in and out stealthily among the underbrush. But if
Upweekis is there--and he probably is--you do not see him. He is a
shadow among the shadows. Only there is this difference: shadows move
no bushes. As you watch, a fir-tip stirs; a bit of snow drops down.
You gaze intently at the spot. Then out of the deep shadow two living
coals are suddenly kindled. They grow larger and larger, glowing,
flashing, burning holes into your eyes till you brush them swiftly
with your hand. A shiver runs over you, for to look into the eyes of
a lynx at night, when the light catches them, is a scary experience.
Your rifle jumps to position; the glowing coals are quenched on the
instant. Then, when your eyes have blinked the fascination out of
them, the shadows go creeping in and out again, and Upweekis is lost
amongst them.

Sometimes, indeed, you see him again. Moktaques, the big white hare,
who forgets a thing the moment it is past, sees you standing there and
is full of curiosity. He forgets that he was being hunted a moment
ago, and comes hopping along to see what you are. You back away toward
the fire. He scampers off in a fright, but presently comes hopping
after you. Watch the underbrush behind him sharply. In a moment it
stirs stealthily, as if a shadow were moving it; and there is the
lynx, stealing along in the snow with his eyes blazing. Again
Moktaques feels that he is hunted, and does the only safe thing; he
crouches low in the snow, where a fir-tip bends over him, and is still
as the earth. His color hides him perfectly.

Upweekis has lost the trail again; he wavers back and forth, like a
shadow under a swinging lamp, turning his great head from side to
side. He cannot see nor hear nor smell his game; but he saw a bit of
snow fly a moment ago, and knows that it came from Moktaques' big
pads. Don't stir now; be still as the great spruce in whose shadow
you stand; and, once in a hunter's lifetime perhaps, you will see a
curious tragedy.

The lynx settles himself in the snow, with all four feet close
together, ready for a spring. As you watch and wonder, a screech rings
out through the woods, so sharp and fierce that no rabbit's nerves can
stand it close at hand and be still. Moktaques jumps straight up in
the air. The lynx sees it, whirls, hurls himself at the spot. Another
screech, a different one, and then you know that it's all over.

And that is why Upweekis' cry is so fierce and sudden on a winter
night. Your fire attr