strange, sad way, and there was nothing they could do but cry, and try
to follow her, and at last see her pass out of sight, still looking back
and calling to them pitifully. It was the river that carried her off,
and it was a floating saw-log that she rode upon, an unwilling
passenger. The trouble began with a steel trap, just as it did in their
father's case. Traps are not nearly as much to be feared in summer or
early fall as in winter, for the simple reason that one's fur is not as
valuable in warm weather as in cold. The lynx's, for instance, was
considerably shorter and thinner than it had been in the preceding
December, when she and her mate first met, and it had taken on a
reddish tinge, as if the steel had begun to rust a trifle. But the
killing machines are to be found occasionally at all seasons of the
year, and somebody had set this one down by the edge of the water--not
the Glimmerglass, but a branch of the Tahquamenon River--and had chained
it to a log that had been hung up in last spring's drive. When she first
felt its grip on her leg she yelled and tore around just as her mate had
done, while the kittens looked on in wonder and amazement. They had seen
their mother in many moods, but never in one like this. But by and by
she grew weary, and a little later it began to rain. She was soon
soaking wet, and as the hours dragged on every ounce of courage and
gumption seemed to ooze out of her. If the trapper had come then he
would have found her very meek and limp. Possibly she would have been
ready to fight him for her children's sakes, but nothing else could have
nerved her to it. But she was not put to any such test; the trapper did
not come.

It rained very hard, and it rained very long. In fact it had been
raining most of the time for two or three days before the lynx found the
trap, and in a few more hours the Great Tahquamenon Swamp was as full
of water as a soaked sponge, and the river was rising rapidly. The lynx
was soon lying in a puddle, and to get out of it she climbed upon the
log and stretched herself out on the wet, brown bark. Still the river
rose, and by and by the log began to stir in its bed, as if it were
thinking of renewing its voyage. At last, when she had been there nearly
twenty-four hours, and was faint with hunger, as well as cold and wet,
it quietly swung out into the current and drifted away down the stream.
She was an excellent swimmer, and she promptly jumped overboard and
tri