is a shadow, and thinks that he must be a fiend.

One day in winter, when after caribou, I came upon a very large lynx
track, the largest I have ever seen. It was two days old; but it led
in my direction, toward the caribou barrens, and I followed it to see
what I should see.

Presently it joined four other lynx trails, and a mile farther on all
five trails went forward in great flying leaps, each lynx leaving a
hole in the snow as big as a bucket at every jump. A hundred yards of
this kind of traveling and the trails joined another trail,--that of a
wounded caribou from the barrens. His tracks showed that he had been
traveling with difficulty on three legs. Here was a place where he had
stood to listen; and there was another place where even untrained eyes
might see that he had plunged forward with a start of fear. It was a
silent story, but full of eager interest in every detail.

The lucivee tracks now showed different tactics. They crossed and
crisscrossed the trail, appearing now in front, now behind, now on
either side the wounded bull, evidently closing in upon him warily.
Here and there was a depression in the snow where one had crouched,
growling, as the game passed. Then the struggle began. First, there
was a trampled place in the snow where the bull had taken a stand and
the big cats went creeping about him, waiting for a chance to
spring all together. He broke away from that, but the three-legged
gallop speedily exhausted him. Only when he trots is a caribou
tireless. The lynxes followed the deadly cat-play began again. First
one, then another leaped, only to be shaken off; then two, then all
five were upon the poor brute, which still struggled forward. The
record was written red all over the snow.

[Illustration: The lynxes and caribou]

As I followed it cautiously, a snarl sounded just ahead. I kicked off
my snowshoes and circled noiselessly to the left, so as to look out
over a little opening. There lay the stripped carcass of the caribou
with two lynxes still upon it, growling fearfully at each other as
they pulled at the bones. Another lynx crouched in the snow, under a
bush, watching the scene. Two others circled about each other
snarling, looking for an opening, but too well fed to care for a fight
just then. Two or three foxes, a pine marten, and a fisher moved
ceaselessly in and out, sniffing hungrily, and waiting for a chance to
seize every scrap of bone or skin that was left unguarded for an