made a second inspection
of the camp. As he had noted at first, the place was stripped clean.
An old bit of moose-gut, which had evidently been taken from a worn
snowshoe, was the only thing to be found in the shanty. The string
was some six feet long, and McTavish, with the trapper's instinct
of hoarding every possible item, rolled it up and put it in his
pocket. Of food there was none; Maria had done her best to put
him beyond the need of sustenance, but, now that he was himself
once more, the yearning to eat seized his vitals, and he knew he
must make all haste to satisfy it. When he was struck, his snowshoes
had been on his feet, and the Indians in their haste, or because
of the darkness, had not removed them, so he had this slight help
in the problems he faced. Suddenly, something caught McTavish's
ear as he stood listening, a sort of rushing, roaring sound like
waters, yet muffled as though coming from a canyon. Having no pocket
compass, he had to find directions by the moss at the foot of a
tree. As he dug with a snowshoe, the end of the racket struck
something hard. With an effort, he rolled this up to view, and
found it to be the shoulder-blade of a bear, smooth and white, when
cleaned of the snow and leaves that clung to it.

An idea now took possession of him, and, when he had got his
bearings, he listened again for the sound of muffled waters, then
followed whither his ears led him. Now and then, the bulk of a rock
or a bend of the stream itself would deceive him, and it was nearly
a half-hour before he came to the slightly raised banks of a little
river, perhaps a hundred feet in width. Here, the noise of waters
was very loud, and he realized what it was.

While most streams turn gradually into solid blocks of ice, miles
long, there are some whose extremely swift current and turbulent
rapids prevent anything but a thin coat forming across from shore
to shore. Beneath this green shell, the water roars and tumbles
all winter, except perhaps in the most terrible weather. Such was
the stream upon which Donald had come. He felt that luck was with
him, and the idea that had taken possession of him back in the
woods returned. From his left pocket, he drew forth the shoulder-blade
of the bear, and unlimbered his knife from beneath his shirt.
Fortunately, this had been a small bear, and the work before him
did not represent more than an hour's time. Meanwhile, his stomach
clamored for food, and he set his jaws r