a fearsome growl; then shook it savagely, tore
it apart, cast it aside. Over the ground it now undulated, its shining
yellow breast like a target of gold. Again it stopped. Now in pose like
a pointer, exquisitely graceful, but oh, so wicked! Then the snaky
neck swung the cobra head in the breeze and the brown one sniffed and
sniffed, advanced a few steps, tried the wind and the ground. Still
farther and the concentrated interest showed in its outstretched neck
and quivering tail. Bounding into a thicket it went, when out of the
other side there leaped a snowshoe rabbit, away and away for dear life.
Jump, jump, jump; twelve feet at every stride, and faster than the eye
could follow, with the marten close behind. What a race it was, and
how they twinkled through the brush! The rabbit is, indeed, faster, but
courage counts for much, and his was low; but luck and his good stars
urged him round to the deer trail crossing of the stream; once there he
could not turn. There was only one course. He sprang into the open river
and swam for his life. And the marten--why should it go in? It hated the
water; it was not hungry; it was out for sport, and water sport is not
to its liking. It braced its sinewy legs and halted at the very brink,
while bunny crossed to the safe woods.

Back now came Wahpestan, the brown death, over the logs like a winged
snake, skimming the ground like a sinister shadow, and heading for the
cabin as the cabin's owner watched. Passing the body of the squirrel it
paused to rend it again, then diving into the brush came out so far away
and so soon that the watcher supposed at first that this was another
marten. Up the shanty corner it flashed, hardly appearing to climb,
swung that yellow throat and dark-brown muzzle for a second, then made
toward the entry.

Rolf sat with staring eyes as the beautiful demon, elegantly
spurning the roof sods, went at easy, measured bounds toward the open
chink--toward its doom. One, two, three--clearing the prickly cedar
bush, its forefeet fell on the hidden trap; clutch, a savage shriek, a
flashing,--a struggle baffling the eyes to follow, and the master of the
squirrels was himself under mastery.

Rolf rushed forward now. The little demon in the trap was frothing with
rage and hate; it ground the iron with its teeth; it shrieked at the
human foeman coming.

The scene must end, the quicker the better, and even as the marten
itself had served the flying squirrel and the m