oubled game had become shy.
His temper grew worse and worse as his ribs grew more and more obvious
under his brownish, speckled fur. Nevertheless, for all his swelling
indignation, he had as yet no thought of forsaking his range. He kept
expecting that the men would go away.

When spring came, and the Guimic roared white between its tortuous
shores, some of the loud-mouthed men did go away. Nevertheless, the
big cat's rage waxed hotter than ever. Far worse than the men who went
were three portable steam sawmills which came in their place. At three
separate points these mills were set up--and straightway the long,
intolerable shriek of the circulars was ripping the air. In spite of
himself, the amazed cat screeched in unison when that sound first
smote his ears. He slunk away and hid for hours in his remotest lair,
wondering if it would follow him. When, in the course of weeks, he
grew so far accustomed to the fiendish sound that he could go about
his hunting within half a mile of it, he found that the saws had
worked him an unspeakable injury. They had fouled his beloved
fishing-pools with sawdust.

[Illustration: "HIS ROUND FACE BENT CLOSE DOWN TO THE GLASSY
SURFACE."]

It was the big cat's favoured custom to spend hours at a time crouched
over one or another of these pools, waiting for a chance to catch a
trout. Where an overhanging rock or a jutting root came out into deep
water, he would lie as motionless as the rock or log itself, his round
face bent close down to the glassy surface, his bright eyes intently
following the movements of the big, lazy trout in their safe deeps.
Once in a long while, often enough to keep his interest keen, a
May-fly or a fat worm would drop close past his nose and lie kicking
on top of the water. Up would sail a big trout, open-jawed to engulf
the morsel. At that instant the clutching paw of the watcher would
strike down and around more swiftly than eye could follow--and the
next instant the fish would be flopping violently among the underbrush
up the bank, with leaves and twigs clinging to its fat, silvery,
dappled sides. The sport was one which gave the big wildcat
never-failing delight; and, moreover, there was no other food in all
the wilderness quite so exquisite to his palate as a plump trout from
the ice-cool waters of the Guimic. When, therefore, he found his pools
covered, all day long, with the whitey-yellow grains of sawdust, which
prevented the trout feeding at the surf