Their snow-shoes were stuck upright in a drift behind them;
beside these squatted old Miller, listening, peering, nostrils working
in the wind like an old dog's.

They waited and watched through a fine veil of snow descending; in the
white silence there was not a sound save the silken flutter of a lonely
chickadee, friendly, inquiring, dropping from twig to twig until its
tiny bright eyes peered level with Geraldine's.

Evidently the great boar was not feeding before night. Duane turned his
head restlessly; old Miller, too, had become impatient and they saw him
prowling noiselessly down among the rocks, scrutinising snow and
thickets, casting wise glances among the trees, shaking his white head
as though communing with himself.

"Well, little girl," breathed Duane, "it looks doubtful, doesn't it?"

She turned on her side toward him, looking him in the eyes:

"Does it matter?"

"No," he said, smiling.

She reached out her arms; they settled close around his neck, clung for
a second's passionate silence, released him and covered her flushed
face, all but the mouth. Under them his lips met hers.

The next instant she was on her knees, pink-cheeked, alert, ears
straining in the wind.

"Miller is coming back very fast!" she whispered to her lover. "I
believe he has good news!"

Miller was coming fast, holding out in one hand something red and
gray--something that dangled and flapped as he strode--something that
looked horrible and raw.

"Damn him!" said the old man fiercely, "no wonder he ain't a-feedin'!
Look at this, Miss Seagrave. There's more of it below--a hull mess of it
in the snow."

"It's a big strip of deer-hide--all raw and bleeding!" faltered the
girl. "What in the world has happened?"

"_His_ work," said Miller grimly.

"The--the big boar?"

"Yes'm. The deer yard over there. He sneaked in on 'em last night and
this doe must have got stuck in a drift. And that devil caught her and
pulled her down and tore her into bits. Why, the woods is all scattered
with shreds o' hide like this! I wish to God you or Mr. Mallett could
get one crack at him! I do, by thunder! Yes'm!"

But it was already too dusky among the trees to sight a rifle. In
silence they strapped up the coats, fastened on snow-shoes, and moved
out along the bare spur of the mountain, where there was still daylight
in the open, although the thickening snow made everything gray and
vague.

Here and there a spectral tree loomed up amon