-he comes eagerly, to peep and peer for
what might have happened at the head of the little dip leading down to
the stream where the firs bend heavily under their weight of snow.

"Here he had laid his cunningest instrument, a thing of giant jaws, of
sharp ragged points, each inlocking with the other, the whole unholy
thing hung to a chain at whose other end there lay a ball of iron,
weighing, M'sieu, some eighty pounds. That was for the great shy bear,
rocking along ire his quest of berries or some tree that should ring
hollow under his scratching claws, bespeaking the hive of the wild bees.
The oiled and fur-wrapped Indian stoops down and looks along the dip.
Ah! There he sees that which brings a glint to his small eyes. No bear,
M'sieu, nor yet the trap he had left, but a thrashed and broken space
where the snow went flying in clouds and the bushes were torn from their
roots, where the very tree-trunks bore marks of the conflict and a wide
and terrible trail led wildly off to the deeper forest.

"He takes it up.

"All day he follows it. At night he camps and sleeps by his fire in
comfort. By daybreak again he is swinging along on that trail. Its word
is plain to him. At first it raged, that great shaggy creature, tall
as an ox and slow, raged and fought and broke its teeth on the strange
thing that bit to the bone with its relentless jaws, and tore along the
white silence dragging its hindering ball, that, catching on bush and
root, skinned down the flesh from the shining bone. And presently the
wild trail narrowed to undisturbed snow, with naught save two great
footprints, one after the other. With the cunning of a man, M'sieu, the
tortured animal has gathered in its arms that chain and ball, and is
walking upright. For another day and night the trapper follows this
trail of tragedy and at their end he comes upon it.

"Beside a boulder, where the snow is pushed away there lies a round heap
of anguish, curled up, pinched nose flat on the snow and two ears laid
lop to a vanquished head. It is still breathing, though the dull eyes
open not at sound of the trapper, bold in his safety, who lifts his gun
and ends it all.

"A fine pelt,--save that the right foreleg is somewhat spoiled.

"It lies there in that pile, M'sieu, and makes for wealth,--but to me it
is no heartening sight. I have followed that trail to the deeper woods."

The eyes of the woman were deep as wells, flickering with light, and the
dark brows fro