dear to enforce that mastery. He hesitated.
Had he made the slightest forward move, the lynxes would have thrown
caution to the winds, and sprung upon him. On the other hand, had the
lynxes even tightened up their sinews to spring, he would have hurled
himself with a roar into the battle. But as it was, both sides held
themselves in leash, tense, ready, terrible in restraint. And as the
moments dragged by, out on the bright surface of the pond small heads
appeared, with little bright eyes watching curiously.

For perhaps three or four long, intense minutes there was not a move
made. Then the round eyes of the lynxes shifted ever so little, while
the bear's eyes never faltered. The bear's was the steadier purpose,
the more tenacious and resolute temper. Almost imperceptibly the lynxes
shrank backward, gliding inch by inch. A swift side-glance showed them
that the way of retreat was open. Then, as if both were propelled by the
one vehement impulse, they bounded into the air, one whirling aside and
the other almost doubling back upon his own trail. Quicker than it takes
to tell it, they were fleeing like gray shadows, one over the bank and
through the juniper bushes, the other up along the snowy shore of the
pond, their discomfiture apparently driving them to part company. The
bear, as if surprised, sat up on his haunches to stare after them. Then,
with a hungry look at the beavers, now swimming openly far out in the
moonlight, he turned and shambled off to find some more profitable
hunting.

For a few minutes all was stillness, save for the rushing of the water
over the dam. The solitude of the night had resumed its white and
tranquil dominion as if nothing had ever occurred to jar its peace. Then
once more the watchful sentinel appeared, sitting erect on the dam, and
the diligent builders busied themselves to complete the mending of the
breach.

[Illustration: "ONCE MORE THE WATCHFUL SENTINEL APPEARED."]

The Terror of the Air

From all the lonely salt-flats and tide-washed, reedy shores of the wide
estuary, the flocks of the sea-ducks had flown south. After feeding for
days together amicably, golden-eyed and red-head, broad-bill and dipper,
all hobnobbing and bobbing and guttering in company, without regard to
difference of kin, they had at last assorted themselves into flocks of
the like species and wing power, and gone off in strong-flying wedges to
seek milder tides and softer skies.

Nevertheless, tho