing to be fed. But instinct was there, and 
 with it enough safety to let the mother 
 forage anew; for at a cluck a putt of 
 warning they buried themselves among 
 the leaves, hidden from all but the most 
 
LIBERTY. 303 
 
 patient, searching eye. Cunning was their 
 first impulse ; a hole hardly big enough to 
 hold them was a safe haven from almost 
 any foe, and in the close coverts no hawk 
 was ever hatched that could stoop quick 
 enough to reach them once they saw him 
 coming. 
 
 For many weeks they kept to the ground, 
 for strength, as yet, had not taught them 
 flight. In these days they ranged near the 
 nesting ground, squatting at the first alarm, 
 and with eager, beady eyes looking every- 
 where for the danger. Or at a note from 
 the mother hen they crouched beneath her 
 guarding wing, and once there could safely 
 defy all the lesser hawks, and some of the 
 four-footed marauders too. But this security 
 in no way remitted the least bit of her fear 
 or watchfulness, and the sweetness of mother 
 love that no doubt comes to every living 
 thing of the woods was a sweetness largely 
 alloyed with agony and unrest. 
 
 Time passed ; their strength grew, and 
 one day she led her brood into the first 
 
304 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 of the fields. The sun, then, still hid be- 
 neath the trees, but a dull glow had beto- 
 kened his rising, and dawn was close at 
 hand. So through the dewy grass they 
 went, regardless of the wet that would 
 have brought to an untimely end more 
 delicate chicks of the farmyard; and in 
 the edge of the opening, the brood foraged 
 widely. Putt here was a swelling grain; 
 putt here a fat ant, a grub, or a tender 
 blade of green. At each call, the chicks 
 came bundling forward, and, between times, 
 looked out for themselves. The light grew ; 
 it was day. The air settled, soft and warm ; 
 they ranged wider. Watching, ever wake- 
 ful, fear her first instinct and dread ever 
 in her heart, the old bird kept guard, at 
 every step turning her eyes in all direc- 
 tions. Disaster might fall out of the clear 
 skies, or dart, unheralded, from the neigh- 
 bouring copse. Or again a writhing, sin- 
 uous band of black a snake squirmed 
 along the neighbouring furrow; and in 
 dire terror she fled, followed by her brood- 
 
LIBERTY. 305 
 
 lings. Peril was everywhere on every 
 side in the heavens above, on the earth 
 below. But food is the first principle of 
 life, and to live, the wild things, even in 
 mortal terror, must feed. So, harried from 
 one covert to another, they worked along 
 the forest edge, and the sun rose high 
 above the trees. 
 
 Who could see the light shadow that 
 fell across the earth, swooping from over 
 the trees swiftly into the clearing? It 
 came, an emblem of destruction, hovering 
 for an instant ; then it marked its prey, and 
 stooped. The mother hen saw it, poised 
 for the rushing stoop, called, and a trio of 
 fluffy bodies nestled beneath her wing. 
 But the fourth too far away looked up- 
 ward, saw the bolt falling out of the blue, 
 and, palsied with fear, crouched on its nerve- 
 less little legs. Yet while that falling form 
 was still in mid-air, instinct nerved it, and 
 with a blind, mad exertion, it ran again, fall- 
 ing and blundering, toward that protective 
 haven. A flip of a distended wing a 
 
3 o6 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 swift, astonishing flight a sudden turn; 
 the air rustled as the hawk swerved, and 
 the tragedy was done. One frightened 
 appealing note, a small voice of terror, and 
 away, upward, went the murderer, flapping 
 with heavy flight toward its aerie in a treetop. 
 
 They fled, the survivors, hiding in the 
 darkest thicket of the wood. No need to 
 stay and look longer upon the tragic scene, 
 the trail of feathers that flew listlessly drifting 
 down the gentle breeze. Away from it 
 away from that orgy of nature that life 
 that lives in death. Overwhelmed, they 
 crouched, quivering, in their forest haunt, 
 mad with fresh terror each time the wind 
 swept rushing through the tops. From 
 there they heard the hawk's shrill whistle, 
 and his shadow fell across their hiding- 
 place as he swooped wheeling over the trees. 
 Three, now, were left ; and for them what ? 
 A moment's respite, perhaps, and after that 
 
 Day waned, and as the shadows trooped 
 across the woodland, they perched among 
 the trees. But even here the mother's fear 
 
LIBERTY. 307 
 
 felt no rest; she hid her head beneath her 
 wing in quest of sleep, awakening fitfully 
 at every sound in the darkling wood. So, 
 beset on every side, the little brood sought 
 safety in numbers, and in one of the big 
 bottoms joined the other flock. But even 
 here there could be no peace, for the 
 brown creature found that her one-time 
 gallant was, after all, little better than a 
 braggart boor, an overmastering, self-cen- 
 tred creature of selfish purpose. When- 
 ever a hen clucked to the fledglings, 
 calling them to the feast, he darted in at 
 an eager run, snatching the morsel and 
 masterfully trampling the chicks whenever 
 they came into his way. Thus the spring 
 passed on, summer came, and the young 
 birds essayed their first cumbersome flight. 
 They learned that putt-putt is a warning 
 if pitched in a certain key, and, whenever 
 the note gave warning, they spared no 
 time to look about to try what way the 
 danger came but with a short, swift run 
 leaped into the air, and went soaring off 
 
308 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 among the trees. Yet even this accom- 
 plishment could not master the dangers of 
 the earth, and another tragedy befell. The 
 early morning passed, and the flock, strag- 
 gling in from the sandy river bottom, had 
 just reached the edge of the woods. Easy 
 and confident, the three young ones strag- 
 gled through the thickets, disregarding the 
 old hen's querulous, anxious complaint. 
 Why, indeed, should they forever keep 
 beneath her wing when here was the whole 
 forest before them a world to prospect 
 and discover, stored with rich treasure of 
 delicacies. Cheep! Here was an ant-hill 
 brimming with fat, white grubs ; cheep ! 
 a forgotten grain, ripe to bursting. Re- 
 gardless of the distracted hen, they ran in 
 all directions, and Putt! Putt! There 
 was no mistaking that note, a clarion of 
 , alarm. Putt! With one impulse, the 
 whole flock leaped into a run, the silence 
 broke with a thundering of wings, they 
 soared, and away through the openings flew 
 the affrighted birds all but one, one of the 
 
LIBERTY. 309 
 
 three. The destroyer had him a mangy 
 dog fox, prowling homeward after an event- 
 less night among the farmyards far across 
 the fields. He stood now, his fore feet 
 planted on the quivering quarry, and his 
 fangs gripping its writhing neck. So it 
 struggled once and was still ; and the 
 dog fox, twisting it across his shoulder, 
 leaped homeward to his earth, to the vixen 
 and her hungry cubs lying in the hollow of 
 the neighbouring hill. Two, now, of the 
 fledglings were all that were left, and the 
 mother hen, lighting on a ridge, yelped again 
 and again until they found her, and came 
 running forward, eager for the protection 
 of her encircling wing. 
 
 The dire lesson was not without its re- 
 sult. For days afterward the two survivors 
 kept closely to the flock, avoiding the fallen 
 logs and hollows that might hold some lurk- 
 ing foe. And thus they grew, their beady 
 eyes forever on the watch, suspicion in 
 every movement, and a shy, crafty method 
 in the way they crept about the woodland. 
 
3 io IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Now there was a change. The first 
 leaves of the hardwood were touched by 
 the autumn paint, the persimmons were 
 ripening on the trees, and the locust had 
 ceased his busy intonation, silenced by a 
 killing night frost. Confidence came to 
 the two young birds, and they, too, began 
 to strut and to take on airs, self-reliant in 
 craft and ready and willing to care for 
 themselves. They strolled up from the 
 bottoms, and, ranging along the ridges, 
 gorged on the fat harvest of the season. 
 There were nuts of every kind and falling 
 seed; their crops grew heavy, their wattles 
 glistened, and a glorious sheen displayed 
 itself upon their plumage. Like all the 
 other forest creatures, they were enlivened, 
 invigorated, by the first sharp airs out of 
 the north. Widely they tracked the ridges, 
 with their strength daunting every four- 
 footed marauder that tried to take them 
 on the flank. 
 
 But there was one other enemy upon 
 whom they had not reckoned yet. They 
 
LIBERTY. 311 
 
 had just crossed to a neighbouring ridge, 
 and were scattered, feeding upon the ground- 
 nuts, when a warning putt-putt! sounded 
 the alarm. Then there was a rush of wings, 
 a rustle, and a cloud of flying leaves; after 
 that, a crash that shook the forest and 
 went banging away in echoes upon the 
 riven air. In mid flight the old gobbler 
 collapsed, pitched forward, and struck upon 
 his back, stone dead. Crash! Again the 
 gun roared, and this time the searching 
 lead found its billet in one of the growing 
 pair. He felt the shot strike deeply a 
 mortal wound yet, spreading his wings 
 fixedly, he sailed on, and, landing lightly, 
 ran at full speed into the deepest thickets 
 of the swamp. Weakness overtook him 
 there, and he died ; and that night a scav- 
 enging raccoon found a fat meal awaiting 
 him in his chosen runway. 
 
 Vainly the mother hen yelped, once and 
 again upon a hilltop, calling for her young. 
 Terror-stricken, the survivor had branched 
 off among the trees, and at nightfall an- 
 
3 i 4 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 He was close now, very close so near 
 she could hear him panting with exertion. 
 His hand outstretched to grasp her, and 
 she swerved. The next moment she had 
 dodged into an impenetrable tangle, and, 
 with head down, plied among the interlac- 
 ing branches, while the man behind fought 
 vainly with the brambles, cursing his stu- 
 pidity, and too late chancing a snap shot 
 as she crossed far away in the opening. 
 At last she dropped into a walk, painfully 
 dragging her drooping, broken wing. Sharp 
 twinges like fire racked her, and perforce 
 she halted, resting upon the snow. But the 
 rest was short. A sound in the brush 
 startled her anew; there was the man 
 tracing out her track, following, still intent 
 to slay. Onward the hunted creature took 
 her way; again she stopped to rest. An 
 hour passed; her wing had stiffened till 
 every movement was an agony. So behind 
 a log she squatted, watching on every side 
 for danger, alarmed by every sound in the 
 whispering wood. 
 
LIBERTY. 315 
 
 Ye-onk ! Ye-onk ! A yelp sounded near at 
 hand. She lay still, listening. Ye-onk 
 ye-onk again ! Somewhere from in the 
 distance it was answered, so she too gave 
 the call. Ye-onk ye-onk ! The sharp 
 note pierced the silence anew, and she arose, 
 listening, while the other turkey answered. 
 But surely there was no peril here. She 
 stepped forward, and slowly, cautiously, and 
 in pain, she limped along. The other bird 
 had drawn nearer, at regular intervals the 
 yelping on the hilltop tolled them on. 
 Ye-onk ye-onk! The other bird was very 
 close. She leaned down, peering through 
 the tangle, and there on the knoll stood 
 a gobbler, almost grown. The sun shone 
 full upon him ; his plumage glistened, and 
 for a moment he strutted gayly, puffed out 
 and proudly conscious. Ye-onk f yelped the 
 wounded bird ye-onk ! It was the fledg- 
 ling of the spring, now grown to a mag- 
 nificent. Ye-onk ! she yelped again ; then, 
 close at hand, something rose from behind 
 a windfall. She gave one glance, and, terri- 
 
3 i6 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 fied, halted in her track. Putt! Putt! A 
 wild alarm. Putt / The gobbler heard. He 
 dropped his head, clapped his wings closely 
 to his side, and ran. Crash ! A cloud of 
 blue smoke poured down the hillside, min- 
 gling with a drift of feathers that sailed 
 listlessly along the quiet air. Crash bang ! 
 Again that dread-inspiring sound. Destruc- 
 tion was there, and the mother bird fled 
 the place. On and on she went, the forest 
 echoing with the exultant whoop of the 
 hunter, a cry of joy that mocked her terror 
 and distress. She kept the way with unim- 
 peded haste until night drew down upon 
 the wild. Yet even darkness bore its 
 terrors to her frantic breast. Impeded by 
 her broken wing, she could not roost upon 
 the trees. Instead, she crouched in a hollow 
 between two roots, and with wakeful eyes 
 searched the darkness for every known foe. 
 There the first light of the moon found 
 her; and by its light she made out a slink- 
 ing form stealing with velvet pads across 
 the forest floor. Sniff! It paused. She 
 
LIBERTY. 317 
 
 saw it peer about; its gaze was fixed upon 
 her. Vainly she crouched lower; she saw 
 it stealing nearer. A sudden flurry of 
 leaves a leap an outstretched form hurl- 
 ing through the air! With every nerve 
 aflame she sprang from her bed; another 
 effort, and she had found sanctuary upon 
 a low-lying limb. Below, the baffled fox 
 mawed a mouthful of feathers, whining as 
 he circled all about. Weariness over- 
 whelmed her, but still she clung to her 
 perch. She watched and waited, and below 
 death squatted upon its haunches, waiting. 
 Overhead the moon beamed in all its glory, 
 and a myriad stars brightened the velvet 
 sky. Peace was in the sky peace in the 
 air and the solemn stillness of the woods. 
 Yet underneath lurked death, patient and 
 resolved, scenting with that strange faculty 
 of a beast of prey the presence of a wounded 
 quarry. So squatting, he awaited, and the 
 bird, her wound burning with awakened 
 vigour, felt her grasp relaxing. Once she 
 swayed perilously, and the dark form beneath 
 
3 i8 IN THE FOREST. 
 
 arose and stood with gaping, fang-distended 
 jaws. Yap! He barked shrilly, and the 
 hill answered, repeating the terror to her 
 ears. She swayed forward saved herself 
 lurched dizzily, and fell. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 OApr52LU 
 
 1 9 
 
 LD 21-95m-ll,'50(2877sl6)476 
 
IB 32666