, his
cats on knees and shoulders. He had no complaints for the past or the
present and no misgivings as to the future, so it appeared from his
talk.

Parker came to realize that under his peculiar and, to the casual
observer, erratic mode of life there was a calm and sound philosophy
that he had cultivated in his retirement. He had the strange notions of
those who have lived much alone and in the wilderness. An unkind critic
would have dismissed him brusquely with the belief that his troubles had
unbalanced his mind. But Parker saw beneath all his eccentricity, and
as the hermit wistfully discoursed of the peace that the woods had given
him the young man conceived both respect and affection for this strange
character. His knowledge of Joshua's life tragedy pre-disposed him to
pity. He was grateful for the tender solicitude the old man had shown
toward him. At the end of his stay he sincerely loved the brother of his
enemy.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN--THE BEAR OF THE BIG WOODS "BAITED" AFTER HIS OWN
FASHION

On the third morning Parker was able to travel. Joshua Ward had brought
the carcass of the slain deer across the lake on his sled, and the cats
of Little Moxie were left to rule the island and feast at will until the
return of the master.

On the day they set forth it was shortly after dark,--for they had
proceeded slowly on account of the young man's feet, when Parker again
looked down from the ridge upon Number 7 camp. If Colonel Gideon Ward
was not there, they proposed to follow along his line of camps until
they found him. Parker carried a shotgun with two barrels. The old man
bore his rifle. They advanced without hesitation over the creaking
snow, straight to the door of the main camp, and entered after the
unceremonious fashion of the woods.

A hundred men were ranged on the long benches called "deacons' seats,"
or lounged on the springy browse in their bunks. A man, with one leg
crossed over his knee, and flapping it to beat his time, was squawking a
lively tune on a fiddle, and a perspiring youth danced a jig on a square
of planking before the roaring fire. The air was dim with the smoke of
many pipes and with the steam from drying garments hung on long poles.

Connick removed his pipe when the door opened, and gazed under his hand,
held edgewise to his forehead.

"Why, hello, my bantam boy!" he bawled, in greeting. "What did you break
out o' the wangan and run away for?"

The fiddle stopped. The men