THE BACKWOODSMEN

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGOATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO. , Limited

LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTAMELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO

[Illustration: "Red McWha's big form shot past. " _(See page 136)_]

THE BACKWOODSMEN

BYCHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

AUTHOR OF "THE KINDRED OF THE WILD, " "THE HOUSEIN THE WATER, " "THE HEART OF THE ANCIENT WOOD, " ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED

New YorkTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY1909

All rights reserved

Copyright, 1909, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1909. 

Copyright, 1906, 1907, 1908, by THE CENTURY COMPANY, EVERYBODY'S MAGAZINE, APPLETON'S MAGAZINE, THE YOUTH'S COMPANION, THE LADIES' WORLD, THE DELINEATOR, HAMPTON'S BROADWAY MAGAZINE, T. Y. CROWELL & COMPANY. 

Norwood Press

J. S. Gushing Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE The Vagrants of the Barren 1 MacPhairrson's Happy Family 22 On Big Lonely 53 From Buck to Bear and Back 70 In the Deep of the Snow 81 The Gentling of Red McWha 112 Melindy and the Lynxes 144 Mrs. Gammit's Pig 156 The Blackwater Pot 177 The Iron Edge of Winter 201 The Grip in Deep Hole 208 The Nest of the Mallard 221 Mrs. Gammit and the Porcupines 230 The Battle in the Mist 262 Melindy and the Spring Bear 271

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 "Red McWha's big form shot past. " _Frontispiece_

 "One of these monstrous shapes neglected to vanish. " 18

 "'It's--Mandy Ann!'" 66

 "Where anything from a baby's rattle to a bag of fertilizer could be purchased. " 99

 "He was roused by a sudden shot. " 185

 "He realized that he was caught by the foot. " 201

The Vagrants of the Barren

With thick smoke in his throat and the roar of flame in his ears, PeteNoël awoke, shaking as if in the grip of a nightmare. He sat straightup in his bunk. Instantly he felt his face scorching. The whole cabinwas ablaze. Leaping from his bunk, and dragging the blankets with him, he sprang to the door, tore it open, and rushed out into the snow. 

But being a woodsman, and alert in every sense like the creaturesof the wild themselves, his wits were awake almost before his bodywas, and his instincts were even quicker than his wits. Thedesolation and the savage cold of the wilderness had admonished himeven in that terrifying moment. As he leaped out in desperateflight, he had snatched with him not only the blankets, but hisrifle and cartridge-belt from where they stood by the head of thebunk, and also his larrigans and great blanket coat from where theylay by its foot. He had been sleeping, according to custom, almostfully clothed. 

Outside in the snow he stood, blinking through scorched and smartinglids at the destruction of his shack. For a second or two he stareddown at the things he clutched in his arms, and wondered how he hadcome to think of them in time. Then, realizing with a pang that heneeded something more than clothes and a rifle, he flung them down onthe snow and made a dash for the cabin, in the hope of rescuing a hunkof bacon or a loaf of his substantial woodsman's bread. But before hecould reach the door a licking flame shot out and hurled him back, half blinded. Grabbing up a double handful of snow, he buried his facein it to ease the smart. Then he shook himself, coolly carried thetreasures he had saved back to a safe distance from the flames, andsat down on the blankets to put on his larrigans. 

His feet, clothed only in a single pair of thick socks, were almostfrozen, while the rest of his body was roasting in the fierce heat ofthe conflagration. It wanted about two hours of dawn. There was not abreath of air stirring, and the flames shot straight up, murky red andclear yellow intertwisting, with here and there a sudden leapingtongue of violet white. Outside the radius of the heat the tall woodssnapped sharply in the intense cold. It was so cold, indeed, that asthe man stood watching the ruin of his little, lonely home, shieldinghis face from the blaze now with one hand then with the other, hisback seemed turning to ice. 

The man who lives alone in the great solitude of the forest has everychance to become a philosopher. Pete Noël was a philosopher. Insteadof dwelling upon the misfortunes which had smitten him, he chose toconsider his good luck in having got out of the shack alive. Puttingon his coat, he noted with satisfaction that its spacious pocketscontained matches, tobacco, his pipe, his heavy clasp-knife, and hismittens. He was a hundred miles from the nearest settlement, fifty orsixty from the nearest lumber-camp. He had no food. The snow was fourfeet deep, and soft. And his trusty snowshoes, which would have madethese distances and these difficulties of small account to him, werehelping feed the blaze. Nevertheless, he thought, things might havebeen much worse. What if he had escaped in his bare feet? This thoughtreminded him of how cold his feet were at this moment. Well, the oldshack had been a good one, and sheltered him well enough. Now that itwould shelter him no longer, it should at least be made to contributesomething more to his comfort. Piling his blankets carefully under theshelter of a broad stump, he sat down upon them. Then he filled andlighted his pipe, leaned back luxuriously, and stretched out his feetto the blaze. It would be time enough for him to "get a move on" whenthe shack was quite burned down. The shack was home as long as itlasted. 

When the first mystic greyness, hard like steel and transparent likeglass, began to reveal strange vistas among the ancient trees, thefire died down. The shack was a heap of ashes and pulsating, scarletembers, with here and there a flickering, half-burned timber, and thered-hot wreck of the tiny stove sticking up in the ruins. As soon asthe ruins were cool enough to approach, Pete picked up a green pole, and began poking earnestly among them. He had all sorts of vaguehopes. He particularly wanted his axe, a tin kettle, and something toeat. The axe was nowhere to be found, at least in such a search ascould then be made. The tins, obviously, had all gone to pieces ormelted. But he did, at least, scratch out a black, charred lump aboutthe size of his fist, which gave forth an appetizing smell. When theburnt outside had been carefully scraped off, it proved to be theremnant of a side of bacon. Pete fell to his breakfast with about asmuch ceremony as might have sufficed a hungry wolf, the deprivation ofa roof-tree having already taken him back appreciably nearer to theelemental brute. Having devoured his burnt bacon, and quenched histhirst by squeezing some half-melted snow into a cup of birch-bark, herolled his blankets into a handy pack, squared his shoulders, and tookthe trail for Conroy's Camp, fifty miles southwestward. 

It was now that Pete Noël began to realize the perils that confrontedhim. Without his snowshoes, he found himself almost helpless. Alongthe trail the snow was from three to four feet deep, and soft. There had been no thaws and no hard winds to pack it down. Afterfloundering ahead for four or five hundred yards he would have tostop and rest, half reclining. In spite of the ferocious cold, hewas soon drenched with sweat. After a couple of hours of such work, hefound himself consumed with thirst. He had nothing to melt the snowin; and, needless to say, he knew better than to ease his need byeating the snow itself. But he hit upon a plan which filled him withself-gratulation. Lighting a tiny fire beside the trail, under theshelter of a huge hemlock, he took off his red cotton neckerchief, filled it with snow, and held it to the flames. As the snow beganto melt, he squeezed the water from it in a liberal stream. But, alas! the stream was of a colour that was not enticing. He realized, with a little qualm, that it had not occurred to him to wash thathandkerchief since--well, he was unwilling to say when. For all theinsistence of his thirst, therefore, he continued melting the snowand squeezing it out, till the resulting stream ran reasonablyclear. Then patiently he drank, and afterward smoked three pipefuls ofhis rank, black tobacco as substitute for the square meal which hisstomach was craving. 

All through the biting silent day he floundered resolutely on, everynow and then drawing his belt a little tighter, and all the whilekeeping a hungry watch for game of some kind. What he hoped for wasrabbit, partridge, or even a fat porcupine; but he would have made ashift to stomach even the wiry muscles of a mink, and count himselffortunate. By sunset he came out on the edge of a vast barren, glorious in washes of thin gold and desolate purple under the touch ofthe fading west. Along to eastward ran a low ridge, years ago lickedby fire, and now crested with a sparse line of ghostly rampikes, theirlean, naked tops appealing to the inexorable sky. This was the head ofthe Big Barren. With deep disgust, and something like a qualm ofapprehension, Pete Noël reflected that he had made only fifteen milesin that long day of effort. And he was ravenously hungry. Well, he wastoo tired to go farther that night; and in default of a meal, the bestthing he could do was sleep. First, however, he unlaced his larrigans, and with the thongs made shift to set a clumsy snare in a rabbit tracka few paces back among the spruces. Then, close under the lee of ablack wall of fir-trees standing out beyond the forest skirts, heclawed himself a deep trench in the snow. In one end of this trench hebuilt a little fire, of broken deadwood and green birch saplingslaboriously hacked into short lengths with his clasp-knife. A supplyof this firewood, dry and green mixed, he piled beside the trenchwithin reach. The bottom of the trench, to within a couple of feet ofthe fire, he lined six inches deep with spruce-boughs, making a dry, elastic bed. 

By the time these preparations were completed, the sharp-starredwinter night had settled down upon the solitude. In all the vast therewas no sound but the occasional snap, hollow and startling, of somegreat tree overstrung by the frost, and the intimate little whisperand hiss of Pete's fire down in the trench. Disposing a good bunch ofboughs under his head, Pete lighted his pipe, rolled himself in hisblankets, and lay down with his feet to the fire. 

There at the bottom of his trench, comforted by pipe and fire, hiddenaway from the emptiness of the enormous, voiceless world outside, PeteNoël looked up at the icy stars, and at the top of the frowning blackrampart of the fir-trees, touched grimly with red flashes from hisfire. He knew well--none better than he--the savage and implacablesternness of the wild. He knew how dreadful the silent adversaryagainst whom he had been called, all unprepared, to pit his craft. There was no blinking the imminence of his peril. Hitherto he hadalways managed to work, more or less, _with_ nature, and so had cometo regard the elemental forces as friendly. Now they had turned uponhim altogether and without warning. His anger rose as he realized thathe was at bay. The indomitable man-spirit awoke with the anger. Sitting up suddenly, over the edge of the trench his deep eyes lookedout upon the shadowy spaces of the night with challenge and defiance. Against whatever odds, he declared to himself, he was master. Havingmade his proclamation in that look, Pete Noël lay down again and wentto sleep. 

After the fashion of winter campers and of woodsmen generally, heawoke every hour or so to replenish the fire; but toward morning hesank into the heavy sleep of fatigue. When he aroused himself fromthis, the fire was stone grey, the sky overhead was whitish, fleckedwith pink streamers, and rose-pink lights flushed delicately the greenwall of the fir-trees leaning above him. The edges of the blanketsaround his face were rigid and thick with ice from his breathing. Breaking them away roughly, he sat up, cursed himself for having letthe fire out, then, with his eyes just above the edge of the trench, peered forth across the shining waste. As he did so, he instinctivelyshrank back into concealment. An eager light flamed into his eyes, andhe blessed his luck that the fire had gone out. Along the crest of theridge, among the rampikes, silhouetted dark and large against thesunrise, moved a great herd of caribou, feeding as they went. 

Crouching low in his trench, Pete hurriedly did up his blankets, fixedthe pack on his back, then crawled through the snow into the shelterof the fir-woods. As soon as he was out of sight, he arose, recoveredthe thongs of his larrigans from the futile snare, and made his wayback on the trail as fast as he could flounder. That one glance overthe edge of his trench had told his trained eye all he needed to knowabout the situation. 

The caribou, most restless, capricious, and far-wandering of all thewilderness kindreds, were drifting south on one of their apparentlyaimless migrations. They were travelling on the ridge, because, asPete instantly inferred, the snow there had been partly blown away, partly packed, by the unbroken winds. They were far out of gunshot. But he was going to trail them down even through that deep snow. Bytireless persistence and craft he would do it, if he had to do it onhis hands and knees. 

Such wind as there was, a light but bitter air drawing irregularlydown out of the north-west, blew directly from the man to the herd, which was too far off, however, to catch the ominous taint and takealarm. Pete's first care was to work around behind the herd till thisdanger should be quite eliminated. For a time his hunger was forgottenin the interest of the hunt; but presently, as he toiled his slow waythrough the deep of the forest, it grew too insistent to be ignored. He paused to strip bark from such seedlings of balsam fir as hechanced upon, scraping off and devouring the thin, sweetish pulp thatlies between the bark and the mature wood. He gathered, also, thespicy tips of the birch-buds, chewing them up by handfuls and spittingout the residue of hard husks. And in this way he managed at least tosoothe down his appetite from angry protest to a kind of doubtfulexpectancy. 

At last, after a couple of hours' hard floundering, the woods thinned, the ground sloped upward, and he came out upon the flank of the ridge, a long way behind the herd, indeed, but well around the wind. In thetrail of the herd the snow was broken up, and not more than a foot anda half in depth. On a likely-looking hillock he scraped it awaycarefully with his feet, till he reached the ground; and here he foundwhat he expected--a few crimson berries of the wintergreen, frozen, but plump and sweet-fleshed. Half a handful of these served for themoment to cajole his hunger, and he pressed briskly but warily alongthe ridge, availing himself of the shelter of every rampike in hispath. At last, catching sight of the hindmost stragglers of the herd, still far out of range, he crouched like a cat, and crossed over thecrest of the ridge for better concealment. 

On the eastern slope the ridge carried numerous thickets ofunderbrush. From one to another of these Pete crept swiftly, at a ratewhich should bring him, in perhaps an hour, abreast of the leisurelymoving herd. In an hour, then, he crawled up to the crest again, undercover of a low patch of juniper scrub. Confidently he peered throughthe scrub, his rifle ready. But his face grew black with bitterdisappointment. The capricious beasts had gone. Seized by one oftheir incomprehensible vagaries--Pete was certain that he had notalarmed them--they were now far out on the white level, labouringheavily southward. 

Pete set his jaws resolutely. Hunger and cold, each the mightier fromtheir alliance, were now assailing him savagely. His first impulse wasto throw off all concealment and rush straight down the broad-troddentrail. But on second thought he decided that he would lose more thanhe would gain by such tactics. Hampered though they were by the deep, soft snow, he knew that, once frightened, they could travel through itmuch faster than they were now moving, and very much faster than hecould hope to follow. Assuredly, patience was his game. Slippingfurtively from rampike to rampike, now creeping, now worming his waylike a snake, he made good time down to the very edge of the level. Then, concealment no more possible, and the rear of the herd stillbeyond gunshot, he emerged boldly from the covert of a clump ofsaplings and started in pursuit. At the sight of him, every antleredhead went up in the air for one moment of wondering alarm; then, through a rolling white cloud the herd fled onward at a speed whichPete, with all his knowledge of their powers, had not imaginedpossible in such a state of the snow. Sullen, but not discouraged, heplodded after them. 

Noël was now fairly obsessed with the one idea of overtaking the herd. Every other thought, sense, or faculty was dully occupied with hishunger and his effort to keep from thinking of it. Hour after hour heplodded on, following the wide, chaotic trail across the white silenceof the barren. There was nothing to lift his eyes for, so he kept themautomatically occupied in saving his strength by picking the easieststeps through the ploughed snow. He did not notice at all that the sunno longer sparkled over the waste. He did not notice that the sky hadturned from hard blue to ghostly pallor. He did not notice that thewind, now blowing in his teeth, had greatly increased in force. Suddenly, however, he was aroused by a swirl of fine snow driven sofiercely that it crossed his face like a lash. Lifting his eyes fromthe trail, he saw that the plain all about him was blotted from sightby a streaming rout of snow-clouds. The wind was already whining itsstrange derisive menace in his face. The blizzard had him. 

As the full fury of the storm swooped upon him, enwrapping him, andclutching at his breath, for an instant Pete Noël quailed. This was anew adversary, with whom he had not braced his nerves to grapple. Butit was for an instant only. Then his weary spirit lifted itself, andhe looked grimly into the eye of the storm. The cold, the storm, thehunger, he would face them all down, and win out yet. Lowering hishead, and pulling a flap of his blanket coat across his mouth to makebreathing easier, he plunged straight forward with what seemed like anew lease of vigour. 

Had the woods been near, or had he taken note of the weather in time, Pete would have made for the shelter of the forest at once. But heknew that, when last he looked, the track of the herd had beenstraight down the middle of the ever-widening barren. By now he mustbe a good two miles from the nearest cover; and he knew well enoughthat, in the bewilderment of the storm, which blunted even suchwoodcraft as his, and blurred not only his vision, but every othersense as well, he could never find his way. His only hope was to keepto the trail of the caribou. The beasts would either lie down orcircle to the woods. In such a storm as this, as he knew well enough, no animal but man himself could hunt, or follow up the trail. Therewas no one but man who could confront such a storm undaunted. Thecaribou would forget both their cunning and the knowledge that theywere being hunted. He would come upon them, or they would lead him toshelter. With an obstinate pride in his superiority to the othercreatures of the wilderness, he scowled defiantly at the storm, andbecause he was overwrought with hunger and fatigue, he muttered tohimself as he went, cursing the elements that assailed him sorelentlessly. 

For hours he floundered on doggedly, keeping the trail by feelingrather than by sight, so thick were the cutting swirls of snow. As thedrift heaped denser and denser about his legs, the terrible effort, solong sustained, began to tell on him, till his progress became only asnail's pace. Little by little, in the obstinate effort to conservestrength and vitality, his faculties all withdrew into themselves, andconcentrated themselves upon the one purpose--to keep going onward. Hebegan to feel the lure of just giving up. He began to think of thewarmth and rest he could get, the release from the mad chaos of thewind, by the simple expedient of burrowing deep into the deep snow. Heknew well enough that simple trick of the partridge, when frost andstorm grow too ferocious for it. But his wiser spirit would not lethim delude himself. Had he had a full stomach, and food in hispockets, he might, perhaps, safely have emulated this cunning trick ofthe partridge. But now, starving, weary, his vitality at the last ebb, he knew that if he should yield to the lure of the snow, he would beseen no more till the spring sun should reveal him, a thing of horrorto the returning vireos and blackbirds, on the open, greening face ofthe barren. No, he would not burrow to escape the wind. He laughedaloud as he thought upon the madness of it; and went butting andplunging on into the storm, indomitable. 

Suddenly, however, he stopped short, with a great sinking at hisheart. He felt cautiously this way and that, first with his feet, fumbling through the deep snow, and then with his hands. At last heturned his back abruptly to the wind, cowered down with his headbetween his arms to shut out the devilish whistling and whining, andtried to think how or when it had happened. He had lost the trail ofthe herd!

All his faculties stung to keen wakefulness by this appallingknowledge, he understood how it happened, but not where. The driftshad filled the trail, till it was utterly blotted off the face of theplain; then he had kept straight on, guided by the pressure of thewind. But the caribou, meanwhile, had swerved, and moved off inanother direction. Which direction? He had to acknowledge to himselfthat he had no clue to judge by, so whimsical were these antleredvagrants of the barren. Well, he thought doggedly, let them go! Hewould get along without them. Staggering to his feet, he faced thegale again, and thought hard, striving to remember what the directionof the wind had been when last he observed it, and at the same time torecall the lay of the heavy-timbered forest that skirted this barrenon two sides. 

At length he made up his mind where the nearest point of woods mustbe. He saw it in his mind's eye, a great promontory of black firsjutting out into the waste. He turned, calculating warily, till thewind came whipping full upon his left cheek. Sure that he was nowfacing his one possible refuge, he again struggled forward. And as hewent, he pictured to himself the whole caribou herd, now halffoundered in the drift, labouring toward the same retreat. Once more, crushing back hunger and faintness, he summoned up his spirit, andvowed that if the beasts could fight their way to cover, he could. Then his woodcraft should force the forest to render him something inthe way of food that would suffice to keep life in his veins. 

For perhaps half an hour this defiant and unvanquishable spirit keptPete Noël going. But as the brief northern day began to wane, and ashadow to darken behind the thick, white gloom of the storm, hisforces, his tough, corded muscles and his tempered nerves, again beganto falter. He caught himself stumbling, and seeking excuse for delayin getting up. In spite of every effort of his will, he sawvisions--thick, protecting woods close at one side or the other, or asnug log camp, half buried in the drifts, but with warm light floodingfrom its windows. Indignantly he would shake himself back into sanity, and the delectable visions would vanish. But while they lasted theywere confusing, and presently when he aroused himself from one thatwas of particularly heart-breaking vividness, he found that he had lethis rifle drop! It was gone hopelessly. The shock steadied him forsome minutes. Well, he had his knife. After all, that was the moreimportant of the two. He ploughed onward, once more keenly awake, andgrappling with his fate. 

The shadows thickened rapidly; and at last, bending with the insaneriot of the storm, began to make strange, monstrous shapes. Unravelling these illusions, and exorcising them, kept Pete Noëloccupied. But suddenly one of these monstrous shapes neglected tovanish. He was just about to throw himself upon it, in half deliriousantagonism, when it lurched upward with a snort, and struggled awayfrom him. In an instant Pete was alive in every faculty, stung with anecstasy of hope. Leaping, floundering, squirming, he followed, openknife in hand. Again and yet again the foundered beast, a big cariboubull, buried halfway up the flank, eluded him. Then, as his savagescramble at last overtook it, the bull managed to turn half about, andthrust him violently in the left shoulder with an antler-point. Unheeding the hurt, Noël clutched the antler with his left hand, andforced it inexorably back. The next moment his knife was drawn withpractised skill across the beast's throat. 

Like most of our eastern woodsmen, Pete Noël was even finicky abouthis food, and took all his meat cooked to a brown. He loathedunderdone flesh. Now, however, he was an elemental creature, battlingwith the elements for his life. And he knew, moreover, that of allpossible restoratives, the best was at his hand. He drove his bladeagain, this time to the bull's heart. As the wild life sighed itselfout, and vanished, Pete crouched down like an animal, and drank thewarm, red fluid streaming from the victim's throat. As he did so, theebbed tide of warmth, power, and mastery flooded back into his ownveins. He drank his fill; then, burrowing half beneath the massivebody, he lay down close against it to rest and consider. 

Assured now of food to sustain him on the journey, assured of his ownability to master all other obstacles that might seek to withstandhim, Pete Noël made up his mind to sleep, wrapping himself in hisblankets under the shelter of the dead bull. Then the old hunter'sinstinct began to stir. All about him, in every momentary lull of thewind, were snortings and heavy breathings. He had wandered into themidst of the exhausted herd. Here was a chance to recoup himself, insome small part, for the loss of his cabin and supplies. He could killa few of the helpless animals, hide them in the snow, and take thebearings of the spot as soon as the weather cleared. By and by hecould get a team from the nearest settlement, and haul out the frozenmeat for private sale when the game warden chanced to have his eyesshut. 

[Illustration: "One of these monstrous shapes neglected to vanish. "]

Getting out his knife again, he crept stealthily toward thenearest heavy breathing. Before he could detect the beast in thattumultuous gloom, he was upon it. His outstretched left hand fellupon a wildly heaving flank. The frightened animal arose with agasping snort, and tried to escape; but utterly exhausted, it sankdown again almost immediately, resigned to this unknown doom whichstole upon it out of the tempest and the dark. Pete's hand was onit again the moment it was still. He felt it quiver and shrinkbeneath his touch. Instinctively he began to stroke and rub thestiff hair as he slipped his treacherous hand forward along theheaving flank. The heavings grew quieter, the frightened snortingsceased. The exhausted animal seemed to feel a reassurance in thatstrong, quiet touch. 

When Pete's hand had reached the unresisting beast's neck, he began tofeel a qualm of misgiving. His knife was in the other hand, ready foruse there in the howling dark; but somehow he could not at once bringhimself to use it. It would be a betrayal. Yet he had suffered agrievous loss, and here, given into his grasp by fate, was thecompensation. He hesitated, arguing with himself impatiently. But evenas he did so, he kept stroking that firm, warm, living neck; andthrough the contact there in the savage darkness, a sympathy passedbetween the man and the beast. He could not help it. The poor beastsand he were in the same predicament, together holding the battlementsof life against the blind and brutal madness of storm. Moreover, theherd had saved him. The debt was on his side. The caress which hadbeen so traitorous grew honest and kind. With a shamefaced grin Peteshut his knife, and slipped it back into his pocket. 

With both hands, now, he stroked the tranquil caribou, rubbing itbehind the ears and at the base of the antlers, which seemed to giveit satisfaction. Once when his hand strayed down the long muzzle, theanimal gave a terrified start and snort at the dreaded man smell soviolently invading its nostrils. But Pete kept on soothingly andfirmly; and again the beast grew calm. At length Pete decided that hisbest place for the night, or until the storm should lift, would be bythe warmth of this imprisoned and peaceable animal. Digging down intothe snow beyond the clutches of the wind, he rolled himself in hisblankets, crouched close against the caribou's flank, and wentconfidently to sleep. 

Aware of living companionship, Noël slept soundly through theclamour of the storm. At last a movement against his side disturbedhim. He woke to feel that his strange bedfellow had struggled upand withdrawn. The storm was over. The sky above his upturned facewas sharp with stars. All about him was laboured movement, withheavy shuffling, coughing, and snorting. Forgetful of theircustomary noiselessness, the caribou were breaking gladly fromtheir imprisonment. Presently Pete was alone. The cold was stilland of snapping intensity; but he, deep in his hollow, and wrappedin his blankets, was warm. Still drowsy, he muffled his face andwent to sleep again for another hour. 

When he roused himself a second time he was wide awake and refreshed. It was just past the edge of dawn. The cold gripped like a vice. Faintmystic hues seemed frozen for ever into the ineffable crystal of theair. Pete stood up, and looked eastward along the tumbled trail of theherd. Not half a mile away stood the forest, black and vast, the trailleading straight into it. Then, a little farther down toward the righthe saw something that made his heart leap exultantly. Rising straightup, a lavender and silver lily against the pallid saffron of the east, soared a slender smoke. That smoke, his trained eyes told him, camefrom a camp chimney; and he realized that the lumbermen had moved upto him from the far-off head of the Ottanoonsis. 

MacPhairrson's Happy Family

I

It was over a little footbridge one had to pass to visit MacPhairrsonand his family, a little, lofty, curiously constructed footbridge, spanning a narrow but very furious torrent. At the middle of thebridge was a gate--or, rather, a door--of close and strong wire mesh;and at this point, door and bridge together were encircled by a_chevaux-de-frise_ of woodwork with sharp, radiating points of heavytelegraph wire. With the gate shut, nothing less than a pair of wingsin good working order could carry one over to the steep little islandin mid-torrent which was MacPhairrson's home and citadel. 

Carried caressingly in the hollow of his left arm, the Boy held abrown burlap bag, which wriggled violently at times and had to besoothed into quiescence. When the Boy arrived at the door in thebridge, which he found locked, he was met by two strange hosts whopeered at him wisely through the meshes of the door. One of these wasa large black and tan dog, with the long body, wavy hair, droopingsilken ears, and richly feathered tail of a Gordon setter, mostgrotesquely supported, at a height of not more than eight inches fromthe ground, by the little bow-legs of a dachshund. This freakish andsinister-looking animal gazed at the visitor with eyes of sagaciouswelcome, tongue hanging amiably half out, and tail gently waving. Heapproved of this particular Boy, though boys in general he regarded asnuisances to be tolerated rather than encouraged. The other host, standing close beside the dog as if on guard, and scrutinizing thevisitor with little, pale, shrewdly non-committal eyes, was ahalf-grown black and white pig. 

Through the gate the Boy murmured familiar greetings to its warderswhile he pulled a wooden handle which set an old brown cow-bell abovethe door jangling hoarsely. The summer air was full to brimming overwith sound--with the roar of the furious little torrent beneath, withthe thunder of the sheet of cream and amber water falling over theface of the dam some fifty yards above, with the hiss and shriek ofthe saws in the big sawmill perched beside the dam. Yet through allthe interwoven tissue of noise the note of the cow-bell made itselfheard in the cabin. From behind the cabin arose a sonorous cry of_hong-ka, honk-a-honk_, and the snaky black head of a big Canadagoose appeared inquiringly around the corner. On one end of the hewnlog which served as doorstep a preternaturally large and fat woodchucksat bolt upright and stared to see who was coming. A red fox, whichhad been curled up asleep under MacPhairrson's one rose bush, awoke, and superciliously withdrew to the other side of the island, out ofsight, disapproving of all visitors on principle. From the shade of athick spruce bush near the bridge-end a moose calf lumbered lazily toher feet, and stood staring, her head low down and her big ears wavingin sleepy interrogation. From within the cabin came a series of harshscreeches mixed with discordant laughter and cries of "Ebenezer!Ebenezer! Oh, by Gee! Hullo!" Then the cabin door swung wide, and inthe doorway appeared MacPhairrson, leaning on his crutches, a greenparrot on his shoulder, and beside his crippled feet two big whitecats. 

MacPhairrson, the parrot, and the cats, all together stared hard atthe door on the bridge, striving to make out through the meshes whothe visitor might be. The parrot, scrutinizing fiercely with hersinister black and orange eyes, was the first to discover. Sheproclaimed at once her discovery and her approval by screeching, "Boy!Boy! Oh, by Gee! Hullo!" and clambering head-first down the front ofMacPhairrson's coat. As MacPhairrson hobbled hastily forward to admitthe welcome guest, the parrot, reaching out with beak and claw, transferred herself to the moving crutch, whence she made a futilesnap at one of the white cats. Foiled in this amiable attempt, sheclimbed hurriedly up the crutch again and resumed MacPhairrson'sshoulder, in time to greet the Boy's entrance with a cordial "Oh, byGee! Hullo!"

MacPhairrson (he spelled his name scrupulously MacPherson, but, likeall the other dwellers in the Settlement, pronounced it MacPhairrson, with a punctilious rolling of the r) was an old lumberman. Rheumatism, brought on by years of toiling thigh-deep in the icy waters when thelogs were running in the freshets, had gripped him so relentlesslythat one of his legs was twisted to almost utter uselessness. With hiscrutches, however, he could get about after his fashion; and beinghandy with his fingers and versatile of wit, he managed to make aliving well enough at the little odd jobs of mechanical repairingwhich the Settlement folk, and the mill hands in particular, broughtto his cabin. His cabin, which was practically a citadel, stood on asteep cone of rock, upthrust from the bed of the wild little riverwhich worked the mill. On the summit of a rock a few square rods ofsoil gave room for the cabin, half a dozen bushes, and some sandy, sun-warmed turf. In this retreat, within fifty yards of the busy mill, but fenced about by the foaming torrent and quite inaccessible exceptby the footbridge, MacPhairrson lived with the motley group ofcompanions which men called his Happy Family. 

Happy, no doubt, they were, in spite of the strait confines of theirprison, for MacPhairrson ruled them by the joint forces of authorityand love. He had, moreover, the mystic understanding which isessential if one would be really intimate with the kindreds wecarelessly call dumb. So it was that he achieved a fair degree ofconcord in his Family. All the creatures were amiable towards him, because they loved him; and because they wholesomely feared him, theywere amiable in the main towards each other. There were certainmembers of the Family who might be described as perennial. They wereof the nature of established institutions. Such were Stumpy, thefreak-legged dachshund-setter; James Edward, the wild gander; Butters, the woodchuck; Melindy and Jim, the two white cats; Bones, the brownowl, who sat all day on the edge of a box in the darkest corner of thecabin; and Ananias-and-Sapphira, the green parrot, so named, asMacPhairrson was wont to explain, because she was so human and henever could quite make her out. Ebenezer, the pig, was still too youngto be promoted to permanence; but he had already shown such character, intelligence, and self-respecting individuality that MacPhairrson hadvowed he should never deteriorate into pork. Ebenezer should stay, even though he should grow so big as to be inconvenient. 

But with Susan, the moose calf, and Carrots, the unsociable young fox, it was different. MacPhairrson realized that when Susan should come toher full heritage of stature, he would hardly have room for her on theisland. He would then send to the Game Commissioner at Fredericton fora permit, and sell the good soul to the agent for some ZoölogicalGarden, where she would be appreciated and cared for. As for Carrots, his conduct was irreproachable, absolutely without blot or blemish, but MacPhairrson knew that he was quite unregenerate at heart. Theastute little beast understood well enough the fundamental law of theFamily, "Live and let live, " and he knew that if he should break thatlaw, doom would descend upon him in an eye-wink. But into hisnarrowed, inscrutable eyes, as he lay with muzzle on dainty, outstretched black paws and watched the movements of James Edward, thegander, or Butters, the fat woodchuck, a savage glint would come, which MacPhairrson unerringly interpreted. Moreover, while hisdemeanour was impeccable, his reserve was impenetrable, and even thetolerant and kindly MacPhairrson could find nothing in him to love. The decree, therefore, had gone forth; that is, it had been announcedby MacPhairrson himself, and apparently approved by the ever attentiveStumpy and Ebenezer, that Carrots should be sold into exile at thevery first opportunity. 

When the Boy came through the little bridge gate, the greetingsbetween him and MacPhairrson were brief and quiet. They were fellowsboth in the taciturn brotherhood of the woods. To Stumpy and Ebenezer, who nosed affectionately at his legs, he paid no attention beyond acareless touch of caress. Even to Ananias-and-Sapphira, who hadhurriedly clambered from MacPhairrson's shoulder to his and begunsoftly nipping at his ear with her dreaded beak, he gave no heedwhatever. He knew that the evil-tempered bird loved him as she lovedhis master and would be scrupulously careful not to pinch too hard. 

As the little procession moved gravely and silently up from the bridgeto the cabin, their silence was in no way conspicuous, for the wholeair throbbed with the rising and falling shriek of the saws, thetrampling of the falls, and the obscurely rhythmic rush of the torrentaround the island base. They were presently joined by Susan, shamblingon her ungainly legs, wagging her big ears, and stretching out herlong, ugly, flexible, overhanging nose to sniff inquiringly at theBoy's jacket. A comparatively new member of MacPhairrson's family, shewas still full of curiosity about every one and everything, andobviously considered it her mission in life to acquire knowledge. Itwas her firm conviction that the only way to know a thing was tosmell it. 

A few steps from the door James Edward, the wild gander, came forwardwith dignity, slightly bowing his long, graceful black neck and narrowsnaky head as he moved. Had the Boy been a stranger, he would now havemet the first touch of hostility. Not all MacPhairrson's manifestfavour would have prevented the uncompromising and dauntlessgander from greeting the visitor with a savage hiss and upliftedwings of defiance. But towards the Boy, whom he knew well, his dark, sagacious eye expressed only tolerance, which from him was no smallcondescension. 

On the doorstep, as austerely ungracious in his welcome as JamesEdward himself, sat Butters, the woodchuck, nursing some secret grudgeagainst the world in general, or, possibly, against Ananias-and-Sapphirain particular, with whom he was on terms of vigilant neutrality. When the procession approached, he forsook the doorstep, turned his fat, brown back upon the visitor, and became engrossed in gnawing a bigcabbage stalk. He was afraid that if he should seem good-natured andfriendly, he might be called upon to show off some of the trickswhich MacPhairrson, with inexhaustible patience, had taught him. Hewas not going to turn somersaults, or roll over backward, or walklike a dancing bear, for any Boy alive!

This ill humour of Butters, however, attracted no notice. It wasaccepted by both MacPhairrson and his visitor as a thing of course. Moreover, there were matters of more moment afoot. That lively, squirming bag which the Boy carried so carefully in the hollow of hisleft arm was exciting the old woodsman's curiosity. The lumbermen andmill hands, as well as the farmer-folk of the Settlement for milesabout, were given to bringing MacPhairrson all kinds of wild creaturesas candidates for admission to his Happy Family. So whenever any onecame with something alive in a bag, MacPhairrson would regard the bagwith that hopeful and eager anticipation with which a child regardsits Christmas stocking. 

When the two had entered the cabin and seated themselves, the Boy inthe big barrel chair by the window, and MacPhairrson on the edge ofhis bunk, not three feet away, the rest of the company gathered in asemicircle of expectation in the middle of the floor. That is, Stumpyand Ebenezer and the two white cats did so, their keen noses as wellas their inquisitive eyes having been busied about the bundle. EvenJames Edward came a few steps inside the door, and with a fineassumption of unconcern kept himself in touch with the proceedings. Only Susan was really indifferent, lying down outside the door--Susan, and that big bunch of fluffy brown feathers on the barrel in thecorner of the cabin. 

The air fairly thrilled with expectation as the boy took thewriggling bag on his knee and started to open it. The moment there wasan opening, out came a sharp little black nose pushing and twistingeagerly for freedom. The nose was followed in an instant by a pair ofdark, intelligent, mischievous eyes. Then a long-tailed young raccoonsquirmed forth, clambered up to the Boy's shoulder, and turned to eyethe assemblage with bright defiance. Never before in his young lifehad he seen such a remarkable assemblage; which, after all, was notstrange, as there was surely not another like it in the world. 

The new-comer's reception, on the whole, was not unfriendly. The twowhite cats, to be sure, fluffed their tails a little, drew back fromthe circle, and went off to curl up in the sun and sleep off theiraversion to a stranger. James Edward, too, his curiosity satisfied, haughtily withdrew. But Stumpy, as acknowledged dean of the Family, wagged his tail, hung out his pink tongue as far as it would go, andpanted a welcome so obvious that a much less intelligent animal thanthe young raccoon could not have failed to understand it. Ebenezer wasless demonstrative, but his little eyes twinkled with unmistakablegood-will. Ananias-and-Sapphira was extraordinarily interested. In atremendous hurry she scrambled down MacPhairrson's arm, down his leg, across the floor, and up the Boy's trousers. The Boy was a littleanxious. 

"Will she bite him?" he asked, preparing to defend his pet. 

"I reckon she won't, " answered MacPhairrson, observing that thecapricious bird's plumage was not ruffled, but pressed down so hardand smooth and close to her body that she looked much less than herusual size. "Generally she ain't ugly when she looks that way. Butshe's powerful interested, I tell you!"

The little raccoon was crouching on the Boy's right shoulder. Ananias-and-Sapphira, using beak and claws, scrambled nimbly to theother shoulder. Then, reaching far around past the Boy's face, shefixed the stranger piercingly with her unwinking gaze, and emitted anear-splitting shriek of laughter. The little coon's nerves were notprepared for such a strain. In his panic he fairly tumbled from hisperch to the floor, and straightway fled for refuge to the broad backof the surprised and flattered pig. 

"The little critter's all right!" declared MacPhairrson, when he andthe Boy were done laughing. "Ananias-an'-Sapphira won't hurt him. Shelikes all the critters she kin bully an' skeer. An' Stumpy an' thatcomical cuss of a Ebenezer, they be goin' to look out fer him. "

II

About a week after this admission of the little raccoon to his Family, MacPhairrson met with an accident. Coming down the long, slopingplatform of the mill, the point of one of his crutches caught in acrack, and he plunged headlong, striking his head on a link of heavy"snaking" chain. He was picked up unconscious and carried to thenearest cabin. For several days his stupor was unbroken, and thedoctor hardly expected him to pull through. Then he recoveredconsciousness--but he was no longer MacPhairrson. His mind was a sortof amiable blank. He had to be fed and cared for like a very youngchild. The doctor decided at last that there was some pressure of boneon the brain, and that operations quite beyond his skill would berequired. At his suggestion a purse was made up among the mill handsand the Settlement folk, and MacPhairrson, smiling with infantileenjoyment, was packed off down river on the little tri-weekly steamerto the hospital in the city. 

As soon as it was known around the mill--which stood amidst itsshanties a little apart from the Settlement--that MacPhairrson was tobe laid up for a long time, the question arose: "What's to become ofthe Family?" It was morning when the accident happened, and in theafternoon the Boy had come up to look after the animals. After that, when the mill stopped work at sundown, there was a council held, amidthe suddenly silent saws. 

"What's to be done about the orphants?" was the way Jimmy Wright putthe problem. 

Black Angus MacAllister, the Boss--so called to distinguish him fromRed Angus, one of the gang of log-drivers--had his ideas alreadypretty well formed on the subject, and intended that his ideas shouldgo. He did not really care much about any one else's ideas except theBoy's, which he respected as second only to those of MacPhairrsonwhere the wild kindreds were concerned. Black Angus was a huge, big-handed, black-bearded, bull-voiced man, whose orders andimprecations made themselves heard above the most piercing crescendosof the saws. When his intolerant eyes fixed a man, what he had to sayusually went, no matter what different views on the subject his hearermight secretly cling to. But he had a tender, somewhat sentimentalstreak in his character, which expressed itself in a fondness for allanimals. The horses and oxen working around the mill were all wellcared for and showed it in their condition; and the Boss was alwaysready to beat a man half to death for some very slight ill-usage of ananimal. 

"A man kin take keer o' himself, " he would say in explanation, "an'the dumb critters can't. It's our place to take keer of 'em. "

"Boys, " said he, his great voice not yet toned down to the quiet, "Isay, let's divvy up the critters among us, jest us mill hands an' theBoy here, an' look out fer 'em the best we know how till MacPhairrsongits well!"

He looked interrogatively at the Boy, and the Boy, proud of theimportance thus attached to him, answered modestly--

"That's just what I was hoping you'd suggest, Mr. MacAllister. Youknow, of course, they can't stay on together there alone. Theywouldn't be a Happy Family long. They'd get to fighting in no time, and about half of 'em would get killed quick. "

There was a moment of deliberative silence. No smoking was allowed inthe mill, but the hands all chewed. Jimmy Wright, marking the brightface of a freshly sawed deal about eight feet away, spat unerringlyupon its exact centre, then giving a hitch to his trousers, heremarked--

"Let the Boss an' the Boy settle it. They onderstand it the best. "

"That's right, Jimmy! We'll fix it!" said Black Angus. "Now, for mine, I've got a fancy for the parrot an' the pig. Thatthere Ananias-and-Sapphira, she's a bird an' no mistake. An'the pig--MacPhairrson calls him Ebenezer--he's that smart ye'djest kill yerself laffin' to see him. An', moreover, he's thatclean--he's clean as a lady. I'd like to have them two aroundmy shanty. An' I'm ready to take one more if necessary. "

"Then I think you'll have to take the coon too, Mr. MacAllister, " saidthe Boy. "He and Ebenezer just love each other, an' they wouldn't behappy separated. "

"All right. The coon fer me!" responded the Boss. "Which of thecritters will you take yerself?"

"I'll wait and see which the rest of the boys want, " replied the Boy. "I like them all, and they all know me pretty well. I'll take what'sleft. "

"Well, then, " said Jimmy Wright, "me for Susan. That blame moosecalf's the only one of the critters that I could ever git along with. She's a kind of a fool, an' seems to like me!" And he decorated thebright deal once more. 

"Me an' my missus, we'll be proud to take them two white cats!" put ingrey old Billy Smith. "She sez, sez she, they be the han'somest catsin two counties. Mebbe they won't be so lonesome with us as they'd besomewheres else, bein's as our shanty's so nigh MacPhairrson's bridgethey kin see for themselves all the time there ain't no one on to theisland any more!"

"Stumpy's not spoken for!" reminded the Boy. The dog was popular, andhalf a dozen volunteered for him at once. 

"Mike gits the dawg!" decided the Boss, to head off arguments. 

"Then I'll take the big gander, " spoke up Baldy Pallen, one of thedisappointed applicants for Stumpy. "He knows as much as any dawg everlived. "

"Yes, I reckon he kin teach ye a heap, Baldy!" agreed the Boss. Alaugh went round at Baldy's expense. Then for a few seconds there wereno more applications. 

"No one seems to want poor Butters and Bones!" laughed the Boy. "They're neither of them what you'd call sociable. But Bones has hisgood points. He can see in the dark; and he's a great one for mindinghis own business. Butters has a heap of sense; but he's too cross toshow it, except for MacPhairrson himself. Guess _I'd_ better take themboth, as I understand their infirmities. "

"An' ain't there a young fox?" inquired the Boss. 

"Oh, Carrots; he can just stay on the island, " answered the Boy. "Ifsome of you'll throw him a bite to eat every day, he'll be all right. He can't get into any mischief. And he can't get away. He stands onhis dignity so, nobody'd get any fun out of having _him!_"

These points decided, the council broke up and adjourned toMacPhairrson's island, carrying several pieces of rope, a halter, anda couple of oat-bags. The members of the Family, vaguely upset overthe long absence of their master, nearly all came down to the bridgein their curiosity to see who was coming--all, indeed, but the fox, who slunk off behind the cabin; Butters, who retired to his box; andBones, who remained scornfully indifferent in his corner. The resteyed the crowd uneasily, but were reassured by seeing the Boy withthem. In fact, they all crowded around him, as close as they could, except Stumpy, who went about greeting his acquaintances, and JamesEdward, who drew back with lifted wings and a haughty hiss, resolvedto suffer no familiarities. 

Jimmy Wright made the first move. He had cunningly brought some saltin his pocket. With the casual remark that he wasn't going to put iton her tail, he offered a handful to the non-committal Susan. Theungainly creature blew most of it away with a windy snort, thenchanged her mind and greedily licked up the few remaining grains. Deciding that Jimmy was an agreeable person with advantages, sheallowed him to slip the halter on her neck and lead her unprotestingover the bridge. 

Then Black Angus made overtures to Ebenezer, who carried the littleraccoon on his back. Ebenezer received them with a mixture of dignityand doubt, but refused to stir an inch from the Boy's side. BlackAngus scratched his head in perplexity. 

"'Tain't no use tryn' to lead him, I reckon!" he muttered. 

"No, you'll have to carry him in your arms, Mr. MacAllister, " laughedthe Boy. "Good thing he ain't very big yet. But here, takeAnanias-and-Sapphira first. If _she'll_ be friends with you, that'llmean a lot to Ebenezer. " And he deftly transferred the parrot from hisown shoulder, where she had taken refuge at once on his arrival, tothe lofty shoulder of the Boss. 

The bird was disconcerted for an instant. She "slicked" down herfeathers till she looked small and demure, and stretched herself farout as if to try a jump for her old perch. But, one wing beingclipped, she did not dare the attempt. She had had enough experienceof those sickening, flopping somersaults which took the place offlight when only one wing was in commission. Turning from the Boy, sheeyed MacAllister's nose with her evil, unwinking stare. Possibly sheintended to bite it. But at this moment MacAllister reached up hishuge hand fearlessly to stroke her head, just as fearlessly as if shewere not armed with a beak that could bite through a boot. Greatlyimpressed by this daring, she gurgled in her throat, and took thegreat thumb delicately between her mandibles with a daintiness thatwould not have marred a rose-petal. Yes, she concluded at once, thiswas a man after her own heart, with a smell to his hands like that ofMacPhairrson himself. Dropping the thumb with a little scream ofsatisfaction, she sidled briskly up and down MacAllister's shoulder, making herself quite at home. 

"My, but she's taken a shine to you, Mr. MacAllister!" exclaimed theBoy. "I never saw her do like that before. "

The Boss grinned proudly. 

"Ananias-an'-Sapphira be of the female sect, bain't she?" inquiredBaldy Pallen, with a sly look over the company. 

"Sure, she's a she!" replied the Boy. "MacPhairrson says so!"

"That accounts fer it!" said Baldy. "It's a way all shes have with theBoss. Jest look at her now!"

"Now for Ebenezer!" interrupted the Boss, to change the subject. "_You_ better hand him to me, an' maybe he'll take it as anintroduction. "

Solemnly the Boy stooped, shoving the little raccoon aside, and pickedthe pig up in his arms. Ebenezer was amazed, having never before beentreated as a lap-dog, but he made no resistance beyond stiffening outall his legs in a way that made him most awkward to handle. Placed inthe Boss's great arms, he lifted his snout straight up in the air andemitted one shrill squeal; but the sight of Ananias-and-Sapphira, perched coolly beneath his captor's ear, in a measure reassured him, and he made no further protest. He could not, however, appearreconciled to the inexplicable and altogether undignified situation, so he held his snout rigidly as high aloft as he could and shut hislittle eyes tight, as if anticipating some further stroke of fate. 

Black Angus was satisfied so far. He felt that the tolerance ofEbenezer and the acceptance of Ananias-and-Sapphira added distinctlyto his prestige. 

"Now for the little coon!" said he, jocularly. But the words werehardly out of his mouth when he felt sharp claws go up his leg with arush, and the next instant the little raccoon was on his shoulder, reaching out its long, black nose to sniff solicitously at Ebenezer'slegs and assure itself that everything was all right. 

"Jumping Jiminy! Oh, by Gee!" squealed Ananias-and-Sapphira, startledat the sudden onset, and nipped the intruder smartly on the leg tillhe squalled and whipped around to the other shoulder. 

"Now you've got all that's coming to you, I guess, Mr. MacAllister, "laughed the Boy. 

"Then I reckon I'd better be lightin' out fer home with it!" answeredBlack Angus, hugely elated. Turning gently, so as not to dislodge thepassengers on his shoulder, he strode off over the bridge and up thesawdust-muffled street towards his clapboard cottage, Ebenezer's snoutstill held rigidly up in air, his eyes shut in heroic resignation, while Ananias-and-Sapphira, tremendously excited by this excursioninto the outer world, kept shrieking at the top of her voice:"Ebenezer, Ebenezer, Ebenezer! Oh, by Gee! I want Pa!"

As soon as the noisy and picturesque recessional of Black Angus hadvanished, Baldy Pallen set out confidently to capture the wildgander, James Edward. He seemed to expect to tuck him under his armand walk off with him at his ease. Observing this, the Boy lookedaround with a solemn wink. Old Billy Smith and the half-dozenonlookers who had no responsibility in the affair grinned and waited. As Baldy approached, holding out a hand of placation, and "chucking"persuasively as if he thought James Edward was a hen, the latterreared his snaky black head and stared in haughty surprise. Then hegave vent to a strident hiss of warning. Could it be possible thatthis impudent stranger contemplated meddling with him? Yes, plainly itwas possible. It was certain, in fact. The instant he realized this, James Edward lowered his long neck, darted it out parallel with theground, spread his splendid wings, and rushed at Baldy's legs with ahiss like escaping steam. Baldy was startled and bewildered. His legstweaked savagely by the bird's strong, hard bill, and thumpedpainfully by the great, battering, windy wings, he sputtered: "Jumpin'Judas!" in an embarrassed tone, and retreated behind Billy Smith andthe Boy. 

A roar of delighted laughter arose as James Edward backed away inhaughty triumph, and strolled carelessly up towards the cabin. Therewere cries of "Ketch him quick, Baldy!" "Try a leetle coaxin'!" "Don'tbe so rough with the gosling, Baldy!" "Jest whistle to him, an' he'llfolly ye!" But, ignoring these pleasantries, Baldy rubbed his legs andturned to the Boy for guidance. 

"Are you sure you want him now?" inquired the latter. 

"Course I want him!" returned Baldy with a sheepish grin. "I'll coaxhim round an' make friends with him all right when I git him home. Buthow'm I goin' to git him? I'm afeared o' hurtin' him, he seems thatdelicate, and his feelin's so sensitive like!"

"We'll have to surround him, kind of. Just wait, boys!" said the Boy. And running into the cabin, past the deliberate James Edward, hereappeared with a heavy blanket. 

The great gander eyed his approach with contemptuous indifference. Hehad come to regard the Boy as quite harmless. When, therefore, theencumbering folds of the blanket descended, it was too late to resist. In a moment he was rolled over in the dark, bundled securely, pickedup, and ignominiously tucked under Baldy Pallen's arm. 

"Now you've got him, don't let go o' him!" admonished the Boy, and amid encouraging jeers Baldy departed, carrying the bundlevictoriously. He had not more than crossed the bridge, however, when the watchers on the island saw a slender black head wriggleout from one end of the bundle, dart upward behind his left arm, and seize the man viciously by the ear. With a yell Baldy grabbedthe head, and held it securely in his great fist till the Boyran to his rescue. When James Edward's bill was removed fromBaldy's bleeding ear, his darting, furious head tucked back intothe blanket, the Boy said--

"Now, Baldy, that was just your own fault for not keeping tight hold. You can't blame James Edward for biting you!"

"Sure, no!" responded Baldy, cheerfully. "I don't blame him a mite. Ibrag on the spunk of him. Him an' me'll git on all right. "

James Edward gone, the excitement was over. The Boy picked up the twobig white cats, Melindy and Jim, and placed them in the arms of oldBilly Smith, where they settled themselves, looking about with an airof sleepy wisdom. From smallest kittenhood the smell of a homespunshirt had stood to them for every kind of gentleness and shelter, sothey saw no reason to find fault with the arms of Billy Smith. By thistime old Butters, the woodchuck, disturbed at the scattering of theFamily, had retired in a huff to the depths of his little barrel bythe doorstep. The Boy clapped an oat-bag over the end of the barrel, and tied it down. Then he went into the cabin and slipped another bagover the head of the unsuspecting Bones, who fluffed all his feathersand snapped his fierce beak like castanets. In two minutes he was tiedup so that he could neither bite nor claw. 

"That was slick!" remarked Red Angus, who had hitherto taken no partin the proceedings. He and the rest of the hands had followed in hopeof further excitement. 

"Well, then, Angus, will you help me home? Will you take the barrel, and see that Butters doesn't gnaw out on the way?"

Red Angus picked up the barrel and carried it carefully in front ofhim, head up, that the sly old woodchuck might not steal a march onhim. Then the Boy picked up Bones in his oat-bag, and closed the cabindoor. As the party left the island with loud tramping of feet on thelittle bridge, the young fox crept slyly from behind the cabin, andeyed them through cunningly narrowed slits of eyes. At last he wasgoing to have the island all to himself; and he set himself to dig aburrow directly under the doorstep, where that meddlesome MacPhairrsonhad never permitted him to dig. 

III

It was in the green zenith of June when MacPhairrson went away. Whenhe returned, hobbling up with his tiny bundle, the backwoods world wasrioting in the scarlet and gold of young October. He was quite cured. He felt singularly well. But a desperate loneliness saddened hishome-coming. He knew his cabin would be just as he had left it, thereon its steep little foam-ringed island; and he knew the Boy would bethere, with the key, to admit him over the bridge and welcome himhome. But what would the island be without the Family? The Boy, doubtless, had done what he could. He had probably taken care ofStumpy, and perhaps of Ananias-and-Sapphira. But the rest of theFamily must inevitably be scattered to the four winds. Tears came intohis eyes as he thought of himself and Stumpy and the parrot, the poorlonely three, there amid the sleepless clamour of the rapids, lamenting their vanished comrades. A chill that was more than theapproaching autumn twilight could account for settled upon his heart. 

Arriving at the little bridge, however, his heart warmed again, forthere was the Boy waving at him, and hurrying down to the gate to lethim in. And there at the Boy's heels was Stumpy, sure enough. MacPhairrson shouted, and Stumpy, at the sound of the loud voice, wentwild, trying to tear his way through the gate. When the gate opened, he had to brace himself against the frame, before he could grasp theBoy's hand, so extravagant and overwhelming were the yelping Stumpy'scaresses. Gladly he suffered them, letting the excited dog lick hishands and even his face; for, after all, Stumpy was the best anddearest member of the Family. Then, to steady him, he gave him hisbundle to carry up to the cabin, and proudly Stumpy trotted on aheadwith it. MacPhairrson's voice trembled as he tried to thank the Boyfor bringing Stumpy back to him--trembled and choked. 

"I can't help it!" he explained apologetically as soon as he got hisvoice again. "I love Stumpy best, of course! You kept the best fer me!But, Jiminy Christmas, Boy, how I miss the rest on 'em!"

"I didn't keep Stumpy!" explained the Boy as the two went up the path. "It was Mike Sweeny took care of him for you. He brought him roundthis morning because he had to get off to the woods cruising. I tookcare of Bones--we'll find him on his box inside--and of cross oldButters. Thunder, how Butters has missed you, MacPhairrson! He's bitme twice, just because I wasn't you. There he is, poking his nose outof his barrel. "

The old woodchuck thought he had heard MacPhairrson's voice, but hewas not sure. He came out and sat up on his fat haunches, his nostrilsquivering with expectation. Then he caught sight of the familiarlimping form. With a little squeal of joy he scurried forward and fellto clutching and clawing at his master's legs till MacPhairrson pickedhim up. Whereupon he expressed his delight by striving to crowd hisnose into MacPhairrson's neck. At this moment the fox appeared fromhiding behind the cabin, and sat up, with ears cocked shrewdly andhead to one side, to take note of his master's return. 

"Lord, how Carrots has growed!" exclaimed MacPhairrson, lovingly, andcalled him to come. But the fox yawned in his face, got up lazily, andtrotted off to the other side of the island. MacPhairrson's facefell. 

"He's got no kind of a heart at all, " said the Boy, soothing hisdisappointment. 

"He ain't no use to nobody, " said MacPhairrson. "I reckon we'd betterlet him go. " Then he hobbled into the cabin to greet Bones, whoruffled up his feathers at his approach, but recognized him andsubmitted to being stroked. 

Presently MacPhairrson straightened up on his crutches, turned, andgulped down a lump in his throat. 

"I reckon we'll be mighty contented here, " said he, "me an' Stumpy, an' Butters, an' Bones. But I _wisht_ as how I might git to haveAnanias-an'-Sapphira back along with us. I'm goin' to miss that therebird a lot, fer all she was so ridiculous an' cantankerous. I s'pose, now, you don't happen to know who's got her, do you?"

"I know she's got a good home!" answered the Boy, truthfully. "But Idon't know that I could tell you just where she is!"

At just this minute, however, there came a jangling of the gate bell, and screeches of--

"Oh, by Gee! Jumpin' Jiminy! Oh, Boy! I want Pa!"

MacPhairrson's gaunt and grizzled face grew radiant. Nimbly he hobbledto the door, to see the Boy already on the bridge, opening the gate. To his amazement, in strode Black Angus the Boss, with the brightgreen glitter of Ananias-and-Sapphira on his shoulder screechingvaried profanities--and whom at his heels but Ebenezer and the littlering-tailed raccoon. In his excitement the old woodsman dropped one ofhis crutches. Therefore, instead of going to meet his visitors, heplumped down on the bench outside his door and just waited. A momentlater the quaint procession arrived. MacPhairrson found Black Angusshaking him hugely by the hand, Ebenezer, much grown up, rooting athis knees with a happy little squeal, and Ananias-and-Sapphira, as ofold, clambering excitedly up his shirt-front. 

"There, there, easy now, old pard, " he murmured to the pig, fondlingthe animal's ears with one hand, while he gave the other to the bird, to be nibbled and nipped ecstatically, the raccoon meanwhile lookingon with bright-eyed, non-committal interest. 

"Angus, " said the old woodsman presently, by way of an attempt atthanks, "ye're a wonderful hand with the dumb critters--not that onecould rightly call Ananias-an'-Sapphira dumb, o' course--'n' I swear_I_ couldn't never have kep' 'em lookin' so fine and slick allthrough the summer. I reckon----"

But he never finished that reckoning. Down to his bridge was cominganother and a larger procession than that of Black Angus. First, andeven now entering through the gate, he saw Jimmy Wright leading a lankyoung moose cow, whom he recognized as Susan. Close behind was oldBilly Smith with the two white cats, Melindy and Jim, in his arms; andthen Baldy Fallen, with a long blanket bundle under his arm. Behindthem came the rest of the mill hands, their faces beaming welcome. MacPhairrson, shaking all over, with big tears in his eyes, reachedfor his fallen crutch and stood up. When the visitors arrived and gavehim their hearty greetings, he could find no words to answer. Baldylaid his bundle gently on the ground and respectfully unrolled it. Outstepped the lordly James Edward and lifted head and wings with atroubled _honk-a, honka. _ As soon as he saw MacPhairrson, he came upand stood close beside him, which was as much enthusiasm as thehaughty gander could bring himself to show. The cats meanwhile wererubbing and purring against their old master's legs, while Susansniffed at him with a noisy, approving snort. MacPhairrson's throat, and then his whole face, began to work. How different was thishome-coming from what he had expected! Here, wonder of wonders, washis beloved Family all gathered about him! How good the boys were! Hemust try to thank them all. Bracing himself with one crutch, he stroveto express to them his immeasurable gratitude and gladness. In vain, for some seconds, he struggled to down the lump in his throat. Then, with a titanic effort, he blurted out: "Oh, hell, boys!" and sat down, and hid his wet eyes in Stumpy's shaggy hair. 

On Big Lonely

It was no doubt partly pride, in having for once succeeded in evadingher grandmother's all-seeing eye, that enabled Mandy Ann to carry, ata trot, a basket almost as big as herself--to carry it all the waydown the hill to the river, without once stumbling or stopping to takebreath. The basket was not only large, but uneasy, seeming to betroubled by internal convulsions, which made it tip and lurch in a waythat from time to time threatened to upset Mandy Ann's unstableequilibrium. But being a young person of character, she kept right on, ignoring the fact that the stones on the shore were very sharp to herlittle bare feet. 

At last she reached the sunshiny cove, with shoals of minnowsflickering about its amber shallows, which was the goal of her flight. Here, tethered to a stake on the bank, lay the high-sided old bateau, which Mandy Ann had long coveted as a perfectly ideal play-house. Itshigh prow lightly aground, its stern afloat, it swung lazily in theoccasional puffs of lazy air. Mandy Ann was only four years old, andher red cotton skirt just came to her dimpled grimy little knees, butwith that unfailing instinct of her sex she gathered up the skirt andclutched it securely between her breast and the rim of the basket. Then she stepped into the water, waded to the edge of the old bateauand climbed aboard. 

The old craft was quite dry inside, and filled with a clean pungentscent of warm tar. Mandy Ann shook out her red skirt and her yellowcurls, and set down the big covered basket on the bottom of thebateau. The basket continued to move tempestuously. 

"Oh, naughty! naughty!" she exclaimed, shaking her chubby finger atit. "Jest a minute, jest a teenty minute, an' we'll see!"

Peering over the bow, Mandy Ann satisfied herself that the bateau, though its bottom grated on the pebbles, was completely surrounded bywater. Then sitting down on the bottom, she assured herself that shewas hidden by the boat's high flaring sides from the sight of allinterfering domestic eyes on shore. She felt sure that even the eyesof her grandmother, in the little grey cottage back on the green hill, could not reach her in this unguessed retreat. With a sigh ofunutterable content she made her way back into the extreme stern ofthe bateau, lugging the tempestuous basket with her. Sitting downflat, she took the basket in her lap and loosened the cover, crooningsoftly as she did so. Instantly a whiskered, brown snub-nose, sniffing and twitching with interrogation, appeared at the edge. Around brown head, with little round ears and fearless bright darkeyes, immediately popped over the edge. With a squeak of satisfactiona fat young woodchuck, nearly full-grown, clambered forth and ran upon Mandy Ann's shoulder. The bateau, under the influence of the suddenweight in the stern, floated clear of the gravel and swung softly atthe end of its rope. 

Observing that the bateau was afloat, Mandy Ann was delighted. Shefelt doubly secure, now, from pursuit. Pulling a muddy carrot fromher pocket she held it up to the woodchuck, which was nuzzlingaffectionately at her curls. But the smell of the fresh earth remindedthe little animal of something which he loved even better thanMandy Ann--even better, indeed, than a juicy carrot. He longed toget away, for a little while, from the loving but sometimes tooassiduous attention with which his little mistress surroundedhim--to get away and burrow to his heart's content in the cool brownearth, full of grass-roots. Ignoring the carrot, he clambered down inhis soft, loose-jointed fashion, from Mandy Ann's shoulder, and ranalong the gunwale to the bow. When he saw that he could not reachshore without getting into the water, which he loathed, he grumbledsqueakingly, and kept bobbing his round head up and down, as if hecontemplated making a jump for it. 

At these symptoms Mandy Ann, who had been eyeing him, called to himseverely. "Naughty!" she cried. "Come back this very instant, sir!You'd jes' go an' tell Granny on me! Come right back to your muzzerthis instant!" At the sound of her voice the little animal seemed tothink better of his rashness. The flashing and rippling of the waterdaunted him. He returned to Mandy Ann's side and fell to gnawingphilosophically at the carrot which she thrust under his nose. 

This care removed, Mandy Ann took an irregular bundle out of thebasket. It was tied up in a blue-and-white handkerchief. Untying itwith extreme care, as if the contents were peculiarly precious, shedisplayed a collection of fragments of many-coloured glass andgay-painted china. Gloating happily over these treasures, whichflashed like jewels in the sun, she began to sort them out and arrangethem with care along the nearest thwart of the bateau. Mandy Ann wasmaking what the children of the Settlement knew and esteemed as a"Chaney House. " There was keen rivalry among the children as to bothlocation and furnishing of these admired creations; and to Mandy Ann'sdaring imagination it had appeared that a "Chaney House" in the oldbateau would be something surpassing dreams. 

For an hour or more Mandy Ann was utterly absorbed in her enchantingtask. So quiet she was over it that every now and then a yellow-birdor a fly-catcher would alight upon the edge of the bateau to bounceaway again with a startled and indignant twitter. The woodchuck, having eaten his carrot, curled up in the sun and went to sleep. 

Mandy Ann's collection was really a rich assortment of colour. Everypiece in it was a treasure in her eyes. But much as she loved the bitsof painted china, she loved the glass better. There were red bits, andgreen of many shades, and blue, yellow, amber, purple and opal. Eachpiece, before arranging it in its allotted place on the thwart, shewould lift to her eyes and survey the world through it. Some neartreetops, and the blue sky piled with white fleeces of summer clouds, were all of the world she could see from her retreat; but viewedthrough different bits of glass these took on an infinite variety ofwonder and delight. So engrossed she was, it quite escaped her noticethat the old bateau was less steady in its movements than it had beenwhen first she boarded it. She did not even observe the fact thatthere were no longer any treetops in her fairy-tinted pictures. Atlast there sounded under the keel a strange gurgle, and the bateaugave a swinging lurch which sent half the treasures of the "ChaneyHouse" clattering upon the bottom or into Mandy Ann's lap. Thewoodchuck woke up frightened and scrambled into the shelter of itsmistress's arms. 

Much surprised, Mandy Ann knelt upright and looked out over the edgeof the bateau. She was no longer in the little sheltered cove, but farout on the river. The shores, slipping smoothly and swiftly past, looked unfamiliar to her. Where she expected to see the scatteredcottages of the Settlement, a huge bank covered with trees, cut offthe view. While she was so engrossed with her coloured glass, a puffof wind, catching the high sides of the bateau, had caused it to tugat its tether. The rope, carelessly fastened by some impatient boy, had slipped its hold; and the bateau had been swept smoothly out intothe hurrying current. Half a mile below, the river rounded a woodypoint, and the drifting bateau was hidden from the sight of any onewho might have hurried to recover it. 

At the moment, Mandy Ann was not frightened. Her blue eyes danced withexcitement as she tossed back her tousled curls. The river, flowingswiftly but smoothly, flashed and rippled in the noon sun in afriendly fashion, and it was most interesting to see how fast theshores slipped by. There was no suggestion of danger; and probably, atthe back of her little brain, Mandy Ann felt that the beautiful river, which she had always loved and never been allowed to play with, wouldbring her back to her Granny as gently and unexpectedly as it hadcarried her away. Meanwhile, she felt only the thrilling and utterlynovel excitement of the situation. As the bateau swung in anoccasional oily eddy she laughed gaily at the motion, and felt asproud as if she were doing it herself. And the woodchuck, which hadbeen very nervous at first, feeling that something was wrong, was soreassured by its mistress's evident satisfaction that it curled upagain on the bottom and hastened to resume its slumber. 

In a little while the river curved again, sweeping back to itsoriginal course. Suddenly, in the distance, the bright spire of theSettlement church came into view, and then the familiar cottages. Mandy Ann's laughing face grew grave, as she saw how very, very faraway they looked. They took on, also, from the distance, a certainstrangeness which smote her heart. This wonderful adventure of hersceased to have any charm for her. She wanted to go back at once. Thenher grandmother's little grey house on the slope came into view. Oh, how terribly little and queer and far away it looked. And it wasgetting farther and farther away every minute. A frightened cry of"Granny! Granny! Take me home!" broke from her lips. She stood up, andmade her way hurriedly to the other end of the bateau, which, beingupstream, was nearer home. As her weight reached the bow, putting itdeeper into the grip of the current, the bateau slowly swung aroundtill it headed the other way. Mandy Ann turned and hurried again tothe point nearest home. Whereupon the bateau calmly repeated itsdisconcerting manoeuvre. All at once the whole truth of the situationburst upon Mandy Ann's comprehension. She was lost. She was beingcarried away so far that she would never, never get back. She wasbeing swept out into the terrible wilds that she had heard storiesabout. Her knees gave away in her terror. Crouching, a little redtumbled heap, on the bottom of the bateau, she lifted up her voice inshrill wailings, which so frightened the woodchuck that he came andcrept under her skirt. 

Below the Settlement the river ran for miles through a country ofever-deepening desolation, without cabin or clearing near its shores, till it emptied itself into the yet more desolate lake known as "BigLonely, " a body of forsaken water about ten miles long, surrounded byswamps and burnt-lands. From the foot of Big Lonely the river ragedaway over a mile of thundering ledges, through a chasm known to thelumbermen as "The Devil's Trough. " The fury of this madness havingspent itself between the black walls of the canyon, the rivercontinued rather sluggishly its long course toward the sea. A fewmiles below the Settlement the river began to get hurried andturbulent, chafing white through rocky rapids. When the bateau plungedinto the first of these, Mandy Ann's wailing and sobbing stoppedabruptly. The clamour of the white waves and the sight of theirlashing wrath fairly stupefied her. She sat up on the middle thwart, with the shivering woodchuck clutched to her breast, and stared aboutwith wild eyes. On every side the waves leaped up, black, white, andamber, jumping at the staggering bateau. But appalling as they lookedto Mandy Ann, they were not particularly dangerous to the sturdy, high-sided craft which carried her. The old bateau had been built tonavigate just such waters. Nothing could upset it, and on account ofits high, flaring sides, no ordinary rapids could swamp it. It rodethe loud chutes triumphantly, now dipping its lofty nose, now bumpingand reeling, but always making the passage without serious mishap. Allthrough the rapids Mandy Ann would sit silent, motionless, fascinatedwith horror. But in the long, comparatively smooth reaches she wouldrecover herself enough to cry softly upon the woodchuck's soft brownfur, till that prudent little animal, exasperated at the damp of hercaresses, wriggled away and crawled into his hated basket. 

At last, when the bateau had run a dozen of these noisy "rips, " MandyAnn grew surfeited with terror, and thought to comfort herself. Sitting down again upon the bottom of the bateau, she sadly sought torevive her interest in the "Chaney House. " She would finger thechoicest bits of painted porcelain, and tell herself how pretty theywere. She would choose a fragment of scarlet or purple glass, hold itup to her pathetic, tear-stained face, and try to interest herself inthe coloured landscape that filed by. But it was no use. Even theamber glass had lost its power to interest her. And at length, exhausted by her terror and her loneliness, she sank down and fellasleep. 

It was late afternoon when Mandy Ann fell asleep, and her sleep wasthe heavy semi-torpor coming after unrelieved grief and fear. It wasunjarred by the pitching of the fiercer rapids which the bateaupresently encountered. The last mile of the river's course beforejoining the lake consisted of deep, smooth "dead-water"; but, a strongwind from the north-west having sprung up toward the end of the day, the bateau drove on with undiminished speed. On the edge of theevening, when the sun was just sinking into the naked tops of therampikes along the western shore, the bateau swept out upon thedesolate reaches of Big Lonely, and in the clutch of the wind hasteneddown mid-lake to seek the roaring chutes and shrieking vortices of the"Devil's Trough. "

 * * * * *

Out in the middle of the lake, where the heavy wind had full sweep, the pitching and thumping of the big waves terrified the poor littlewoodchuck almost to madness; but they made no impression on thewearied child, where she lay sobbing tremulously in her sleep. Theymade a great impression, however, on a light birch canoe, which wascreeping up alongshore in the teeth of the wind, urged by two paddles. The paddlers were a couple of lumbermen, returning from the mouth ofthe river. All the spring and early summer they had been away from theSettlement, working on "the drive" of the winter's logging, and now, hungry for home, they were fighting their way doggedly against windand wave. There was hardly a decent camping-ground on all theswamp-cursed shores of Big Lonely, except at the very head of thelake, where the river came in, and this spot the voyagers weredetermined to make before dark. They would then have clear polingahead of them next day, to get them home to the Settlement in time forsupper. 

The man in the bow, a black-bearded, sturdy figure in a red shirt, paddled with slow, unvarying strokes, dipping his big maple paddledeep and bending his back to it, paying no heed whatever to the heavyblack waves which lurched at him every other second and threatenedto overwhelm the bow of his frail craft. He had none of theresponsibility. His part was simply to supply power, steady, unwavering power, to make head against the relentless wind. The manin the stern, on the other hand, had to think and watch and meetevery assault, as well as thrust the canoe forward into the tumult. He was a gaunt, long-armed young giant, bareheaded, with shaggybrown hair blown back from his red-tanned face. His keen grey eyesnoted and measured every capricious lake-wave as it lunged at him, and his wrist, cunning and powerful, delicately varied eachstroke to meet each instant's need. It was not enough that the canoeshould be kept from broaching-to and swamping or upsetting. He wasanxious that it should not ship water, and wet certain treasureswhich they were taking home to the backwoods from the shops of thelittle city down by the sea. And while his eyes seemed to be soengrossingly occupied in the battle with the waves of Big Lonely, they were all the time refreshing themselves with a vision--thevision of a grey house on a sunny hill-top, where his mother waswaiting for him, and where a little yellow-haired girl would scream"_Dad_die, oh, Dad_die_!" when she saw him coming up the road. 

The dogged voyagers were within perhaps two miles of the head of thelake, with the sun gone down behind the desolate rampikes, and strangetints of violet and rose and amber, beautiful and lonely, touching theangry turbulence of the waves, when the man in the bow, whose eyeswere free to wander, caught sight of the drifting bateau. It was alittle ahead of them, but farther out in the lake. 

"Ain't that old Joe's bateau out yonder, Chris?" he queried, histrained woodsman's eye recognizing the craft by some minute detail ofbuild or blemish. 

"I reckon it be!" answered Chris, after a moment's scrutiny. "He's lether git adrift. Water must be raisin' sudden!"

"She'll be a fine quality o' kindlin' wood in another hour, the rateshe's travelling" commented the other with mild interest. But theyoung giant in the stern was more concerned. He was sorry that old Joeshould lose his boat. 

"Darned old fool, not to tie her!" he growled. "Ef 'twarn't fer thiswind ag'in' us, we could ketch it an' tow it ashore fer him. But wecan't. "

"Wouldn't stop fer it ef 't had a bag o' gold into it!" grunted theother, slogging on his paddle with renewed vigour as he looked forwardto the camp-ground still so far ahead. He was hungry and tired, andcouldn't even take time to fill his pipe in that hurly-burly. 

Meanwhile the bateau had swept down swiftly, and passed them at adistance of not more than a hundred yards. It was with a qualm ofregret that Chris saw it go by, to be ground to splinters in theyelling madness of the Devil's Trough. After it had passed, riding thewaves bravely like the good old craft that it was, he glanced backafter it in half-humorous regret. As he did so, his eye caughtsomething that made him look again. A little furry brown creature waspeering over the gunwale at the canoe. The gunwale tipped toward himat that instant and he saw it distinctly. Yes, it was a woodchuck, andno mistake. And it seemed to be making mute appeal to him to come andsave it from a dreadful doom. Chris hesitated, looking doubtfully athis companion's heaving back. It looked an unresponsive back. Moreover, Chris felt half ashamed of his own compassionate impulse. Heknew that he was considered foolishly softhearted about animals andchildren and women, though few men cared to express such an opinion tohim too frankly. He suspected that, in the present case, his companionwould have a right to complain of him. But he could not stand the ideaof letting the little beast--which had so evidently appealed to himfor succour--go down into the horrors of the Devil's Trough. His mindwas made up. 

"Mart, " he exclaimed, "I'm goin' to turn. There's somethin' aboardthat there old bateau that I want. " And he put the head of the canoestraight up into a big wave. 

"The devil there is!" cried the other, taking in his paddle andlooking around in angry protest. "What is it?"

"Paddle, ye loon! Paddle hard!" ordered Chris. "I'll tell ye when wegit her 'round. "

Thus commanded, and the man at the stern paddle being supreme in acanoe, the backwoodsman obeyed with a curse. It was no time to argue, while getting the canoe around in that sea. But as soon as the canoewas turned, and scudding with frightened swoops down the waves inpursuit of the fleeing bateau, he saw, and understood. 

"Confound you, Chris McKeen, if 'tain't nothin' but a blankety blankwoodchuck!" he shouted, making as if to back water and try to turn thecanoe again. 

Chris's grey eyes hardened. "Look a' here, Mart Babcock, " he shouted, "don't you be up to no foolishness. Ye kin cuss all ye like--buteither paddle as I tell ye or take in yer paddle an' set quiet. _I'm_runnin' this 'ere canoe. "

Babcock took in his paddle, cursing bitterly. 

"A woodchuck! A measly woodchuck!" he shouted, with unutterablecontempt expressed in every word. "I know'd ye was a fool, ChrisMcKeen, but I didn't know ye was so many kinds of a mush-head of afool!"

"Course it's a woodchuck!" agreed Chris, surging on his paddle. "Do yethink I'd let the leetle critter go down the 'Trough, ' jest so's yecould git your bacon an' tea an hour sooner? I always did likewoodchucks, anyways. "

"I'll take it out o' yer hide fer this when we git ashore; you wait!"stormed Babcock, courageously. He knew it would be some time beforethey could get ashore, and so he would have a chance to forget histhreat. 

[Illustration: "'It's--Mandy Ann!'"]

"That's all right, Mart!" assented McKeen. "My hide'll be all herewaitin' on ye. But fer now you jest git ready to do ez I tell ye, an'don't let the canoe bump ez we come up alongside the bateau. It'sgoin' to be a mite resky, in this sea, gittin' hold of the leetlecritter. I'm goin' to take it home for Mandy Ann. "

As the canoe swept down upon the swooping and staggering bateau, Babcock put out his paddle in readiness to fend or catch as he mightbe directed. A moment later Chris ran the canoe past and brought herup dexterously under the lee of the high-walled craft. Babcock caughther with a firm grip, at the same time holding her off with thepaddle, and glanced in, while Chris's eyes were still occupied. Hisdark face went white as cotton. 

"My God, Chris! Forgive me! I didn't know!" he groaned. 

"It's--Mandy Ann!" exclaimed her father, in a hushed voice, climbinginto the bateau and catching the child into his arms. 

From Buck to Bear and Back

The sunny, weather-beaten, comfortable little house, with its greysheds and low grey barn half enclosing its bright, untidy farmyard, stood on the top of the open hill, where every sweet forest wind couldblow over it night and day. 

Fields of oats, buckwheat, and potatoes came up all about it over theslopes of the hill; and its only garden was a spacious patch ofcabbages and "garden sass" three or four hundred yards down toward theedge of the forest, where a pocket of rich black loam had speciallyinvited an experiment in horticulture. 

Like most backwoods farmers, Sam Coxen had been wont to look withlarge scorn on such petty interests as gardening; but a county showdown at the Settlement had converted him, and now his cabbage patchwas the chief object of his solicitude. He had proud dreams of prizesto be won at the next show--now not three weeks ahead. 

It was his habit, whenever he harnessed up the team for a drive intothe Settlement, to turn his head the last thing before leaving andcast a long, gratified look down over the cabbage patch, its cool, clear green standing out sharply against the yellow-brown of thesurrounding fields. On this particular morning he did not turn forthat look till he had jumped into the wagon and gathered up the reins. Then, as he gazed, a wave of indignation passed over his good-naturedface. 

There, in the middle of the precious cabbages, biting with a sort ofdainty eagerness at first one and then another, and wantonly tearingopen the crisp heads with impatient strokes of his knife-edged forehoofs, was a tall wide-antlered buck. 

Sam Coxen dropped the reins, sprang from the wagon, and rushed to thebars which led from the yard to the back field; and the horses--forthe sake of his dignity he always drove the pair when he went into theSettlement--fell to cropping the short, fine grass that grew behindthe well. In spite of having grown up in the backwoods, Sam waslacking in backwoods lore. He was no hunter, and he cared as little ashe knew, about the wild kindreds of the forest. He had a vague, general idea that all deer were "skeery critters"; and if any one hadtold him that the buck, in mating season, was not unlikely to developa fine militant spirit, he would have laughed with scorn. 

Climbing upon the bars, he yelled furiously at the marauder, expecting to see him vanish like a red streak. But the buck merelyraised his beautiful head and stared in mild surprise at the strange, noisy figure on the fence. Then he coolly slashed open another plumpcabbage, and nibbled at the firm white heart. 

Very angry, Coxen yelled again with all the power of healthy lungs, and waved his arms wildly over his head. But the vaunted authority ofthe human voice seemed in some inexplicable way to miss a connexionwith the buck's consciousness. The waving of those angry arms, however, made an impression upon him. He appeared to take it as achallenge, for he shook his beautiful antlers and stamped his forefeetdefiantly--and shattered yet another precious cabbage. 

Wrath struggled with astonishment in Sam Coxen's primitive soul. Thenhe concluded that what he wanted was not only vengeance, but a supplyof deer's meat to compensate for the lost cabbages. 

Rushing into the house, he snatched down his old muzzle-loader fromthe pegs where it hung on the kitchen wall. After the backwoodsfashion, the gun was kept loaded with a general utility charge ofbuckshot and slugs, such as might come handy in case a bear should tryto steal the pig. Being no sportsman, Coxen did not even take thetrouble to change the old percussion-cap, which had been on the tubefor six months. It was enough for him that the weapon was loaded. 

Down the other slope of the hill, where the buck could not see him, Coxen hurried at a run, and gained the cover of the thick woods. Then, still running, he skirted the fields till the cabbage patch came oncemore in sight, with the marauder still enjoying himself in the midstof it. 

At this point the long-dormant instinct of the hunter began to awakein Sam Coxen. Everything that he had ever heard about stalking biggame flashed into his mind, and he wanted to apply it all at once. Henoted the direction of the wind, and was delighted to find that itcame to his nostrils straight from the cabbage patch. 

He went stealthily, lifting and setting down his heavy-booted feetwith a softness of which he had never guessed himself capable. Hebegan to forget his indignation and think only of the prospect ofbagging the game--so easily do the primeval instincts spring to lifein a man's brain. Presently, when within about a hundred yards of theplace where he hoped to get a fair shot, Coxen redoubled his caution. He went crouching, keeping behind the densest cover. Then, growingstill more crafty, he got down and began to advance on all fours. 

Now it chanced that Sam Coxen's eyes were not the only ones which hadfound interest in the red buck's proceedings. A large black bear, wandering just within the shelter of the forest, had spied the buckin the open, and being curious, after the fashion of his kind, had satdown in a thicket to watch the demolition of the cabbages. 

He had no serious thought of hunting the big buck, knowing that hewould be hard to catch and troublesome if caught. But he was in thatinvestigating, pugnacious, meddlesome mood which is apt to seize anold male bear in the autumn. 

When the bear caught sight of Sam Coxen's crawling, stealthy figure, not two paces from his hiding-place, his first impulse was to vanish, to melt away like a big, portentous shadow into the silent deeps ofthe wood. His next, due to the season, was to rush upon the man andsmite him. 

Then he realized that he himself was not the object of the man'sstealthy approach. He saw that what the hunter was intent upon wasthat buck out in the field. Thereupon he sank back on his great blackhaunches to watch the course of events. Little did Sam Coxen guess ofthose cunning red eyes that followed him as he crawled by. 

At the point where the cover came nearest to the cabbage patch, Coxenfound himself still out of range. Cocking his gun, he strode sometwenty paces into the open, paused, and took a long, deliberate aim. 

Catching sight of him the moment he emerged, the buck stood for somemoments eyeing him with sheer curiosity. Was this a harmlesspasser-by, or a would-be trespasser on his new domain of cabbages? Onsecond glance, he decided that it looked like the noisy figure whichhad waved defiance from the top of the fence. Realizing this, a redgleam came into the buck's eye. He wheeled, stamped, and shook hisantlers in challenge. 

At this moment, having got a good aim, Coxen pulled the trigger. Thecap refused to explode. Angrily he lowered the gun, removed the capand examined it. It looked all right, and there was plenty of primingin the tube. He turned the cap round, and again took careful aim. 

Now these actions seemed to the buck nothing less than a plaininvitation to mortal combat. He was in just the mood to accept such aninvitation. In two bounds he cleared the cabbages and came mincinglydown to the fray. 

This unexpected turn of affairs so flustered the inexperienced hunterthat he altogether forgot to cock his gun. Twice he pulled desperatelyon the trigger, but with no result. Then, smitten with a sense ofimpotence, he hurled the gun at the enemy and fled. 

Over the fence he went almost at a bound, and darted for the nearesttree that looked easy to climb. As his ill luck would have it, thistree stood just on the edge of the thicket wherein the much-interestedbear was keeping watch. 

A wild animal knows when a man is running away, and rarely loses achance to show its appreciation of the fact. As Sam Coxen sprang forthe lowest branch and swung himself up, the bear lumbered out from histhicket and reared himself menacingly against the trunk. 

The buck, who had just cleared the fence, stopped short. It wasclearly his turn now to play the part of spectator. 

When Coxen looked down and saw his new foe his heart swelled with asense of injury. Were the creatures of the wilderness allied againsthim? He was no coward, but he began to feel distinctly worried. Thethought that flashed across his mind was: "What'll happen to the teamif I don't get back to unharness them?" But meanwhile he was climbinghigher and higher, and looking out for a way of escape. 

About halfway up the tree a long branch thrust itself forth till itfairly overhung a thick young spruce. Out along this branch Coxenworked his way carefully. By the time the bear had climbed to one endof the branch, Coxen had reached the other. Here he paused, dreadingto let himself drop. 

The bear came on cautiously; and the great branch bent low under hisweight, till Coxen was not more than a couple of feet from the top ofthe young fir. Then, nervously letting go, he dropped, caught thethick branches in his desperate clutch, and clung secure. 

The big branch, thus suddenly freed of Coxen's substantial weight, sprang back with such violence that the bear almost lost his hold. Growling angrily, he scrambled back to the main trunk, down which hebegan to lower himself, tail foremost. 

From the business-like alacrity of the bear's movements, Coxenrealized that his respite was to be only temporary. He was not morethan twelve feet from the ground, and could easily have made hisescape while the bear was descending the other tree. But there belowwas the buck, keeping an eye of alert interest on both bear and man. Coxen had no mind to face those keen antlers and trampling hoofs. Hepreferred to stay where he was and hope for some unexpectedintervention of fate. Like most backwoodsmen, he had a dry sense ofthe ridiculous, and the gravity of his situation could not quite blindhim to the humour of it. 

While Coxen was running over in his mind every conceivable scheme forgetting out of his dilemma, the last thing he would have thought ofactually happened. The buck lost interest in the man, and turned allhis attention to the bear, which was just now about seven or eightfeet from the ground, hugging the great trunk and letting himself downcarefully, like a small boy afraid of tearing his trousers. 

It is possible that that particular buck may have had some old scoreagainst the bears. If so, this must have seemed an excellent chance tocollect a little on account. The bear's awkward position andunprotected hind quarters evidently appealed to him. He ambledforward, reared half playfully, half vindictively, and gave the bear asavage prodding with the keen tips of his antlers. Then he boundedback some eight or ten paces, and waited, while the bear slid abruptlyto the ground with a flat grunt of fury. 

Sam Coxen, twisting with silent laughter, nearly fell out of hisfir-tree. 

The bear had now no room left for any remembrance of the man. He wasin a perfect ecstasy of rage at the insolence of the buck, and rushedupon him like a cyclone. Against that irresistible charge the buck hadno thought of making stand. Just in the nick of time he sprang asidein a bound that carried him a full thirty feet. Another such, anotherand another, and then he went capering off frivolously down the woodyaisles, while the bear lumbered impotently after him. 

Before they were out of sight Sam Coxen slid down from his tree andmade all haste over the fence. In the open field he felt more at ease, knowing he could outrun the bear, in case of need. But he stopped longenough to pick up the gun. 

Then, with one pathetic glance at the ruined cabbages, he strodehastily on up the hill, glancing backward from time to time to assurehimself that neither of his late antagonists was returning to theattack. 

In the Deep of the Snow

I

Around the little log cabin in the clearing the snow lay nearly fourfeet deep. It loaded the roof. It buried the low, broad, log barnalmost to the eaves. It whitely fenced in the trodden, chip-littered, straw-strewn space of the yard which lay between the barn and thecabin. It heaped itself fantastically, in mounds and domes andpillars, over the stumps that dotted the raw, young clearing. It clungdensely on the drooping branches of the fir and spruce and hemlock. Itmantled in a kind of breathless, expectant silence the solitude of thewilderness world. 

Dave Patton, pushing down the blankets and the many-coloured patchworkquilt, lifted himself on one elbow and looked at the pale face of hisyoung wife. She was sleeping. He slipped noiselessly out of the bunk, lightly pulled up the coverings again, and hurriedly drew on two pairsof heavy, home-knit socks of rough wool. The cabin was filled with thegrey light of earliest dawn, and with a biting cold that made thewoodsman's hardy fingers ache. Stepping softly as a cat over the rudeplank floor, he made haste to pile the cooking-stove with birch-bark, kindling, and split sticks of dry, hard wood. At the touch of thematch the birch-bark caught and curled with a crisp crackling, andwith a roar in the strong draught the cunningly piled mass burst intoblaze. Dave Patton straightened, and his grey eyes turned to a little, low bunk with high sides in the farther corner of the cabin. 

Peering over the edge of the bunk with big, eager, blue eyes, was around little face framed in a tousled mop of yellow hair. A red glarefrom the open draught of the stove caught the child's face. The momentshe saw her father looking at her she started to climb out of thebunk; but Dave was instantly at her side, kissing her and tucking herdown again into the blankets. 

"You mustn't git out o' bed, sweetie, " he whispered, "till the housegits warmed up a bit. An' don't wake mother yet. "

The child's eyes danced with eagerness, but she restrained her voiceas she replied. 

"I thought mebbe 'twas Christmis, popsie!" she whispered, catching hisfingers. "'T first, I thought mebbe you was Sandy Claus, popsie. Oh, Iwish Christmis 'ld hurry up!"

A look of pain passed over Dave Patton's face. 

"Christmas won't be along fer 'most a week yit, sweetie!" he answered, in the soft undertone that took heed of his wife's slumbers. "An'anyways, how do you s'pose Sandy Claus is goin' to find his way, 'wayout into these great woods, through all this snow?"

"Oh, _popsie!_" cried the child, excitedly. Then, remembering, shelowered her voice again to a whisper. "Don't you know Sandy Claus kingo _any_wheres? Snow, an' cold, an' the--the--the big, blackwoods--they don't bother _him_ one little, teenty mite. He knows whereto find me out here, jest's easy's in at the Settlements, popsie!"

The mother stirred in her bunk, wakened by the little one's voice. Shesat up, shivering, and pulled a red shawl about her shoulders. Hereyes sought Dave's significantly and sympathetically. 

"Mother's girl must try an' not think so much about Sandy Claus, " shepleaded. "I don't want her to go an' be disappointed. Sandy Clauslives in at the Settlements, an' you know right well, girlie, hecouldn't git 'way out here, Christmas Eve, without neglecting all thelittle boys an' girls at the Settlements. You wouldn't want _them all_disappointed, just so's he could come to our little girl 'way off herein the woods, what's got her father an' mother anyways!"

The child sat up straight in her bunk, her eyes grew very wide andfilled with tears, and her lips quivered. This was the first reallyeffective blow that her faith in Christmas and in Santa Claus had everreceived. But instantly her faith recovered itself. The eager lightreturned to her face, and she shook her yellow head obstinately. 

"He won't _have to_ 'lect the children in the Settlements, will he, popsie?" she cried. And without waiting for an answer, she went on:"He kin be everywheres to oncet, Sandy Claus can. He's so good an'kind, he won't forget _one_ of the little boys an' girls in theSettlements, nor me, out here in the woods. Oh, mumsie, I wisht it wasto-night was Christmas Eve!" And in her happy anticipation she bouncedup and down in the bunk, a figure of fairy joy in her blue flannelnightgown. 

Dave turned away with a heavy heart and jammed more wood into thestove. Then, pulling on his thick cowhide "larrigans, " coat andwoollen mittens, he went out to fodder the cattle. With that joyousroar of fresh flame in the stove the cabin was already warming up, butoutside the door, which Dave closed quickly behind him, the cold had akind of still savagery, edged and instant like a knife. To a strongman, however, it was a tonic, an honest challenging to resistance. Inspite of his sad preoccupation, Dave responded to the cold airinstinctively, pausing outside the door to fill his deep lungs and toglance at the thrilling mystery of the sunrise before him. 

The cabin stood at the top of the clearing against a background ofdense spruce forest which sheltered it on the north and north-east. Across the yard, on the western side of the cabin, the log barn andthe "lean-to" thrust up their laden roofs from the surrounding snow. In front, the cleared ground sloped away gently to the woods below, asnow-swathed, mystically glimmering expanse, its surface tumbled bythe upthrust of the muffled stumps. From the eastern corner of theclearing, directly opposite the doorway before which Dave wasstanding, the Settlements trail led straight away, a lane ofmiraculous glory, into the very focus of the sunrise. 

For miles upon miles the slow slope of the wilderness was towards theeast, so that the trail was like an open gate into the great space ofearth and sky. The sky, from the eastern horizon to the zenith--andthat was all that Dave Patton had eyes for--was filled with acelestial rabble of rose-pink vapours, thin aërial wisps of almostunimaginable colour. Except the horizon! The horizon, just where themagic portals of the trail revealed it, was an unfathomable radianceof intense, transparent, orange-crimson flame, so thrilling in itsstrangeness that Dave seemed to feel his spirit striving to draw it inas his lungs were drawing in the vital air. From that fount of livinglight rushed innumerable streams of thin colour, making threads andstains and patches of mystical red among the tops of the lower forest, and dyeing the snowy surface of the clearing with the tints ofmother-of-pearl and opal. Dave turned his head to glance at the cabin, the barn, and the woods behind them. All were bathed in thattransfiguring rush of glory. The beauty of it gave him a curious pang, which turned instantly, by some association too obscure for him totrace, into an ache of grief at the disappointment that was hangingover his little one's gaily trusting heart. The fairylike quality ofthe scene before him made him think, by a mingling of sympathy andfar-off, dim remembrance, of the fairy glamour and unreal radiance ofbeauty that Christmas tree and Christmas toys stood for in the child'sbright anticipations. He reminded himself of the glittering delightswith which, during the past three Christmases, Lidey's kinsfolk in theSettlement had lovingly surrounded her. Now he, her father, could donothing to make her Christmas different from all these other days ofwhose shut-in monotony she was wearying. Hope, now, and excited wonderwere giving the little one new life. Dave Patton cringed within at thethought of the awakening, the disillusionment, the desolation ofsorrow that would come to the baby heart with the dawn of Christmas. He was overwhelmed with self-reproach, because he had not realized allthis in time to make provision, before the deep snow had blocked thetrail to the Settlement. Now, what _could_ he do?

Heavily Dave strode across the yard to the door of the barn. At thesound of his feet crunching the trodden and brittle snow, there camelow mooings of eagerness from the expectant cattle in the barn. As helifted the massive wooden latch and opened the door, the horsewhinnied to him from the innermost stall, there was a welcomingshuffle of hoofs, and a comfortable warmth puffed steamily out in hisface. From the horse's stall, from the stanchions of the cattle, big, soft eyes all turned to him. As he bundled the scented hay into themangers, and listened to the contented snortings and puffings as softmuzzles tossed the fodder, he thought how happy these creatures werein their warm security. He thought how happy he was, and his wife, reunited to him after three years of forced and almost continuousseparation. For him, and for the young wife, now recovering health inthe tonic air of the spruce land after years of invalidism, this hadpromised to be a Christmas of unalloyed gladness. To one only, to thelittle one whose happiness was his continual thought, the day would bedark with the shattering of cherished hopes. The more he thought ofit, the more he felt that it was not to be borne. Faint but piteousmemories from his own childhood stirred in his brain, and he realizedhow irremediable, how final and desperate, seem a child's smallsorrows. A sudden resolve took hold upon him. This bitterness, atleast, his little one should not know. He jammed the pitchforkenergetically back into the mow and left the barn with the quick stepof an assured purpose. 

Three years before this, Dave Patton, after a series of misfortunes inthe Settlement, which had reduced him to sharp poverty, had beenforced to leave his wife and three-years-old baby with her own people, while he betook himself into the remotest wilderness to carve out anew home for them on a tract of forest land which was all thatremained of his possessions. The land was fertile and carried goodtimber, and he had begun to prosper. But his wife's ill-health hadlong made it impossible for her to face the hardships and risks of apioneer's life two days' journey from the nearest civilization. Nottill the preceding spring had Dave dared to bring his family out tothe wilderness home that he had so long been making ready for them. Then, however, it had proved a success. In that high and healing airhe had seen the colour slowly come back to his wife's pale cheeks; andas for the child, until the great snows came and cut her off from thisnovel and interesting world, she had been absorbingly happy in thefellowship of the wilderness. 

When Dave re-entered the cabin, he found the table set over by thewindow, and his wife beating up the batter for the buckwheat pancakesthat she was about to griddle for breakfast. Lidey, still in herlittle blue flannel nightgown, but with beaded deerskin moccasins onher tiny feet, and the golden wilfulness of her hair tied backdemurely with a blue ribbon, was seated at one end of the table, hereager face half buried in a sheet of paper. She was laboriouslyinditing, for perhaps the twentieth time, an epistle to "Sandy Claus, "telling him what she hoped he would bring her. 

If anything had been needed to confirm Dave Patton in his resolve, itwas this. From the rapt child his eyes turned and met his wife'sinquiring glance. 

"I reckon I've got to go, Mary!" he said quietly. "Think you two kingit along all right fer four or five days? We ain't likely to have nomore snow this moon. "

The woman let a little sigh escape her, but the look she gave herhusband was one of cheerful acquiescence. 

"I guess you're right, dear! I'll have to let you go, though five daysseems an awful long time to be alone here. I've been thinkin' itover, " she continued, guarding her words so that Lidey should notunderstand--"an' I just couldn't bear to see it, Dave!"

"That's so!" assented the man. "I'll leave heaps o' wood an' kindlin'cut, an' you'll jest have to milk an' look after the beasts, dear. Long's you're not _scairt_ to be alone, it's all right, I reckon!"

"When'll you start?" asked the wife, turning to pour the batter inlittle, sputtering, grey-white circles on to the hot, greasedgriddle. 

"First thing to-morrow mornin'!" answered Dave, seating himself at thetable as the appetizing smell of the browning pancakes filled theroom. "Snow's jest right for snowshoein', an' I'll git back easyChristmas Eve. "

"You sure won't be late, popsie?" interrupted the child, looking upwith apprehension in her round eyes. "I jest wouldn't care one mitefor Sandy Claus if you weren't here too!"

"Mebbe I'll git him to give me a lift in his little sleigh! Anyways, I'll be back!" laughed Dave, gaily. 

II

After Dave had gone, setting out at daybreak on his moose-hidesnowshoes, which crunched musically on the hard snow, things went verywell for a while at the lonely clearing. It was not so lonely, either, during the bright hours about midday, when the sunshine managed toaccumulate something almost like warmth in the sheltered yard. Aboutnoon the two red and white cows and the yoke of wide-horned red oxenwould stand basking in front of the lean-to, near the well, contentedly chewing their cuds. At this time the hens, too, yellowand black and speckled, would come out and scratch in the litter, perennially undiscouraged by the fact that the only thing they foundbeneath it was the snow. The vivid crossbills, red and black andwhite, would come to the yard in flocks, and the quaker-colouredsnow-buntings, and the big, trustful, childlike, pine grosbeaks, withthe growing stain of rose-purple over their heads and necks. Thesekept Lidey interested, helping to pass the days that now, to herexcited anticipations, seemed so long. Perhaps half a dozen times aday she would print a difficult communication to Santa Claus with somenew idea, some new suggestion. These missives were mailed to the goodSaint of Children by the swift medium of the roaring kitchen fire; andas the draught whisked their scorching fragments upwards, Lidey wassatisfied that they went straight to their destination. The child'sjoy in her anticipations was now the more complete because, since herfather's departure, her mother had ceased to discourage her hopes. 

On the day before Christmas Eve, however, the mother felt symptoms ofa return of her old sickness. Immediately she grew anxious, realizinghow necessary it was that she should keep well. This nervousapprehension hastened the result that she most dreaded. Her pain andher weakness grew worse hour by hour. Mastered by her memories ofwhat she had been through before, she was in no mood to throw off theattack. That evening, crawling to the barn with difficulty, she amazedthe horse and the cattle by coaxing them to drink again, then piledtheir mangers with a two-days' store of hay, and scattered buckwheatrecklessly for the hens. The next morning she could barely dragherself out of bed to light the fire; and Lidey had to make herbreakfast--which she did contentedly enough--on bread and butter andunlimited molasses. 

It was a weary day for the little one, in spite of her responsibilities. Muffled up and mittened, she was able, under her mother's directions, tocarry a little water to the stock in a small tin kettle, making manyjourneys. And she was able to keep the fire going. But the hours creptslowly, and she was so consumed with impatience that all her usualamusements lost their savour. Not even the rare delight of beingallowed to cut pictures out of some old illustrated papers coulddivert her mind from its dazzling anticipations. But before Christmascould come, must come her father; and from noon onward she would keeprunning to the door every few minutes to peer expectantly down thetrail. She was certain that, at the worst, he could not by anypossibility be delayed beyond supper-time, for he was needed to getsupper--or, rather, as Lidey expressed it, to help her get supper formother! Lidey was not hungry, to be sure, but she was gettingmortally tired of unmitigated bread and butter and molasses. 

Supper-time, however, came and went, and no sign of Dave's return. Onthe verge of tears, Lidey munched a little of the now distastefulfood. Her mother, worn out with the pain, which had at last relaxedits grip, fell into a heavy sleep. There was no light in the cabinexcept the red glow from the open draught of the stove, and theintense, blue-white moonlight streaming in through the front window. The child's impatience became intolerable. 

Flinging open the door for the hundredth time, she gazed out eagerlyacross the moonlit snow and down the trail. The cloudless moon, floating directly above it, transfigured that narrow and lonely roadinto a path to wonderland. In the mystic radiance--blue-white, butshot with faint, half-imagined flashes of emerald and violet--Lideycould see no loneliness whatever. The monstrous solitude became to hereyes a garden of silver and crystal. As she gazed, it lured herirresistibly. 

With a sudden resolve she noiselessly closed the door, lit the lamp, and began to put on her wraps, stealing about on tiptoe that she mightnot awaken her mother. She was quite positive that, by this time, herfather must be almost home. As her little brain dwelt upon this idea, she presently brought herself to see him, striding swiftly along inthe moonlight just beyond the turn of the trail. If she hurried, shecould meet him before he came out upon the clearing. The thoughtpossessed her. Stealing a cautious glance at her mother's face to besure her sleep was sound, she slipped out into the shine. A momentmore and her tiny figure, hooded and muffled and mittened, was dancingon moccasined feet across the snow. 

At the entrance to the trail, Lidey felt the first qualm of misgiving. The path of light, to be sure, with all its fairy-book enticement, laystraight before her. But the solemn woods, on either side of the path, were filled with great shadows and a terrible stillness. At this pointLidey had half a mind to turn back. But she was already a young personof positive ideas, not lightly to be swerved from a purpose; and hertoo vivid imagination still persisted in showing her that picture ofher father, speeding towards her just beyond the turn of the trail. She even thought that she could hear his steps upon the dauntingstillness. With her heart quivering, yet uplifted by an exaltation ofhope, she ran on, not daring to glance again into the woods. Tosustain her courage she kept thinking of the look of gay astonishmentthat would flash into her father's face as he met her running towardshim--just around the turn of the trail!

The turn was nearly a quarter of a mile distant, but the child reachedit at last. With a little cry of confident relief she rushed forward. The long trail--now half in shadow from the slight change in itsdirection--stretched out empty before her. In the excess of herdisappointment she burst into tears and sat down on the snowirresolutely. 

Her first impulse--after she had cried for a minute, and wiped hereyes with the little mittens, which promptly stiffened in the stingingfrost--was to face about and run for home as fast as she could. Butwhen she turned and glanced behind her, the backward path appearedquite different. When she no longer faced the moonlight, the worldtook on an unfriendly, sinister look. There were unknown terrors allalong that implacable blue-white way through the dread blackness ofthe woods. Sobbing with desolation, she turned again towards the moon. Ahead, for all her fears, the trail still held something of theglamour and the dazzle. Ahead, too, as she reminded herself, wassurely her father, hastening to meet her, only not quite so near asshe had imagined. Summoning back her courage, and comforting herlonely spirit with thoughts of what Santa Claus was going to bringher, she picked herself up and continued her journey at a hurriedlittle walk. 

She had not gone more than a few steps, when a strange, high sound, from somewhere far behind her, sent her heart into her throat andquickened her pace to a run. 

Again came that high, long-drawn, quavering sound; and the child'sheart almost stopped beating. If only she could see her father coming!She had never heard any sound just like that; it was not savage, norvery loud, but somehow it seemed to carry a kind of horror on itsfloating cadence. It reminded her, very faintly, of the howling ofsome dogs that she had heard in the Settlement. She was not afraid ofdogs. But she knew there were no dogs in the forest. 

Just as she was beginning to lose her breath and slacken her pace, that terrible cry came wavering again through the trees, much loudernow and nearer. It lent new strength to her tired little feet, and shefled on faster than ever, her red lips open and her eyes wide. Anotherslight turn of the trail, and it ran once more directly towards themoon, stretching on and on till it narrowed from sight. And nowhere inthe shining track was Dave to be seen. Lidey had now, however, but onethought in her quivering brain, and that was to keep running and getto her father before those dreadful voices could overtake her. Sheknew they were coming up swiftly. They sounded terribly near. When shehad gone about two hundred yards beyond the last bend of the trail, she noticed, a few steps ahead of her, a tiny clearing, and at itsfarther edge the gable of a little hut rising a couple of feet abovethe snow. She knew the place. She had played in it that summer, whileDave was cutting the coarse hay on the clearing. It was a place thathad been occupied by lonely trappers and lumber prospectors. Being awork of men's hands, it gave the child a momentary sense of comfort, of companionship in the dreadful wild. She paused, uncertain whetherto continue along the trail or to seek the shelter of the empty hut. 

When the crunching of her own little footsteps stopped, however, shewas instantly aware of the padding of other feet behind her. Lookingback, she saw a pack of grey beasts just coming around the turn. Theywere something like dogs. But Lidey knew they were not dogs. She hadseen pictures of them--awful pictures. She had read stories of themwhich had frozen her blood as she read. Now, her very bones seemed tomelt within her. They were wolves! For a moment her throat could formno sound. Then--"Father!" she screamed despairingly, and rushed forthe hut. 

As she reached it, the wolves were hardly a dozen paces behind. Thedoor stood half open, but drifted full of snow to within little morethan a foot of the top. Into the low opening the child dived headfirst, like a rabbit, crept behind the door, and fell upon the snow, gasping, too horror-stricken to make any outcry. 

A step from the hut door the wolves halted abruptly. The half-buriedhut, and the dark hole leading into it--these were things they did notunderstand, except that they recognized them as belonging to man. Anything belonging to man was dangerous. In that dark hole theysuspected a trap. The leader went up to it, and almost poked his noseinto it, sniffing. But he backed away sharply as if he had met with ablow on the snout, and his nostrils wrinkled in savage enmity. The mansmell was strong in the hut. It seemed very like a trap. 

Lying flat on her stomach behind the door, Lidey stared out throughthe narrow crack with eyes that seemed starting from her head. Outthere in the clear glitter of the moonlight she saw the wolves goprowling savagely to and fro, and heard their steps as they cautiouslycircled the hut, seeking another entrance. They kept about five or sixfeet distant from it at first, so suspicious were they of that mansmell that had greeted the leader's first attempt at investigation. When they had prowled about the hut for several minutes, they all satdown on their haunches before the door and seemed to deliberate. Thechild felt their dreadful eyes piercing her through and through, asthey searched her out through the crack and penetrated her vainhiding. 

Suddenly, while the eyes of all the pack were flaming upon her, shesaw the leader come swiftly forward and thrust his fierce snoutright against the crack of the door. In a sort of madness shestruck at it with her little, mittened hand. The wolf, apparentlystill disconcerted by the man smell that greeted his nostrils, sprangback warily. Then the whole pack drew a foot or two closer to theopen doorway. Ravenous though they were, they were not yet assuredthat the hut was not a trap. They were not yet quite ready tocrawl in and secure their prey. But gradually they were edgingnearer. A few moments more and the leader, no less crafty than savage, would creep in. Already he had accustomed himself to the menace ofthat scent. Now, he did creep in, as far as the middle of his body, investigating. His red jaws and long, white teeth appeared around theedge of the door. At the sight Lidey's voice returned to her. Shrinking back against the farthest wall, she gave shriek aftershriek that seemed to tear the dreadful stillness. In the madness ofher terror she hardly noticed that the wolf's head was suddenlywithdrawn. 

III

When Dave Patton set out for the Settlement, he found the snow-shoeingso good, the biting air so bracing, and his own heart so light withhope and health, that he was able to make the journey in somethingless than a day and a half. Out of this time he had allowed himselffour hours for sleep, in an old lumber camp beside the trail. At theSettlement, which boasted several miscellaneous stores, whereanything from a baby's rattle to a bag of fertilizer or a bedroomsuite could be purchased, he had no difficulty in gathering suchgay-coloured trifles, together with more lasting gifts, as he thoughtwould meet Lidey's anticipations. When he went to his wife's people, he found that all had something to add to his Santa Claus pack, forMary as well as for the little one; and he hugged himself with elationat the thought of what a Christmas there was going to be in the lonelywilderness cabin. He had bought two or three things for his wife; andwhen he shouldered his pack, slinging it high and strapping it closethat it might not flop with his rapid stride, he found the burden nolight one. But the lightness of his heart made compensation. 

That night he took but two hours' sleep in the old lumber camp, aimingto reach home soon after noon. In the morning, however, things beganto go wrong. First the pack, as packs sometimes will for no visiblereason, developed a kink that galled his shoulders obstinately. Againand again he paused and tried to readjust it. But in vain. Finally hehad to stop, undo the bundle, and rearrange every article in it, before he could induce it to "carry" smoothly. 

Half an hour later, as he turned a step off the trail to get a drinkat a bubbling spring, that kept open all through the bitterest winter, he caught his snowshoe on a buried branch and fell forward, breakingthe frame. In his angry impatience he attempted no more than atemporary repair of the damage, such as he thought might see him tothe end of his journey. But the poor makeshift broke down before hehad gone a mile. There was nothing for him to do but to stop longenough to make a good job of it, which he did by chopping out a pieceof ash, whittling down a couple of thin but tough strips, and splicingthe break securely with the strong "salmon twine" that he alwayscarried. Even so, he realized that to avoid further delay he wouldhave to go cautiously and humour the mend. And soon he had toacknowledge to himself that it would be long after supper-time, longafter Lidey's bed-time, before he could get home. 

As the moon rose, he was accompanied by his shadow, a gigantic andgrotesque figure that danced fantastically along the snow before him. As the moon climbed the icy heaven, the shadow shortened and acquiredmore sobriety of demeanour. Plodding doggedly onward, too tired tothink, Dave amused himself with the antics of the shadow, which seemedresponsible for a portion of the crisp music that came from hissnowshoes. 

From this careless reverie Dave was suddenly aroused by a ghost ofsound that drifted towards him through the trees. It was a long, wailing cry, which somehow stirred the roots of his hair. He did notrecognize it. But he felt that it was nothing human. It came fromsomewhere between himself and home, however; and he instinctivelyquickened his steps, thinking with satisfaction of the snug andwell-warmed cabin that sheltered his dear ones. 

[Illustration: "Where anything from a baby's rattle to a bag offertilizer could be purchased. "]

Presently the long cry sounded again, nearer and clearer now, andtremulous. Dave had heard wolves before, in Labrador and in the West. Had he not been quite sure that wolves were unknown in this part ofthe country, he would have sworn that the sound was the hunting cry ofa wolf-pack. But the idea was impossible. He had no sooner made up hismind to this, however, than the cry was repeated once more. ThereuponDave reluctantly changed his mind. That the sound meant wolves was notonly possible, but certain. It filled him with resentment to thinkthat those ravening marauders had come into the country. 

It was soon manifest to Dave's initiated ears that the wolves werecoming directly towards him. But he gathered, too, that they were inpursuit of some quarry. Dave had the eastern woodsman's contempt forwolves, unless in a very large pack; and he soon decided that thispack was a small one. He did not think that it would dare to face him. Nevertheless, he recognized the remote possibility of their being sohungry as to forget their dread of man. That in such case his axewould be an all-sufficient defence he did not doubt. But he was in afierce hurry to get home. He did not want to be stopped and forcedinto any fight. For a moment he thought of turning off through thewoods and giving these night foragers a wide berth. Then he rememberedhis uncertain snowshoes. The snow would be very soft off the trail, and there would be the chance of breaking the shoe again. Who was he, to be turned out of his path by a bunch of wild curs? It was thesnow-shoe that settled it. He set his jaws grimly, unslung his axe, and pressed forward. The clamour of the pack was now so near and loudthat it quite drowned one single, piercing cry of "Father!" that wouldotherwise have reached his ears. There was a new note in the howling, too, which Dave's ear interpreted as meaning that the quarry was insight. Then the noise stopped abruptly, save for an impatient yelp ortwo. 

"Whatever it be they're after, it's took to cover, " said Dave tohimself. "An' in the old shanty, too!" he added, as he saw the littlepatch of clearing open before him. 

Realizing that the wolves had something to occupy fully theirattention, he now crept noiselessly forward just within the edge ofthe wood. Peering forth from behind the cover of a drooping hemlockbranch, he saw the roof of the hut, the half-open doorway nearlychoked with snow, and the wolves prowling and sniffing around it, butkeeping a couple of yards away. 

"Scairt of a trap!" he thought to himself with a grin, and cursed hisluck that he had not his rifle with him. 

"A couple o' them thick, grey pelts, " he thought--"what a coat they'dmake for the little one!"

There were six wolves, and big ones--enough to make things look prettyugly for one man with only an axe. Dave was glad they had something tokeep them from turning their attention to him. He watched them for afew moments, then decided to go around by the other side of theclearing and avoid trouble. 

He drew back as silently as a lynx. Where the woods overhead werethick, the snow was soft, with no crispness on the surface; andinstead of the crunching that his steps made on the trail, here thesnow made no sound under his feet but a sort of thick sigh. 

Dave had taken several paces in retreat, when an idea flashed up thatarrested him. _Why_ were the wolves so wary about entering the hut, when their quarry was certainly inside? Their dread of a trap was not, of itself, quite enough to explain their caution. The thought gave hima qualm of uneasiness. He would return and have another look at them!Then his impatience got the better of him. Mary and the little onewere waiting and watching for him at home. He retreated another paceor two. What should he be doing, wasting his time over a parcel ofwolves that had got a fox cornered in the old shanty? Dave felt sureit was a fox. But no! He could not escape the conviction--much as hewished to--that if the fugitive were a fox, or any other animal of thenorth-eastern woods, it would not take six hungry wolves much morethan six seconds to get over their suspicions and go in after him. What if it should be some half-starved old Indian, working his wayinto the Settlement after bad luck with his hunting and his trapping!Whoever it was, he had no gun, or there would have been shootingbefore this. Dave saw that he must go back and look into the matter. But he was angry at this new delay. Cursing the wolves, and the Indianwho didn't know enough to take care of himself, Dave stole back to hiscovert behind the hemlock branch, and peered forth once more, nolonger interested, but aggrieved. 

The wolves were now sitting on their haunches around the hut door. Their unusual behaviour convinced him that there was a man inside. Well, there was no getting around the fact that he was in for a fight. He only hoped that the chap inside was some good, and would have"somethin' to say fer himself, darn him!" Dave gently lowered thebundle from his back, and threw off his thick coat to allow his armsfreer play. 

It was at this moment that the leader of the pack made up his mind tocrawl into the hut. 

As the wolf's head entered the low opening, Dave gripped his axe, thrust aside the hemlock branch, and silently darted forth into theclearing. He did not shout, for he wanted to take his enemies, as faras possible, unawares. He had but a score of yards to go. So intentwere they upon their leader's movements that Dave was almost upon themere they heeded the sound of his coming. Then they looked around. Three shrank back, startled at the tall and threatening shape. But twosprang at his throat with snapping jaws. The first met the full sweepof his axe, in the chest and dropped in a heap. The second dodged ashort blow and warily drew back again. Then, from within the darknessof the hut, came those screams of the madness of terror. 

For one beat Dave's heart stopped. He knew the voice!

The big wolf was just backing out. He turned, jerking himself aroundlike a loosed spring, as he saw Dave towering over him. But he was notin time. The axe descended, sheering his haunches across, and hestretched out, working his great jaws convulsively. Dave saw that thejaws had no blood upon them, and his own blood returned to his heart. He had come in time. The screams within the hut died into piteoussobs. 

Across Dave's mind flamed a vision of the agony of horror that Lideyhad been suffering since first those howlings fell upon his ears. Hisheart-break transformed itself into a mad rage of vengeance. As heturned, with a hoarse shout, upon the rest of the pack, he felt a hotbreath on his neck, and bare fangs snapped savagely within an inch ofhis throat. His assailant sprang back in time to escape the deadlysweep of the axe, but at the same instant the other three were leapingin. One of these caught a glancing blow, which drove him off, snarling. But the other two were so close that there was no time forDave to recover. Instinctively he jabbed a short back-stroke with theend of the axe-handle, and caught one of his assailants in the belly. Sickened, and daunted by this unexpected form of reprisal, the brutehunched itself with a startled yelp and ran off with its tail betweenits legs. At the same moment, dropping the axe, Dave caught the otherwolf fairly by the throat. The gripping hand was a kind of weapon thatthe beast had never learned to guard against, and it was taken at adisadvantage. With a grunt of fury and of effort Dave closed his gripinexorably, braced himself, and swung the heavy brute off its feet. Whirling it clear around his head, he let go. The animal flewsprawling and twisting through the air, and came down on its back tenfeet away. When it landed, there was no more fight left in it. BeforeDave could reach it with his axe it was up and away in a panic afterits two remaining fellows. 

Breathing heavily from his effort and from the storm of emotion stillsurging in his breast, Dave turned to the hut door and called--

"Lidey! Lidey! Are you there?"

"Popsie! Oh, popsie, _dear!_ I thought you weren't goin' to come!"cried a quivering little voice. And the child crept out into themoonlight. 

"Oh, popsie!" she sobbed, hiding her eyes in his neck as he crushedher to his heart, "they were goin' to eat me up, an' I thought youwouldn't ever come!"

IV

With the bundle on his back and Lidey in his arms, Dave strodehomeward, his weariness forgotten. His first anxiety about his wifewas somewhat eased when he learned that Lidey had left her asleep; forhe remembered that a heavy sleep always marked the end of one of herattacks. He only hoped that the sleep would hold her until they gothome, for his heart sank at the thought of her terror if she shouldwake and find Lidey gone. As they came out on the edge of theclearing, and saw that all was quiet in the cabin, Dave said--

"We won't tell mother nothin' about the wolves to-night, sweetie, eh?It 'ld jest git her all worked up, an' she couldn't stand it whenshe's sick. We won't say nothin' about that till to-morrow!"

"Yes!" murmured Lidey, "she'd be awful scairt!"

They were then about halfway up the slope, when from the cabin came afrightened cry of "Lidey! Lidey!" The door was flung open, thelamplight streamed out in futile contest with the moonlight, and Mrs. Patton appeared. Her face was white with fear. As she saw Dave and thelittle one hurrying towards her, both hands went to her heart in theextremity of her relief, and she sank back into a chair before thedoor. 

Dave kicked off his snow-shoes with a dexterous twist, stepped inside, slammed the door, and with a laugh and a kiss deposited Lidey in hermother's lap. 

"She jest run down to meet me!" explained Dave, truthfully butdeceptively. 

"Oh, girlie, how you frightened me!" cried the woman, divided betweentears and smiles. "I woke up, Dave, an' found her gone; an' bein' kindo' bewildered, I couldn't understand it!"

She clung to his hand, while he looked tenderly down into her face. 

"Poor little woman!" he murmured, "you've had a bad turn ag'in, Lideytells me. Better now, eh?"

"I'm plumb all right ag'in, Dave, now you're back, " she answered, squeezing his hand hard. "But land's sakes, Dave, how ever did you gitall that blood on your pants?"

"Oh, " said the man, lightly, "that's nothin. ' Tell you about itbime-by. I'm jest starvin' now. Let's have supper quick, and then giveold Mr. Sandy Claus a chance. Tomorrow we're going to have thegreatest Christmas ever was, us three!"

The Gentling of Red McWha

I

It was heavy sledding on the Upper Ottanoonsis trail. The twolumbermen were nearing the close of the third day of the hard fourdays' haul in from the Settlements to the camp. At the head of thefirst team, his broad jaw set and his small grey eyes angry withfatigue, trudged the big figure of Red McWha, choosing and breaking away through the deep snow. With his fiery red head and his large redface, he was the only one of his colouring in a large family so darkthat they were known as the "Black McWhas, " and his temper seemed tohave been chronically soured by the singularity of his type. But hewas a good woodsman and a good teamster, and his horses followedconfidently at his heels like dogs. The second team was led by a tall, gaunt-jawed, one-eyed lumberman named Jim Johnson, but invariablyknown as "Walley. " From the fact that his blind eye was of a peculiarblankness, like whitish porcelain, he had been nicknamed "Wall-Eye";but, owing to his general popularity, combined with the emphaticviews he held on that particular subject, the name had been mitigatedto Walley. 

The two were hauling in supplies for Conroy's Camp, on LittleOttanoonsis Lake. Silently, but for the clank and creak of theharness, and the soft "thut, thut" of the trodden snow, the littleprocession toiled on through the soundless desolation. Between thetrees--naked birches and scattered, black-green firs--filtered thelonely, yellowish-violet light of the fading winter afternoon. Whenthe light had died into ghostly grey along the corridors of theforest, the teams rounded a turn of the trail, and began to descendthe steep slope which led down to Joe Godding's solitary cabin on theedge of Burnt Brook Meadows. Presently the dark outline of the cabincame into view against the pallor of the open clearing. 

But there was no light in the window. No homely pungency of wood-smokebreathed welcome on the bitter air. The cabin looked startlinglydeserted. 

"Whoa!" commanded McWha, sharply, and glanced round at Johnson with anangry misgiving in his eyes. The teams came to a stop with a shiver ofall their bells. 

Then, upon the sudden stillness, arose the faint sound of a child'svoice, crying hopelessly. 

"Something wrong down yonder!" growled McWha, his expectations of ahot supper crumbling into dust. 

As he spoke, Walley Johnson sprang past him and went loping down thehill with long, loose strides like a moose. 

Red McWha followed very deliberately with the teams. He resentedanything emotional. And he was prepared to feel himself aggrieved. 

When he reached the cabin door the sound of weeping had stopped. Inside he found Walley Johnson on his knees before the stove, hurriedly lighting a fire. Wrapped in his coat, and clutching his armas if afraid he might leave her, stood a tiny, flaxen-haired child, perhaps five years old. The cabin was cold, almost as cold as thesnapping night outside. Along the middle of the floor, with bedclothesfrom the bunk heaped awkwardly upon it in the little one's efforts towarm it back to responsive life, sprawled rigidly the lank body of JoeGodding. 

Red McWha stared for a moment in silence, then stooped, examined thedead man's face, and felt his breast. 

"Deader'n a herring!" he muttered. 

"Yes! the poor old shike-poke!" answered Johnson, without looking upfrom his task. 

"Heart?" queried McWha, laconically. 

Johnson made no reply till the flame caught the kindling and rushedinwards from the open draught with a cordial roar. Then he stood up. 

"Don' know about that, " said he. "But he's been dead these hours andhours! An' the fire out! An' the kid most froze! A sick man like hewas, to've kept the kid alone here with him that way!" And he glanceddown at the dead figure with severe reprobation. 

"Never was much good, that Joe Godding!" muttered McWha, alwayscritical. 

As the two woodsmen discussed the situation, the child, adelicate-featured, blue-eyed girl, was gazing up from under her mop ofbright hair, first at one, then at the other. Walley Johnson was theone who had come in answer to her long wailing, who had hugged herclose, and wrapped her up, and crooned over her in his pity, anddriven away the terrors. But she did not like to look at him, thoughhis gaunt, sallow face was strong and kind. 

People are apt to talk easy generalities about the intuition ofchildren! As a matter of fact, the little ones are not above judgingquite as superficially and falsely as their elders. The child lookedat her protector's sightless eye, then turned away and sidled over toMcWha with one hand coaxingly outstretched. McWha's mouth twistedsourly. Without appearing to see the tiny hand, he deftly evaded it. Stooping over the dead man, he picked him up, straightened him outdecently on his bunk, and covered him away from sight with theblankets. 

"Ye needn't be so crusty to the kid, when she wants to make up to ye!"protested Walley, as the little one turned back to him with a puzzledlook in her tearful blue eyes. 

"It's all alike they be, six, or sixteen, or sixty-six!" remarkedMcWha, sarcastically, stepping to the door. "I don't want none of 'em!Ye kin look out for 'er! I'm for the horses. "

"Don't talk out so loud, " admonished the little one. "You'll wakeDaddy. Poor Daddy's sick!"

"Poor lamb!" murmured Johnson, folding her to his great breast with apang of pity. "No; we won't wake daddy. Now tell me, what's yername?"

"Daddy called me Rosy-Lilly!" answered the child, playing with abutton on Johnson's vest. "Is he gettin' warmer now? He was so cold, and he wouldn't speak to Rosy-Lilly. "

"Rosy-Lilly it be!" agreed Johnson. "Now we jest won't bother daddy, him bein' so sick! You an' me'll git supper. "

The cabin was warm now, and on tiptoe Johnson and Rosy-Lilly wentabout their work, setting the table, "bilin' the tea, " and frying thebacon. When Red McWha came in from the barn, and stamped the snow fromhis feet, Rosy-Lilly said "Hush!" laid her finger on her lip, andglanced meaningly at the moveless shape in the bunk. 

"We mus' let 'im sleep, Rosy-Lilly says, " decreed Johnson, with anemphasis which penetrated McWha's unsympathetic consciousness, andelicited a non-committal grunt. 

When supper was ready, Rosy-Lilly hung around him for a minute or twobefore dragging her chair up to the table. She evidently purposedpaying him the compliment of sitting close beside him and letting himcut her bacon for her. But finding that he would not even glance ather, she fetched a deep sigh, and took her place beside Johnson. Whenthe meal was over and the dishes had been washed up, she let Johnsonput her to bed in her little bunk behind the stove. She wanted to kissher father for good-night, as usual; but when Johnson insisted that todo so might wake him up, and be bad for him, she yielded tearfully;and they heard her sobbing herself to sleep. 

For nearly an hour the two men smoked in silence, their steaming feetunder the stove, their backs turned towards the long, unstirring shapein the big bunk. At last Johnson stood up and shook himself. 

"Well, " he drawled, "I s'pose we mus' be doin' the best we kin ferpoor old Joe. "

"He ain't left us no ch'ice!" snapped McWha. 

"We can't leave him here in the house, " continued Johnson, irresolutely. 

"No, no!" answered McWha. "He'd ha'nt it, an' us, too, ever after, like as not. We got to give 'im lumberman's shift, till the Boss kinsend and take 'im back to the Settlement for the parson to do 'im upright an' proper. "

So they rolled poor Joe Godding up in one of the tarpaulins whichcovered the sleds, and buried him deep in the snow, under the big elmbehind the cabin, and piled a monument of cordwood above him, so thatthe foxes and wild cats could not disturb his lonely sleep, andsurmounted the pile with a rude cross to signify its character. Then, with lighter hearts, they went back to the cabin fire, which seemed toburn more freely now that the grim presence of its former master hadbeen removed. 

"Now what's to be done with the kid--with Rosy-Lilly?" began Johnson. 

Red McWha took his pipe from his mouth, and spat accurately into thecrack of the grate to signify that he had no opinion on that importantsubject. 

"They do say in the Settlements as how Joe Godding hain't kith nor kinin the world, savin' an' exceptin' the kid only, " continued Johnson. 

McWha nodded indifferently. 

"Well, " went on Johnson, "we can't do nawthin' but take her on to thecamp now. Mebbe the Boss'll decide she's got to go back to theSettlement, along o' the fun'ral. But mebbe he'll let the hands keepher, to kinder chipper up the camp when things gits dull. I reckonwhen the boys sees her sweet face they'll all be wantin' to beguardeens to her. "

McWha again spat accurately into the crack of the grate. 

"I ain't got no fancy for young 'uns in camp, but ye kin do ez yelike, Walley Johnson, " he answered grudgingly. "Only I want itunderstood, right now, I ain't no guardeen, an' won't be, to nawthin'that walks in petticoats! What I'm thinkin' of is the old cow outyonder, an' them hens o' Joe's what I seen a-roostin' over thecowstall. "

"Them's all Rosy-Lilly's, an' goes with us an' her to camp to-morrer, "answered Johnson with decision. "We'll tell the kid as how her daddyhad to be took away in the night because he was so sick, an' couldn'tspeak to nobody, an' we was goin' to take keer o' her till he gitsback! An' that's the truth, " he added, with a sudden passion oftenderness and pity in his tone. 

At this hint of emotion McWha laughed sarcastically. Then knocking outhis pipe, he proceeded to fill the stove for the night, and spread hisblanket on the floor beside it. 

"If ye wants to make the camp a baby-farm, " he growled, "don't mindme!"

II

Under the dominion of Rosy-Lilly fell Conroy's camp at sight, capitulating unconditionally to the first appeal of her tearful blueeyes, and little, hurt red mouth. Dan Logan, the Boss, happened toknow just how utterly alone the death of her father had left thechild, and he was the first to propose that the camp should adopt her. Fully bearing out the faith which Walley Johnson had so confidentlyexpressed back in the dead man's cabin, Jimmy Brackett, the cook, onwhom would necessarily devolve the chief care of this new member ofhis family, jumped to the proposal of the Boss with enthusiasticsupport. 

"We'll every mother's son o' us be guardeen to her!" he declared, withthe finality appropriate to his office as autocrat second only to theBoss himself. Every man in camp assented noisily, saving only RedMcWha; and he, as was expected of him, sat back and grinned. 

From the first, Rosy-Lilly made herself at home in the camp. For a fewdays she fretted after her father, whenever she was left for a momentto her own devices; but Jimmy Brackett was ever on hand to divert hermind with astounding fairy-tales during the hours when the rest of thehands were away chopping and hauling. Long after she had forgotten tofret, she would have little "cryin' spells" at night, remembering herfather's good-night kiss. But a baby's sorrow, happily, is shorterthan its remembrance; and Rosy-Lilly soon learned to repeat herphrase: "Poor Daddy had to go 'way-'way-off, " without the quiveringlip and wistful look which made the big woodsmen's hearts tighten sopainfully beneath their homespun shirts. Conroy's Camp was a spacious, oblong cabin of "chinked" logs, with a big stove in the middle. Thebunks were arranged in a double tier along one wall, and a plank table(rude, but massive) along the other. Built on at one end, beside thedoor, was the kitchen, or cookhouse, crowded, but clean and orderly, and bright with shining tins. At the inner end of the main room acorner was boarded off to make a tiny bedroom, no bigger than acupboard. This was the Boss's private apartment. It contained twonarrow bunks--one for the Boss himself, who looked much too big forit; and one for the only guest whom the camp ever expected toentertain, the devoted missionary-priest, who, on his snowshoes, waswont to make the round of the widely scattered camps once or twice ina winter. This guest-bunk the Boss at once allotted to Rosy-Lilly, buton the strict condition that Johnson should continue to act as nurseand superintend Rosy-Lilly's nightly toilet. 

Rosy-Lilly had not been in the camp a week before McWha's "ugliness"to her had aroused even the Boss's resentment, and the Boss was ajust man. Of course, it was generally recognized that McWha was notbound, by any law or obligation, to take any notice of the child, still less to "make a fuss over her, " with the rest of the camp. ButJimmy Brackett expressed the popular sentiment when he growled, looking sourly at the back of McWha's unconscious red head bowedravenously over his plate of beans--

"If only he'd _do_ something, so's we c'ld _lick_ some decency inter'im!"

There was absolutely nothing to be done about it, however; for RedMcWha was utterly within his rights. 

Rosy-Lilly, as we have seen, was not yet five years old; but certainof the characteristics of her sex were already well developed withinher. The adulation of the rest of the camp, poured out at her tinyfeet, she took graciously enough, but rather as a matter of course. Itwas all her due. But what she wanted was that that big, ugly, red-headed man, with the cross grey eyes and loud voice, should benice to her. She wanted _him_ to pick her up, and set her on his knee, and whittle wonderful wooden dogs and dolls and boats and boxes forher with his jack-knife, as Walley Johnson and the others did. WithWalley she would hardly condescend to coquet, so sure she was of hisabject slavery to her whims; and, moreover, as must be confessed withregret, so unforgiving was she in her heart toward his blank eye. Shemerely consented to make him useful, much as she might a convenientand altogether doting but uninteresting grandmother. To all the othermembers of the camp--except the Boss, whom she regarded with someawe--she would make baby-love impartially and carelessly. But it wasRed McWha whose notice she craved. 

When supper was over, and pipes filled and lighted, some one wouldstrike up a "chantey"--one of those interminable, monotonousballad-songs which are peculiar to the lumber camps. 

These "chanteys, " however robust their wordings or their incidents, are always sung in a plaintive minor which goes oddly with thelarge-moulded virility of the singers. Some are sentimental, orreligious, to the last degree, while others reek with an indecency ofspeech that would shroud the Tenderloin in blushes. Both kinds areequally popular in the camps, and both are of the most astounding_naïveté_. Of the worst of them, even, the simple-minded woodsmen arenot in the least ashamed. They seem unconscious of their enormity. Nevertheless, it came about that, without a word said by any one, fromthe hour of Rosy-Lilly's arrival in camp, all the indecent "chanteys"were dropped, as if into oblivion, from the woodsmen's repertoire. 

During the songs, the smoking, and the lazy fun, Rosy-Lilly would slipfrom one big woodsman to another, an inconspicuous little figure inthe smoke-gloomed light of the two oil-lamps. Man after man wouldsnatch her up to his knee, lay by his pipe, twist her silky, yellowcurls about his great blunt fingers, and whisper wood-folk tales orbaby nonsense into her pink little ear. She would listen solemnly fora minute or two, then wriggle down and move on to another of heradmirers. But before long she would be standing by the bench on whichsat Red McWha, with one big knee usually hooked high above the other, and his broad back reclined against the edge of a bunk. For a fewminutes the child would stand there smiling with a perennialconfidence, waiting to be noticed. Then she would come closer, withouta word from her usually nimble little tongue, lean against McWha'sknee, and look up coaxingly into his face. If McWha chanced to besinging, for he was a "chanter" of some note, he would appear soutterly absorbed that Rosy-Lilly would at last slip away, with a lookof hurt surprise in her face, to be comforted by one of her faithful. But if McWha were not engrossed in song, it would soon becomeimpossible for him to ignore her. He would suddenly look down at herwith his fierce eyes, knit his shaggy red brows, and demand harshly:"Well, Yaller Top, an' what d'_you_ want?"

From the loud voice and angry eye the child would retreat in haste, clear to the other end of the room, and sometimes a big tear wouldtrack its way down either cheek. After such an experiment she wouldusually seek Jimmy Brackett, who would console her with some stickysweetmeat, and strive to wither McWha with envenomed glances. McWhawould reply with a grin, as if proud of having routed the littleadventurer so easily. He had discovered that the name "Yaller Top" wasan infallible weapon of rebuff, as Rosy-Lilly considered it a term ofindignity. To his evil humour there was something amusing in abashingRosy-Lilly with the title she most disliked. Moreover, it was anindirect rebuke to the "saft" way the others acted about her. 

If Rosy-Lilly felt rebuffed for the moment by McWha's rudeness, sheseemed always to forget it the next time she saw him. Night afternight she would sidle up to his knee, and sue for his notice; andnight after night she would retire discomfited. But on one occasionthe discomfiture was McWha's. She had elicited the customary roughdemand--

"Well, Yaller Top, what d'_you_ want?"

But this time she held her ground, though with quivering lips. 

"Yaller Top ain't my name 'tall, " she explained with baby politeness. "It's Rosy-Lilly; 'n' I jes' thought you _might_ want me to sit onyer knee a little, teeny minit. "

Much taken aback, McWha glanced about the room with a loutish grin. Then he flushed angrily, as he felt the demand of the sudden silence. Looking down again, with a scowl, at the expectant little face ofRosy-Lilly, he growled: "Well, not as I knows of!" and rose to hisfeet, thrusting her brusquely aside. 

"Ain't he uglier'n hell?" murmured Bird Pigeon to Walley Johnson, spitting indignantly on the stove-leg. "He'd 'a' cuffed the kid ef heda'st, he glared at her that ugly!"

"Like to see 'im try it!" responded Johnson through his teeth, with alook to which his blank eye lent mysterious menace. 

The time soon came, however, when McWha resumed his old seat and hisold attitude on the bench. Rosy-Lilly avoided him for two evenings, but on the third the old fascination got the better of her pique. McWha saw her coming, and, growing self-conscious, he hurriedlystarted up a song with the full strength of his big voice. 

The song was a well-known one, and nothing in it to redden the ear ofa maiden; but it was profane with that rich, ingenious amplitude ofprofanity which seems almost instinctive among the lumbermen--a sortof second mother-tongue to them. Had it been any one but McWha whostarted it, nothing would have been said; but, as it was, WalleyJohnson took alarm on the instant. To his supersensitive watchfulness, McWha was singing that song "jest a purpose to be ugly to the kid. "The fact that "the kid" would hardly understand a word of it, did notoccur to him. Rising up from his bench behind the stove he shouted outacross the smoky room: "Shet up that, Red!"

The song stopped. Every one looked inquiringly at Johnson. For severalmoments there was silence, broken only by an uneasy shuffling of feet. Then McWha got up slowly, his eyebrows bristling, his angry eyeslittle pin-points. First he addressed himself to Johnson. 

"What the ---- business is't o' yourn what I sing?" he demanded, opening and shutting his big fingers. 

"I'll show ye what, " began Johnson, in a tense voice. But the Bossinterrupted. Dave Logan was a quiet man, but he ruled his camp. Moreover, he was a just man, and Johnson had begun the dispute. 

"Chuck that, Walley!" he snapped, sharp as a whip. "If there's to beany row in this here camp, I'll make it myself, an' don't none o' youboys forgit it!"

McWha turned upon him in angry appeal. 

"You're Boss, Dave Logan, an' what you sez goes, fer's I'mconcerned, " said he. "But I ax you, _as_ Boss, be this here camp a_camp_, er a camp-meetin'? Walley Johnson kin go straight to hell; butef _you_ sez we 'ain't to sing nawthin' but hymns, why, o' course, it's hymns for me--till I kin git away to a camp where the hands ismen, an' not wet-nurses!"

"That's all right, Red!" said the Boss. "I kin make allowances for yergittin' riled, considerin' the jolt Walley's rude interruption giveye! He hadn't no right to interrupt, nor no call to. This ain't nocamp-meetin'. The boys have a right to swear all they like. Why, 'twouldn't be noways natural in camp ef the boys couldn't swear!somethin'd hev to bust before long. An' the boys can't be expected togo a-tiptoe and talk prunes an' prisms, all along o' a littleyaller-haired kid what's come to brighten up the old camp fer us. Thatwouldn't be sense! But all we've got to mind is jest this--_nothin'vile!_ That's all, boys. We'll worry along without that!"

When the Boss spoke, he liked to explain himself rather fully. When heceased, no one had a word to say. Every one was satisfied but Johnson;and he was constrained to seem so. There was an oppressive silence forsome seconds. It was broken by the soft treble of Rosy-Lilly, who hadbeen standing before the Boss and gazing up into his face with awedattention throughout the harangue. 

"What did you say, Dave?" she piped, her hands clasped behind herback. 

"Somethin' as shall never tech you, Rosy-Lilly!" declared Johnson, snatching up the child and bearing her off to bed, amid a roar oflaughter which saved Dave Logan the embarrassment of a reply. 

For a time, now, Rosy-Lilly left McWha alone, so markedly that itlooked as if Walley Johnson or Jimmy Brackett had admonished her onthe subject. She continued, indeed, to cast at him eyes of pleadingreproach, but always from a distance, and such appeals rolled offMcWha's crude perception like water off a musk rat's fur. He hadnothing "agin her, " as he would have put it, if only she would keepout of his way. But Rosy-Lilly, true to her sex, was not vanquished byany means, or even discouraged. She was only biding her time. BirdPigeon, who was something of a beau in the Settlements, understoodthis, and stirred the loyal wrath of Walley Johnson by saying so. 

"There ain't nawthin' about Red McWha to make Rosy-Lilly keer shucksfer 'im, savin' an' except that she can't git him!" said Bird. "She'sthat nigh bein' a woman a'ready, if she _be_ but five year old!"

Johnson fixed him with his disconcerting eye, and retorted witheringly--

"Ye thinks ye knows a pile about women, Bird Pigeon. But the kind yeknows about ain't the kind Rosy-Lilly's agoin' to be!"

Nearly a week went by before Rosy-Lilly saw another chance to assailMcWha's forbidding defences. This time she made what her innocentheart conceived to be a tremendous bid for the bad-tempered woodsman'sfavour. Incidentally, too, she revealed a secret which the Boss andWalley Johnson had been guarding with guilty solicitude ever since hercoming to the camp. 

It chanced that the Boss and Johnson together were kept away from campone night till next morning, laying out a new "landing" over on Fork'sBrook. When it came time for Rosy-Lilly to be put to bed, the honourfell, as a matter of course, to Jimmy Brackett. Rosy-Lilly went withhim willingly enough, but not till after a moment of hesitation, inwhich her eyes wandered involuntarily to the broad, red face of McWhabehind its cloud of smoke. 

As a nursemaid, Jimmy Brackett flattered himself that he was asuccess--till the moment came when Rosy-Lilly was to be tucked intoher bunk. Then she stood and eyed him with solemn question. 

"What's wrong, me honey-bug?" asked Brackett, anxiously. 

"You hain't heard me my prayers!" replied Rosy-Lilly, with a touch ofseverity in her voice. 

"Eh? What's that?" stammered Brackett, startled quite out of hiswonted composure. 

"Don't you know little girls has to say their prayers afore they goesto bed?" she demanded. 

"No!" admitted Brackett, truthfully, wondering how he was going to getout of the unexpected situation. 

"Walley Johnson hears me mine!" continued the child, her eyes verywide open as she weighed Brackett's qualifications in her mercilesslittle balance. 

Here, Brackett was misguided enough to grin, bethinking him that nowhe "had the laugh" on the Boss and Walley. That grin settled it. 

"I dess you don't know how to hear me say 'em, Jimmy!" she announcedinexorably. And picking up the skirt of her blue homespun "nightie, "so that she showed her little red woollen socks and white deer-hidemoccasins, she tripped forth into the big, noisy room. 

At the bright picture she made, her flax-gold hair tied in a knob ontop of her head that it might not get tangled, the room fell silentinstantly, and every eye was turned upon her. Nothing abashed by thescrutiny, she made her way sedately down the room and across toMcWha's bench. Unable to ignore her, and angry at the consciousnessthat he was embarrassed, McWha eyed her with a grim stare. ButRosy-Lilly put out her hands to him confidingly. 

"I'm goin' to let you hear me my prayers, " she said, her clear, babyvoice carrying every syllable to the furthest corner of the room. 

An ugly light flamed into McWha's eyes, and he sprang to his feet, brushing the child rudely aside. 

"That's some o' Jimmy Brackett's work!" he shouted. "It's him put 'erup to it, curse him!"

The whole room burst into a roar of laughter at the sight of hiswrath. Snatching his cap from its peg, he strode furiously out to thestable, slamming the door behind him. 

In their delight over McWha's discomfiture the woodsmen quite forgotthe feelings of Rosy-Lilly. For a second or two she stood motionless, her lips and eyes wide open with amazement. Then, hurt as much by thelaughter of the room as by McWha's rebuff, she burst into tears, andstood hiding her face with both hands, the picture of desolation. 

When the men realized that she thought they were laughing at her, theyshut their mouths with amazing promptitude, and crowded about her. Oneafter another picked her up, striving to console her with caresses andextravagant promises. She would not uncover her eyes, however, for anyone, and her heart-broken wailing was not hushed till Brackett thrusthis way through the crowd, growling inarticulate blasphemies at themall, and bore her back to her room. When he emerged twenty minuteslater no one asked him about Rosy-Lilly's prayers. As for Rosy-Lilly, her feelings were this time so outraged that she would no longer lookat McWha. 

III

The long backwoods winter was now drawing near its end, and the snowin the open spaces was getting so soft at midday as to slump heavilyand hinder the work of the teams. Every one was working with feverishhaste to get the logs all out to the "landings, " on the river banksbefore the hauling should go to pieces. At night the tired lumbermenwould tumble into their bunks as soon as supper was over, too greedyof sleep to think of songs or yarns. And Rosy-Lilly began to feel alittle aggrieved at the inadequate attention which she was nowreceiving from all but Jimmy Brackett and the ever-faithful Johnson. She began to forgive McWha, and once more to try her baby wiles uponhim. But McWha was as coldly unconscious as a stone. 

One day, however, Fate concluded to range herself on Rosy-Lilly'sside. A dead branch, hurled through the air by the impact of a fallingtree, struck Red McWha on the head, and he was carried home to thecabin unconscious, bleeding from a long gash in his scalp. The Boss, something of a surgeon in his rough and ready way, as bosses need tobe, washed the wound and sewed it up. Then he handed over his own bunkto the wounded man, declaring optimistically that McWha would comeround all right, his breed being hard to kill. 

It was hours later when McWha began to recover consciousness, and justthen, as it happened, there was no one near him but Rosy-Lilly. Smitten with pity, the child was standing beside the bunk, murmuring:"Poor! poor! I so sorry!" and slowly shaking her head and lightlypatting the big, limp hand where it lay outside the blanket. 

McWha half opened his eyes, and their faint glance fell on the top ofRosy-Lilly's head as she bent over his hand. With a wry smile he shutthem again, but to his surprise, he felt rather gratified. Then JimmyBrackett came in and whisked the child away. "'S if he thought I'dbite 'er!" mused McWha, somewhat inconsistently. 

For a long time he lay wondering confusedly. At last he opened hiseyes wide, felt his bandaged head, and called for a drink of water ina voice which he vainly strove to make sound natural. To his surprisehe was answered by Rosy-Lilly, so promptly that it was as if she hadbeen listening for his voice. She came carrying the tin of water inboth little hands, and, lifting it very carefully, she tried to holdit to his lips. Neither she nor McWha was quite successful in this, however. While they were fumbling over it, Jimmy Brackett hurried in, followed by the Boss, and Rosy-Lilly's nursing was superseded. TheBoss had to hold him up so that he could drink; and when he hadfeverishly gulped about a quart, he lay back on his pillow with a hugesigh, declaring weakly that he was all right. 

"Ye got off mighty easy, Red, " said the Boss, cheerfully, "considerin'the heft o' the knot 'at hit ye. But you McWhas was always hard tokill. "

McWha's hand was drooping loosely over the edge of the bunk. He feltthe child's tiny fingers brushing it again softly and tenderly. Thenhe felt her lips upon it, and the sensation was so novel that he quiteforgot to reply to the Boss's pleasantry. 

That night McWha was so much better that when he insisted on beingremoved to his own bunk on the plea that he "didn't feel at home in acupboard like, " the Boss consented. Next day he wanted to go back towork, but the Boss was derisively inexorable, and for two days McWhawas kept a prisoner. 

During this time Jimmy Brackett, with severe and detailed admonition, kept Rosy-Lilly from again obtruding upon the patient's leisure; andMcWha had nothing to do but smoke and whittle. He whittled diligently, but let no one see what he was making. Then, borrowing a small tin cupfrom the cook, he fussed over the stove with some dark, smellydecoction of tobacco-juice and ink. Rosy-Lilly was consumed withcuriosity, especially when she saw him apparently digging beads off anIndian tobacco-pouch which he always carried. But she did not go nearenough to get enlightened as to his mysterious occupation. 

On the following day McWha went to work again, but not till afterbreakfast, when the others had long departed. Rosy-Lilly, with onehand twisted in her little apron, was standing in the doorway as hepassed out. She glanced up at him with the most coaxing smile in herwhole armoury of allurements. McWha would not look at her, and hisface was as sullenly harsh as ever; but as he passed he slippedsomething into her hand. To her speechless delight, it proved to be alittle dark-brown wooden doll, daintily carved, and with two whitebeads, with black centres, cunningly set into its face for eyes. 

Rosy-Lilly hugged the treasure to her breast. Her first proud impulsewas to run to Jimmy Brackett with it. But a subtler instinct withheldher. The gift had been bestowed in such a surreptitious way that shefelt it to be somehow a kind of secret. She carried it away and hid itin her bunk, where she would go and look at it from time to timethroughout the day. That night she brought it forth, but with severalother treasures, so that it quite escaped comment. She said nothingabout it to McWha, but she played with it when he could not helpseeing it. And thereafter her "nigger-baby" was always in her arms. 

This compliment, however, was apparently all lost on McWha, who hadagain grown unconscious of her existence. And Rosy-Lilly, on her part, no longer strove to win his attention. She was content either with thevictory she had won, or with the secret understanding which, perforce, now existed between them. And things went on smoothly in the camp, with every one now too occupied to do more than mind his ownbusiness. 

It chanced this year that the spring thaws were early and unusuallyswift, warm rains alternating with hot, searching sunshine whichwithered and devoured the snow. The ice went out with a rush in therapidly rising Ottanoonsis; and from every brookside "landing" thelogs came down in black, tumbling swarms. Just below Conroy's Camp theriver wallowed round a narrow bend, tangled with slate ledges. It wasa nasty place enough at low water, but in freshet a roaring terror toall the river-men. When the logs were running in any numbers, the bendhad to be watched with vigilance lest a jam should form, and thewaters be dammed back, and the lumber get "hung up" all over theswamps of the upper reaches. 

And here, now, in spite of the frantic efforts of Dave Logan and hiscrew, the logs suddenly began to jam. Pitching downward as ifpropelled by a pile-driver, certain great timbers drove their endsbetween the upstanding strata of the slate, and held against thetorrent till others came and wedged them securely. The jam beganbetween two ledges in midstream, where no one could get near it. In afew minutes the interlocked mass stretched from bank to bank, with thetorrent spurting and spouting through it in furious milk-white jets. Log after log was chopped free by the axemen along the shore, but themass remained unshaken. Meanwhile the logs were gathering swiftlybehind, ramming down and solidifying the whole structure, and dammingback the flood till its heavy thunder diminished to the querulousrattling of a mill-race. In a short time the river was packed solidfrom shore to shore for several hundred yards above the brow of thejam; and above that again the waters were rising at a rate whichthreatened in a few hours to flood the valley and sweep away the campitself. 

At this stage of affairs the Boss, axe in hand, picked his way acrossthe monstrous tangle of the face of the jam between the great whitejets, till he gained the centre of the structure. Here his practisedeye, with the aid of a perilous axe-stroke here and there, --strokeswhich might possibly bring the whole looming mass down upon him in amoment, --presently located the timbers which held the structure firm, "the key-logs, " as the men call them. These he marked with his axe. Then, returning to the shore, he called for two volunteers to dare thetask of cutting these key-logs away. 

Such a task is the most perilous that a lumberman, in all his daringcareer, can be called upon to perform. So perilous is it that it isalways left to volunteers. Dave Logan had some brilliant feats ofjam-breaking to his credit, from the days before he was made a Boss;and now, when he called for volunteers, every unmarried man in campresponded, with the exception, of course, of Walley Johnson, whoselimited vision unfitted him for such a venture. The Boss chose BirdPigeon and Andy White, because they were not only "smart" axemen, butalso adepts in the river-men's games of "running logs. "

With a jaunty air the two young men spat on their hands, gripped theiraxes, and sprang out along the base of the jam. Every eye in camp wasfixed upon them with a fearful interest as they plied their heavyblades. It was heroic, of a magnificence of valour seldom equalled onany field, the work of these two, chopping coolly out there in thedaunting tumult, under that colossal front of death. Their duty wasnothing less than to bring the toppling brow of the jam down uponthem, yet cheat Fate at the last instant, if possible, by leaping toshore before the chaos quite overwhelmed them. 

Suddenly, while the two key-logs were not yet half cut through, thetrained eye of the Boss detected a settling near the top of the jam. His yell of warning tore through the clamour of the waters. At theinstant came a vast grumbling, like underground thunder, not loudapparently, yet dulling all other sounds. The two choppers sprangwildly for shore, as the whole face of the jam seemed to crumble in abreath. 

At this moment a scream of terror was heard--and every heart stopped. Some thirty yards or so upstream, and a dozen, perhaps, from shore, stood Rosy-Lilly, on a log. While none were observing her she hadgleefully clambered out over the solid mass, looking for spruce-gums. But now, when the logs moved, she was so terror-stricken that shecould not even try to get ashore. She just fell down upon her log, andclung to it, screaming. 

A groan of horror went up. The awful grinding of the break-up wasalready under way. To every trained eye it was evident that there wasno human possibility of reaching the child, much less of saving her. To attempt it would be such a madness as to jump into the hopper of amill. The crowd surged to the edge--and sprang back as the nearestlogs bounded up at them. Except Walley Johnson. He leaped wildly outupon the nearest logs, fell headforemost, and was dragged back, fighting furiously, by a dozen inexorable hands. 

Just as Johnson went down, there arose a great bellowing cry of rageand anguish; then Red McWha's big form shot past, leaping far out uponthe logs. Over the sickening upheaval he bounded this way and that, with miraculous sure-footedness. He reached the pitching log whereonRosy-Lilly still clung. He clutched her by the frock. He tucked herunder one arm like a rag-baby. Then he turned, balancing himself foran instant, and came leaping back towards shore. 

A great shout of wonder and joy went up--to be hushed in a second as alog reared high in McWha's path and hurled him backwards. Right downinto the whirl of the dreadful grist he sank. But with a strength thatseemed more than human he recovered himself, climbed forth dripping, and came on again with those great, unerring leaps. This time therewas no shout. The men waited with dry throats. They saw that his ruddyface had gone white as chalk. Within two feet of shore a log towardwhich he had jumped was jerked aside just before he reached it, and, turning in the air as he fell, so as to save the child, he came downacross it on his side with stunning violence. As he fell the Boss andBrackett and two of the others sprang out to meet him. They reachedhim somehow, and covered with bruises which they did not feel, succeeded in dragging him, with his precious burden, up from thegrinding hell to safety. When his feet touched solid ground he sankunconscious, but with his arm so securely gripped about the child thatthey had difficulty in loosing his hold. 

Rosy-Lilly, when they picked her up, was quivering with terror, butunharmed. When she saw McWha stretched out upon the bank motionless, with his eyes shut and his white lips half open, she fought savagelyto be put down. She ran and flung herself down beside her rescuer, caught his big white face between her tiny hands, and fell to kissinghim. Presently McWha opened his eyes, and with a mighty effort roseupon one elbow. A look of embarrassment passed over his face as heglanced at the men standing about him. Then he looked down atRosy-Lilly, grinned with a shamefaced tenderness, and pulled hergently towards him. 

"I'm right--glad--ye--" he began with painful effort. But before hecould complete the sentence his eyes changed, and he fell back with aclicking gasp. 

Jimmy Brackett, heedless of her wailing protests, snatched upRosy-Lilly, and carried her back to the camp. 

Melindy and the Lynxes

The deep, slow-gathering snows of mid-February had buried away everystump in the pasture lot and muffled from sight all the zigzag fencesof the little lonely clearing. The Settlement road was simply smoothedout of existence. The log cabin, with its low roof and one chimney, seemed half sunken in the snow which piled itself over the lower panesof its three tiny windows. 

The log barn, and the lean-to, which served as wood-shed andwagon-house, showed little more than the black edges of theirsnow-covered roofs over the glittering and gently billowing whiteexpanse. 

In the middle of the yard the little well-house, shaped like the topof a "grandfather's clock, " carried a thick, white, crusted cap, andwas encircled with a streaky, irregular mass of ice, which hadgradually accumulated almost up to the brim of the watering-trough. From the cabin door to the door of the barn, and over most of the yardspace, but particularly in front of the sunward-facing lean-to, thesnow was trodden down and littered with chips and straw. 

Here in the mocking sunshine huddled four white sheep, while half adozen hens and a red Shanghai cock scratched in the litter besidethem. The low door of the barn was tightly closed to protect the cowand horse from the bitter cold--which the sheep, with their greatfleeces, did not seem to mind. 

Inside the cabin, where an old-fashioned, high-ovened kitchen stove, heated to the point where a dull red glow began to show itself inspots, kept the close air at summer temperature, a slim girl withfluffy, light hair and pale complexion stood by the table, vigorouslymixing a batter of buckwheat flour for pancakes. Her slender youngarms were streaked with flour, as was her forehead also, from herfrequent efforts to brush her hair out of her eyes by quick upwarddashes of her forearm. 

On the other side of the stove, so close to it that her rugged facewas reddened by the heat, sat a massive old woman in a heavyrocking-chair, knitting. She knitted impetuously, impatiently, as ifresenting the employment of her vigorous old fingers upon so mild atask. 

Through a clear space in one pane of the window beside her--a spacewhere the heat within had triumphed over the frost without--she castrestless, keen eyes out across the yard to the place where the road, the one link between the cabin and the settlement, lay smothered fromsight. 

"It's one week to-day, Melindy, " she announced in a voice of accusingindignation, "since there's been a team got through; and it's going tobe another before they'll get the road broke out!"

"Like as not, Granny, " responded the girl, beating the batter with animpatience that belied the cheerfulness of her tone. "But what does itmatter, anyway? We're all right here for a month!"

As she spoke, however, her eyes, too, gazed out wistfully over theburied road. She was wearying for the sound of bells and for a driveinto the Settlement. 

Meanwhile, from the edge of the woods on the other side of the cabin, hidden from the keen eyes within by the roofs of the barn and theshed, came two great, grey, catlike beasts, creeping belly to thesnow. 

Their broad, soft-padded paws were like snow shoes, bearing them up onthe wind-packed surface. Their tufted ears stood straight up, alertfor any unwonted sound. Their absurd stub tails, not four inches long, and looking as if they had been bitten off, twitched with eagerness. Their big round eyes, of a pale greenish yellow, and with the pupilsnarrowed to upright, threadlike black slits by the blinding glare, glanced warily from side to side with every step they took. 

The lynxes had the keenest dislike to crossing the open pasture inthis broad daylight, but they had been driven by hunger to the pointwhere the customs and cautions of their wary kind are recklesslythrown aside. Hunger had driven the pair to hunt together, in the hopeof together pulling down game too powerful for one to master alone. Hunger had overcome their savage aversion to the neighbourhood of man, and brought them out in the dark of night to prowl about the barn andsniff longingly the warm smell of the sheep, steaming through thecracks of the clumsy door. 

Watching from under the snow-draped branches, they had observed thatonly in the daytime were the sheep let out from their safe shelterbehind the clumsy door. And now, forgetting everything but the fiercepangs that urged them, the two savage beasts came straight down therolling slope of the pasture towards the barn. 

A few minutes later there came from the yard a wild screeching andcackling of the hens, followed by a trampling rush and agonizedbleating. The old woman half rose from her chair, but sank backinstantly, her face creased with a spasm of pain, for she was crippledby rheumatism. The girl dropped her big wooden spoon on the floor andrushed to the window that looked out upon the yard. Her pale face wentpaler with horror, then flushed with wrath and pity; and a fiercelight flashed into her wide blue eyes. 

"It's lynxes!" she cried, snatching up the wooden spoon and dartingfor the door. "And they've got one of the sheep! Oh, oh, they'retearing it!"

"Melindy!" shouted the old woman, in a voice of strident command--sucha compelling voice that the girl stopped short in spite of herself. "Drop that fool spoon and get the gun!"

The girl dropped the spoon as if it had burned her fingers, and lookedirresolutely at the big duck-gun hanging on the log wall. "I can'tfire it!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "I'd be scared to death ofit!"

But even as the words left her mouth, there came another outburst oftrampling and frantic clamour from the yard. She snatched up thelittle, long-handled axe which leaned beside the door-post, threw thedoor wide open, and with a pitying cry of "Oh! oh!" flew forth to therescue of her beloved sheep. 

"Did you ever see the like of that?" muttered the old woman, her harshface working with excitement and high approbation. "Scairt to death ofa gun--and goes out to fight lynxes all by herself!"

And with painful effort she began hitching herself and the big chairacross the floor, seeking a position where she could both reach thegun and command a view through the wide-open door. 

When Melindy, her heart aflame with pity for the helpless ewes, rushedout into the yard, she saw one woolly victim down, kicking silently onthe bloodstained snow, while a big lynx, crouched upon its body, turned upon her a pair of pale eyes that blazed with fury at theinterruption to his feast. 

The other sheep were foundered helplessly in the deep snow back of thewell--except one. This one, which had evidently been headed off fromthe flock, and driven round to the near side of the watering-troughbefore its savage enemy overtook it, was not half a dozen paces fromthe cabin door. It was just stumbling forward upon its nose, with adespairing _baa-a-a!_ while the second and larger lynx, clinging uponits back, clutched hungrily for its throat through the thick, protecting wool. 

On ordinary occasions the girl was as timid as her small, pale faceand gentle blue eyes made her look. At this crisis, however, a sort offury of compassion swept all fear from her heart. 

Like the swoop of some strange bird, her skirts streaming behind her, she flung herself upon the great cat, and aimed a lightning blow athis head with her axe. In her frail grip the axe turned, so that thebrute caught the flat of it instead of the edge. 

Half-stunned, he lost his hold and fell with a startled _pfiff_ on thesnow, while his victim, bleeding, but not mortally hurt, ran bleatingtowards the rest of the flock, where they floundered, stupidlyhelpless, in three feet of soft snow. 

The next moment the baffled lynx recovered himself, and faced the girlwith so menacing a snarl that she hesitated to follow up heradvantage, but paused, holding the axe in readiness to repel attack. 

For a few seconds they faced each other so, the girl and the beast. Then the pale, beast eyes shifted under the steady, dominating gaze ofthe blue human ones; and at last, with a spitting growl, which endedin a hoarse screech of rage, the big cat bounded aside and whiskedbehind the well-house. The next moment it was again among the sheep, where they huddled incapable of a struggle. 

Again the girl sprang to the rescue; and now, because of that oneflash of fear which had deprived her of her first advantage, heravenging wrath was fiercer and more resolute than before. This time, as she darted upon the enemy, she gave an involuntary cry of rage, piercing and unnatural. At this unexpected sound the lynx, desperatethough he was with rage and hunger, lost his courage. 

Seeing the girl towering almost over him, he doubled back with amighty leap, just avoiding the vengeful sweep of the axe, and dartedback to the front of the shed, where his mate was now ravenouslyfeasting on her easy prey. 

Although the first victim was now past all suffering, being no more amotive for heroism than so much mutton, the girl's blood was too hotwith triumphant indignation to let her think of such an unimportantpoint as that. She was victor. She had outfaced and routed the foe. She had saved one victim. She would avenge the other. 

With the high audacity of those who have overcome fear, she now, witha hysterical cry of menace, ran at the two lynxes, to drive them fromtheir prey. 

The situation which she now confronted, however, was altogetherchanged from what had gone before. The two lynxes were together, strong in that alliance which they had formed for purpose of battle. They were fairly mad with famine--or, indeed, they would never haveventured on the perilous domains of man. 

Moreover, they were in possession of what they held to be their lawfulprey--a position in defence of which all the hunting tribes of thewild will fight against almost any odds. As they saw their strangeadversary approaching, the hair stood straight up along their backs, their little tails puffed to bottle brushes, their ears lay flat backon their heads, and they screeched defiance in harsh unison. Then, asif by one impulse, they turned from their prey and crept stealthilytowards her. 

They did not like that steady light in her blue eyes, but they felt bysome instinct that she was young and unstable of nerve. At thisunexpected move on their part the girl stopped short, suddenlyundecided whether to fight or flee. 

At once the lynxes stopped also, and crouched flat, tensely watching, their claws dug deep into the hard-trodden snow so as to give thempurchase for an instant, powerful spring in any direction. 

In the meantime, however, the crippled old woman within doors hadnot been idle. Great of spirit, and still mighty of sinew for all herailment, she had managed to work the weight of the heavy chair and herown solid bulk all the way across the cabin floor. Being straightin front of the door, she had seen almost all that happened; and herbrave old berserk heart was bursting with pride in the courage ofthis frail child, whom she had hitherto regarded with a kind ofaffectionate scorn. 

The Griffises of Nackawick and Little River had always been sizablemen, men of sinew and bulk, and women tall and ruddy; and this small, blue-eyed girl had seemed to her, in a way, to wrong the stock. Butshe was quick to understand that the stature of the spirit is whatcounts most of all. 

Now, in this moment of breathless suspense, when she saw Melindy andthe two great beasts thus holding each other eye to eye in a life anddeath struggle of wills, her heart was convulsed with a wild fear. Inthe spasm of it she succeeded in lifting herself almost erect, and sogained possession of the big duck-gun, which her son Jake, now away inthe lumber woods, always kept loaded and ready for use. As she cockedit and settled back into her chair, she called in a piercing voice--

"Don't stir one step, Melindy! I'm going to shoot!"

The girl never stirred a muscle, although she turned pale with terrorof the loud noise which was about to shock her ears. The two lynxes, however, turned their heads, and fixed the pale glare of their eyesupon the figure seated in the doorway. 

The next moment came a spurt of red flame, a belch of smoke, atremendous report that seemed as if it must have shattered every paneof glass in the cabin windows. The bigger of the two lynxes turnedstraight over backward and lay without a quiver, smashed by the heavycharge of buckshot with which Jake had loaded the gun. The other, grazed by a scattering pellet, sprang into the air with a screech, then turned and ran for her life across the snow, stretching out likea terrified cat. 

With a proud smile the old woman stood the smoking gun against thewall and straightened her cap. For perhaps half a minute Melindy stoodrigid, staring at the dead lynx. Then, dropping her axe, she fled tothe cabin, flung herself down with her face in her grandmother's lap, and broke into a storm of sobs. 

The old woman gazed down upon her with some surprise, and stroked thefair, fluffy head lovingly as she murmured: "There, there! There'snothing to take on about! Though you be such a little mite of atowhead, you've got the grit, you've got the grit, Melindy Griffis. It's proud of you I am, and it's proud your father'll be when I tellhim about it. "

Then, as the girl's weeping continued, and her slender shoulderscontinued to twist with her sobs, the rugged old face that bent aboveher grew tenderly solicitous. 

"There, there!" she murmured again. "'Tain't good for you to take onso, deary. Hadn't you better finish beating up the pancakes before thebatter spiles?"

Thus potently adjured, although she knew as well as her grandmotherthat there was no immediate danger of the batter spoiling, the girlgot up, dashed the back of her hand across her eyes with a littlelaugh, closed the door, got out another spoon from the table drawer, and cheerfully resumed her interrupted task of mixing pancakes. Andthe sheep, having slowly extricated themselves from the deep snowbehind the well-house, huddled together, with heads down, in themiddle of the yard, fearfully eyeing the limp body which lay beforethe shed. 

Mrs. Gammit's Pig

"I've come to borry yer gun!" said Mrs. Gammit, appearing suddenly, aself-reliant figure, at the open door of the barn where Joe Barron satmending his harness. She wore a short cotton homespun petticoat and adingy waist; while a limp pink cotton sunbonnet, pushed far back fromher perspiring forehead, released unmanageable tufts of her stiff, iron-grey hair. 

"What be _you_ awantin' of a gun, Mrs. Gammit?" inquired thebackwoodsman, looking up without surprise. He had not seen Mrs. Gammit, to be sure, for three months; but he had known all the timethat she was there, on the other side of the ridge, one of his nearestneighbours, and not more than seven or eight miles away as the crowflies. 

"It's the bears!" she explained. "They do be gittin' jest a leetlemite _too_ sassy, down to my place. There ain't no livin' with 'em. They come rootin' round in the garden, nights. An' they've et up thewhite top-knot hen, with the whole settin' of eggs, that was to hev'hatched out next Monday. An' they've took the duck. An' last nightthey come after the pig. "

"They didn't git _him_, did they?" inquired Joe Barron sympathetically. 

"No, siree!" responded Mrs. Gammit with decision. "An' they ain'tagoin' to! They scairt him though, snuffin' round outside the pen, trying to find the way in. --I've hearn tell they was powerful fond ofpork. --He set up sich a squealin' it woke me; an' I yelled at 'em outof the winder. I seen one big black chap lopin' off behind the barn. Ihadn't nothin' but the broom fer a weapon, so he got away from me. I'll git him to-night, though, I reckon, if I kin have the loan ofyour gun. "

"Sartain, " assented the woodsman, laying down the breech-strap he wasmending. "Did you ever fire a gun?" he inquired suddenly, as he wasstarting across the yard to fetch the weapon from his cabin. 

"I can't rightly say I hev', " answered Mrs. Gammit, with a slight noteof scorn in her voice. "But from the kind of men I've seen as _kin_, Ireckon it ain't no great trick to larn. "

Joe Barron laughed, and went for the weapon. He had plenty ofconfidence in his visitor's ability to look out for herself, and feltreasonably sure that the bears would be sorry for having presumed uponher unprotected state. When he returned with the gun--an old, muzzle-loading duck-gun, with a huge bore--she accepted it withcareless ease and held it as if it were a broom. But when he offeredher the powder-horn and a little bag of buckshot, she hesitated. 

"What be _them_ for?" she inquired. 

Joe Barren looked serious. 

"Mrs. Gammit, " said he, "I know you kin do most anything a man kindo--an' do it better, maybe! A woman like you don't have to apologizefor nothin'. But you was not _brung up_ in the woods, an' you can'texpect to know all about a gun jest by _heftin'_ it. Folks that's beenbrung up in town, like you, have to be _told_ how to handle a gun. This here gun ain't _loaded_. And them 'ere's the powder an' buckshotto load her with. An' here's caps, " he added, producing a small, browntin box of percussion caps from his trousers pocket. 

Mrs. Gammit felt abashed at her ignorance, but gratified, at the sametime, by the reproach of metropolitanism. This implication oftown-bred incompetency was most flattering to the seven frame housesand one corner store of Burd Settlement, whence she hailed. 

"I reckon you'd better show me how to load the thing, Mr. Barron, " sheagreed quite humbly. And her keen grey eyes took in every detail, asthe woodsman rammed home the powder hard, wadded down the charge ofbuckshot lightly, and pointed out where she must put the percussioncap when she should be ready to call upon the weapon for itsservices. 

"Then, " said he in conclusion, as he lifted the gun to his shoulderand squinted along the barrel, "of course you know all the rest. Jestshet one eye, an' git the bead on him fair, an' let him have it--aleetle back of the fore-shoulder, fer choice! An' _that_ b'ar ain'tagoin' to worry about no more pork, nor garden sass. An' recollect, Mrs. Gammit, at this time of year, when he's fat on blueberries, he'llmake right prime pork himself, ef he ain't _too_ old and rank. "

As Mrs. Gammit strode homeward through the hot, silent woods with thegun--still carrying it as if it were a broom--she had no misgivings asto her fitness to confront and master the most redoubtable of all theforest kindreds. She believed in herself--and not only her native BurdSettlement, but the backwoods generally held that she had cause to. Abusy woman always, she had somehow never found time to indulge in theluxury of a husband; but the honorary title of "Mrs. " had early beenconferred upon her, in recognition of her abundant and confidentpersonality and her all-round capacity for taking care of herself. Tohave called her "Miss" would have been an insult to the fitness ofthings. When, at the age of sixty, she inherited from an only, andstrictly bachelor, brother a little farm in the heart of thewilderness, some forty miles in from the Settlement, no one doubtedher ability to fill the rôle of backwoodsman and pioneer. It wasvaguely felt that if the backwoods and Mrs. Gammit should fail toagree on any important point, so much the worse for the backwoods. 

And indeed, for nearly two years and a half everything had goneswimmingly. The solitude had never troubled Mrs. Gammit, to whom herown company was always congenial--and, as she felt, the only companythat one could depend upon. Then she had her two young steers, wellbroken to the yoke; the spotted cow, with one horn turned up and theother down; the grey and yellow cat, with whom she lived on terms ofmutual tolerance; a turkey-cock and two turkey hens, of whom sheexpected much; an assortment of fowls, brown, black, white, red, andspeckled; one fat duck, which had so far been nothing but adisappointment to her; and the white pig, which was her pride. Nowonder she was never lonely, with all these good acquaintances to talkto. Moreover, the forces of the wild, seeming to recognize that shewas a woman who would have her way, had from the first easily deferredto her. The capricious and incomprehensible early frosts of the forestregion had spared her precious garden patch; cut-worm and caterpillarhad gone by the other way; the pip had overlooked her early chickens;and as for the customary onslaughts of wildcat, weasel, fox, andskunk, she had met them all with such triumphant success that shebegan to mistake her mere good luck for the quintessence of woodcraft. In fact, nothing had happened to challenge her infallibility, nothingwhatever, until she found that the bears were beginning to concernthemselves about her. 

To be sure, there was only one bear mixed up in the matter; but hechanced to be so diligent, interested, and resourceful, that it was nowonder he had got himself multiplied many times over in Mrs. Gammit'sindignant imagination. When she told Joe Barron "that the bears wasgittin' so sassy there wasn't no livin' with 'em, " she had littlenotion that what she referred to was just one, solitary, rusty, somewhat moth-eaten animal, crafty with experience and years. Thisbear, as it chanced, had had advantages in the way of education notoften shared by his fellow-roamers of the wilderness. He had passedseveral seasons in captivity in one of the settlements far south ofthe Quah-Davic Valley. Afterwards, he had served an unpleasant term ina flea-ridden travelling menagerie, from which a railway smash-up hadgiven him release at the moderate cost of the loss of one eye. Duringhis captivity he had acquired a profound respect for men, as creatureswho had a tendency to beat him over the nose and hurt him terribly ifhe failed to do as they wished, and who held in eye and voice theuncomprehended but irresistible authority of fate. For women, however, he had learned to entertain a casual scorn. They screamedwhen he growled, and ran away if he stretched out a paw at them. When, therefore, he had found himself once more in the vast responsiblefreedom of the forest, and reviving with some difficulty thehalf-forgotten art of shifting for himself, he had given a wide berthto the hunters' shacks and the cabins of lumbermen and pioneers. Butwhen, on the other hand, he had come upon Mrs. Gammit's clearing, andrealized, after long and cautious investigations, that its presidinggenius was nothing more formidable than one of those petticoatedcreatures who trembled at his growl, he had licked his chops withpleasant anticipation. Here, at last, was his opportunity, --theflesh-pots of servitude, with freedom. 

Nevertheless, the old bear was prudent. He would not presume tooquickly, or too far, upon the harmlessness of a petticoat, and--as hehad observed from a dense blackberry thicket on the other side of thefence, while she was at work hoeing her potatoes--there was an airabout Mrs. Gammit which seemed to give her petticoats the lie. He hadwatched her for some time before he could quite satisfy himself thatshe was a mere woman. Then he had tried some nocturnal experiments onthe garden, sampling the young squashes which were Mrs. Gammit'speculiar pride, and finding them so good that he had thought surelysomething would happen. Nothing did happen, however, because Mrs. Gammit slept heavily; and her indignation in the morning he had notbeen privileged to view. 

After this he had grown bolder--though always under cover of night. Hehad sampled everything in the garden--the abundance of his foot-printsconvincing Mrs. Gammit that there was also an abundance of bears. Fromthe garden, at length, he had ventured to the yard and the barn. In ahalf-barrel, in a corner of the shed, he had stumbled upon theill-fated white top-knot hen, faithfully brooding her eggs. Undeterredby her heroic scolding, and by the trifling annoyance of her featherssticking in his teeth, he had made a very pleasant meal of her. Andstill he had heard nothing from Mrs. Gammit, who, for all herindignation, could not depart from her custom of sound sleeping. If hehad taken the trouble to return in the morning, he might haveperceived that the good lady was far from pleased, and that there waslikely to be something doing before long if he continued to take suchliberties with her. And then, as we have seen, he had found theduck--but _her_ loss Mrs. Gammit had taken calmly enough, declaring itto be nothing more than a good riddance to bad rubbish. 

It was not until the return of moonlight nights that the bear haddiscovered the white pig, and thus come face to face, at last, with athoroughly aroused Mrs. Gammit. True to his kind, he did like pork;but absorbed in the easier adventures of the garden and the shed, hehad not at first noted the rich possibilities of the pig-pen, whichoccupied one corner of the barn, under the loft. Suspicious of traps, he would not, at first, enter the narrow opening of the stable door, the wide main doors being shut. He had preferred rather to sniffaround outside at the corner of the barn, under the ragged birch-treein which the big turkey-cock had his perch. The wakeful and wary oldbird, peering down upon him with suspicion, had uttered a sharp _qwit, qwit_, by way of warning to whom it might concern; while the whitepig, puzzled and worried, had sat up in the dark interior of the penand stared out at him in silence through the cracks between theboards. At last, growing impatient, the bear had caught the edge of aboard with his claws, and tried to tear it off. Nothing had comeexcept some big splinters; but the effort, and the terrifying soundthat accompanied it, had proved too much for the self-control of thewhite pig. An ear-splitting succession of squeals had issued from thedark interior of the pen, and the bear had backed off in amazement. 

Before he could recover himself and renew his assault, the window ofthe cabin had gone up with a skittering slam. The white pig's appealfor help had penetrated Mrs. Gammit's solid slumbers, and she hadunderstood the situation. "Scat! you brute!" she had yelledfrantically, thrusting head and shoulders so far out through thewindow that she almost lost her balance in the effort to shake bothfists at once. 

The bear, not understanding the terms of her invective, had sat up onhis haunches and turned his one eye mildly upon the bristling tufts ofgrey hair which formed a sort of halo around Mrs. Gammit's virginalnightcap. Then Mrs. Gammit, realizing that the time for action wascome, had rushed downstairs to the kitchen, seized the first weaponshe could lay hands upon--which chanced to be the broom--flung openthe kitchen door, and dashed across the yard, screaming withindignation. 

It was certainly an unusual figure that she made in the radiantmoonlight, her sturdy, naked legs revolving energetically beneath hersparse nightgown, and the broom whirling vehemently around her head. For a moment the bear had contemplated her with wonder. Then hisnerves had failed him. Doubtless, this was a woman--but not quite likethe ordinary kind. It was better, perhaps, to be careful. With areluctant grunt he had turned and fled, indifferent to his dignity. And he had thought best not to stop until he found himself quitebeyond the range of Mrs. Gammit's disconcerting accents, which rangharsh triumph across the solemn, silvered stillness of the forest. 

It was, of course, this imminent peril to the pig which had rousedMrs. Gammit to action and sent her on that long tramp over theridges to borrow Joe Barron's gun. In spite of her easy victory inthis particular instance, she had appreciated the inches of thatbear, and realized that in case of any further unpleasantnesses withhim a broom might not prove to be the most efficient of weapons. With the gun, however, and her distinct remembrance of Joe Barron'sdirections for its use, she felt equal to the routing of any numberof bears--provided, of course, they would not all come on together. As the idea flashed across her mind that there might be a pack ofbears to face, she felt uneasy for a second, and even thought ofbringing the pig into the house for the night, and conducting hercampaign from the bedroom window. Then she remembered she had neverheard of bears hunting in packs, and her little apprehension vanished. In fact, she now grew quite eager for night to bring the fray. 

It was a favourite saw of Mrs. Gammit's that "a watched pot takes longto bile"; and her experience that night exemplified it. With thekitchen door ajar, she sat a little back from the window. Herselfhidden, she had a clear view across the bright yard. Very slowly theround moon climbed the pallid summer sky, changing the patterns of theshadows as she rose. But the bear came not. Mrs. Gammit began tothink, even to fear, that her impetuosity of the night before hadfrightened him away. At last her reveries grew confused. She sat upvery straight, and blinked very hard, to make sure that she was quiteawake. Just as she had got herself most perfectly reassured on thispoint, her head sank gently forward upon the window-sill, and sheslept deeply, with her cheek against the cold, brown barrel of thegun. 

Yes, the bear had hesitated long that night. And he came late. Themoon had swung past her zenith, and was pointing her black shadowsacross the yard in quite another direction when he came. By this timehe had recovered confidence and made up his mind that Mrs. Gammit_was_ only a woman. After sniffing once more at the cracks to assurehimself that the pig was still there, he went around to the stabledoor and crept cautiously in. 

As his clumsy black shape appeared in the bright opening, the pig sawit. It filled his heart with a quite justifiable horror, which foundinstant poignant expression. Within those four walls the noise was sostartlingly loud that, in spite of himself, the bear drew back--notintending to retreat, indeed, but only to consider. As it chanced, however, seeing out of only one eye, he backed upon the handle of ahay rake which was leaning against the wall. The rake very properlyresented this. It fell upon him and clutched at his fur like a livething. Startled quite out of his self-possession, he retreatedhurriedly into the moonlight, for further consideration of theseunexpected phenomena. And as he did so, across the yard the kitchendoor was flung open, and Mrs. Gammit, with the gun, rushed forth. 

The bear had intended to retire behind the barn for a few moments, thebetter to weigh the situation. But at the sight of Mrs. Gammit'sfluttering petticoat he began to feel annoyed. It seemed to him thathe was being thwarted unnecessarily. At the corner of the barn, justunder the jutting limb of the birch-tree, he stopped, turned, and satup on his haunches with a growl. The old turkey-cock, stretching hislean neck, glared down upon him with a terse _qwit! qwit!_ ofdisapproval. 

When the bear stopped, in that resolute and threatening attitude, Mrs. Gammit instinctively stopped too. Not, as she would have explained hadthere been any one to explain to, that she was "one mite scairt, " butthat she wanted to try Joe Barren's gun. Raising the gun to hershoulder, she shut one eye, looked carefully at the point of thebarrel with the other, and pulled the trigger. Nothing whateverhappened. Lowering the weapon from her shoulder she eyed it severely, and perceived that she had forgotten to cock it. At this a shade ofembarrassment passed over her face, and she glanced sharply at thebear to see if he had noticed her mistake. Apparently, he had not. Hewas still sitting there, regarding her unpleasantly with his one smalleye. 

"Ye needn't think ye're agoin to git off, jest because I made aleetle mistake like that!" muttered Mrs. Gammit, shutting her teethwith a snap, and cocking the gun as she raised it once more to hershoulder. 

Now, as it chanced, Joe Barren had neglected to tell her which eye toshut, so, not unnaturally, Mrs. Gammit shut the one nearest to thegun--nearest to the cap which was about to go off. She also neglectedto consider the hind-sight. It was enough for her that the muzzle ofthe gun seemed to cover the bear. Under these conditions she got avery good line on her target, but her elevation was somewhat at fault. She pulled the trigger. 

This time it was all right. There was a terrific, roaring explosion, and she staggered backwards under the savage kick of the recoil. Recovering herself instantly, and proud of the great noise she hadmade, she peered through the smoke, expecting to see the bear toppleover upon his nose, extinguished. Instead of that, however, sheobserved a convulsive flopping of wings in the birch-tree above thebear's head. Then, with one reproachful "gobble" which rang loud inMrs. Gammit's ears, the old turkey-cock fell heavily to the ground. Hewould have fallen straight upon the bear, but that the latter, hisnerves completely upset by so much disturbance, was making off at finespeed through the bushes. 

The elation on Mrs. Gammit's face gave way to consternation. Then shereddened to the ears with wrath, dashed the offending gun to theground, and stamped on it. She had done her part, that she knew, butthe wretched weapon had played her false. Well, she had never thoughtmuch of guns, anyway. Henceforth she would depend on herself. 

The unfortunate turkey-cock now lay quite still. Mrs. Gammit crossedthe yard and bent over the sprawling body in deep regret. She had hada certain affection for the noisy and self-sufficient old bird, whohad been "company" for her as he strutted "gobbling" about the yardwith stiff-trailed wings while his hens were away brooding theirchicks. "Too bad!" she muttered over him, by way of requiem; "too badye had to go an' git in the road o' that blame gun!" Then, suddenlybethinking herself that a fowl was more easily plucked while yet warm, she carried the limp corpse, head downward, across the yard, fetched abasket from the kitchen, sat down on the doorstep in the moonlight, and began sadly stripping the victim of his feathers. He was a fine, heavy bird. As she surveyed his ample proportions Mrs. Gammit murmuredthoughtfully: "I reckon as how I'm goin' to feel kinder sick o' turkeyafore I git this all et up!"

On the following day Mrs. Gammit carefully polished the gun with aduster, removing all trace of the indignities she had put upon it, andstood it away behind the dresser. She had resolved to conduct therest of the campaign against the bears in her own way and with her ownweapons. The way and the weapons she now proceeded to think out withutmost care. 

Being a true woman and a true housewife, it was perhaps inevitablethat she should think first, and, after due consideration given toeverything else, including pitchforks and cayenne pepper, that sheshould think last and finally, of the unlimited potentialities ofboiling water. To have it actually boiling, at the critical moment, would of course be impracticable; but with a grim smile she concludedthat she could manage to have it hot enough for her purpose. She hadobserved that this bear which was after the pig had learned the wayinto the pen. She felt sure that, having found from experience thatloud noises did not produce bodily injuries, he would again comeseeking the pig, and this time with more confidence than ever. 

On this point, thanks to her ignorance of bears in general, she wasright. Most bears would have been discouraged. But this bear inparticular had learned that when men started out to be disagreeable tobears, they succeeded only too well. He had realized clearly that Mrs. Gammit had intended to be disagreeable to him. There was no mistakingher intentions. But she had not succeeded. Ergo, she was not, as hehad almost feared, a man, but really and truly a woman. He came backthe next night fully determined that no squeals, or brooms, or flyingpetticoats, or explosions, should divert him from his purpose and hispork. He came early; but not, as it chanced, too early for Mrs. Gammit, who seemed somehow to have divined his plans and so taken timeby the forelock. 

The pen of the white pig, as we have already noted, was in a corner ofthe barn, and under one end of the loft. Immediately above the pointwhere the bear would have to climb over, in order to get into the pen, Mrs. Gammit removed several of the loose boards which formed theflooring of the loft. Beside this opening, at an early hour, she hadensconced herself in secure ambuscade, with three pails of the hottestpossible hot water close beside her. The pails were well swathed inblankets, quilts, and hay, to keep up the temperature of theircontents. And she had also a pitchfork "layin' handy, " wherewith topush the enemy down in case he should resent her attack and climb upto expostulate. 

Mrs. Gammit had not time to grow sleepy, or even impatient, so earlydid the bear arrive. The white pig, disturbed and puzzled by theunwonted goings-on above his head, had refused to go to bed. He waswandering restlessly up and down the pen, when, through the cracks, hesaw an awful black shadow darken the stable door. He lost not asecond, but lifted his voice at once in one of those ear-piercingappeals which had now twice proved themselves so effective. 

The bear paused but for a moment, to cast his solitary eye over thesituation. Mrs. Gammit fairly held her breath. Then, almost before shecould realize what he was doing, he was straight beneath her, andclambering into the pen. The white pig's squeals redoubled, electrifying her to action. She snatched a steaming bucket from itswrappings, and dashed it down upon the vaguely heaving form below. 

On the instant there arose a strange, confused, terrific uproar, fromwhich the squeals of the white pig stood out thin and pathetic. Without waiting to see what she had accomplished, Mrs. Gammit snatchedup the second bucket, and leaned forward to deliver a second stroke. Through a cloud of steam she saw the bear reaching wildly for the wallof the pen, clawing frantically in his eagerness to climb over and getaway. She had given him a lesson, that was clear; but she was resolvedto give him a good one while she was about it. Swinging far forward, she launched her terrible missile straight upon his huge hind-quartersjust as they went over the wall. But at the same moment she lost herbalance. With an indignant yell she plunged downward into the pen. 

It was like Mrs. Gammit, however, that even in this dark moment herluck should serve her. She landed squarely on the back of the pig. This broke her fall, and, strangely enough, did not break the pig. Thelatter, quite frenzied by the accumulation of horrors heaped upon him, bounced frantically from beneath her indiscreet petticoats, and dashedhimself from one side of the pen to the other with a violence thatthreatened to wreck both pig and pen. 

Somewhat breathless, but proudly conscious that she had won a splendidvictory, Mrs. Gammit picked herself up and shook herself together. Thebear had vanished. She eyed with amazement the continued gyrations ofthe pig. 

"Poor dear!" she muttered presently, "some o' the bilin' water must'ave slopped on to him! Oh, well, I reckon he'll git over it bime-by. Anyhow, it's a sight better'n being all clawed an' et up by a bear, Ireckon!"

Mrs. Gammit now felt satisfied that this particular bear would troubleher no more, and she had high hopes that his experience with hot waterwould serve as a lesson to all the other bears with whom she imaginedherself involved. The sequel fulfilled her utmost expectations. Thebear, smarting from his scalds and with all his preconceived ideasabout women overthrown, betook himself in haste to another and remoterhunting-ground. A good deal of his hair came off, in patches, and fora long time he had a rather poor opinion of himself. 

When, for over a week, there had been no more raids upon barn orchicken-roost, and no more bear-tracks about the garden, Mrs. Gammitknew that her victory had been final, and she felt so elated that shewas even able to enjoy her continuing diet of cold turkey. Then, onepleasant morning when a fresh, sweet-smelling wind made tumult in theforest, she took the gun home to Joe Barren. 

"What luck did ye hev, Mrs. Gammit?" inquired the woodsman withinterest. 

"I settled them bears, Mr. Barren!" she replied. "But it wasn't thegun as done it. It was bilin' water. I've found ye kin always dependon bilin' water!"

"I hope the gun acted right by you, however!" said the woodsman. 

Mrs. Gammit's voice took on a tone of reserve. 

"Well, Mr. Barren, I thank ye kindly for the loan of the weepon. Ye_meant_ right. But it's on my mind to warn ye. Don't ye go for totrust that gun, or ye'll live to regret it. _It don't hit what it'saimed at. _"

The Blackwater Pot

The lesson of fear was one which Henderson learned late. He learned itwell, however, when the time came. And it was Blackwater Pot thattaught him. 

Sluggishly, reluctantly, impotently, the spruce logs followed oneanother round and round the circuit of the great stone pot. Thecircling water within the pot was smooth and deep and black, butstreaked with foam. At one side a gash in the rocky rim opened uponthe sluicing current of the river, which rushed on, quivering andseething, to plunge with a roar into the terrific cauldron of thefalls. Out of that thunderous cauldron, filled with huge tramplingsand the shriek of tortured torrents, rose a white curtain of spray, which every now and then swayed upward and drenched the green bircheswhich grew about the rim of the pot. For the break in the rim, whichcaught at the passing current and sucked it into the slow swirls ofBlackwater Pot, was not a dozen feet from the lip of the falls. 

Henderson sat at the foot of a ragged white birch which leaned fromthe upper rim of the pot. He held his pipe unlighted, while he watchedthe logs with a half-fascinated stare. Outside, in the river, he sawthem in a clumsy panic haste, wallowing down the white rapids to theirawful plunge. When a log came close along shore its fate hung for asecond or two in doubt. It might shoot straight on, over the lip, intothe wavering curtain of spray and vanish into the horror of thecauldron. Or, at the last moment, the eddy might reach out stealthilyand drag it into the sullen wheeling procession within the pot. Allthat it gained here, however, was a terrible kind of respite, abreathing-space of agonized suspense. As it circled around, and cameagain to the opening by which it had entered, it might continue onanother eventless revolution, or it might, according to the whim ofthe eddy, be cast forth once more, irretrievably, into the clutch ofthe awful sluice. Sometimes two logs, after a pause in what seemedlike a secret death-struggle, would crowd each other out and go overthe falls together. And sometimes, on the other hand, all would makethe circuit safely again and again. But always, at the cleft in therim of the pot, there was the moment of suspense, the shuddering, terrible panic. 

It was this recurring moment that seemed to fasten itself balefullyupon Henderson's imagination, so that he forgot to smoke. He hadlooked into the Blackwater before, but never when there were any logsin the pot. Moreover, on this particular morning, he was overwroughtwith weariness. For a little short of three days he had been at theutmost tension of body, brain, and nerve, in hot but wary pursuit of adesperado whom it was his duty, as deputy-sheriff of his county, tocapture and bring to justice. 

This outlaw, a French half-breed, known through the length and breadthof the wild backwoods county as "Red Pichot, " was the last butone--and accounted the most dangerous--of a band which Henderson hadundertaken to break up. Henderson had been deputy for two years, andowed his appointment primarily to his pre-eminent fitness for thisvery task. Unacquainted with fear, he was at the same time unrivalledthrough the backwoods counties for his subtle woodcraft, his sleeplessendurance, and his cunning. 

It was two years now since he had set his hand to the business. One ofthe gang had been hanged. Two were in the penitentiary, on lifesentence. Henderson had justified his appointment to every one excepthimself. But while Pichot and his gross-witted tool, "Bug" Mitchell, went unhanged, he felt himself on probation, if not shamed. Mitchellhe despised. But Pichot, the brains of the gang, he honoured with apersonal hatred that held a streak of rivalry. For Pichot, though abeast for cruelty and treachery, and with the murder of a woman onhis black record--which placed him, according to Henderson's ideas, ina different category from a mere killer of men--was at the same time aborn leader and of a courage none could question. Some chance dash ofScotch Highland blood in his mixed veins had set a mop of hot red hairabove his black, implacable eyes and cruel, dark face. It had touchedhis villainies, too, with an imagination which made them the moreatrocious. And Henderson's hate for him as a man was mixed withrespect for the adversary worthy of his powers. 

Reaching the falls, Henderson had been forced to acknowledge that, once again, Pichot had outwitted him on the trail. Satisfied that hisquarry was by this time far out of reach among the tangled ravines onthe other side of Two Mountains, he dismissed the two tired river-menwho constituted his posse, bidding them go on down the river toGreensville and wait for him. It was his plan to hunt alone for acouple of days in the hope of catching his adversary off guard. He hadan ally, unsuspected and invaluable, in a long-legged, half-wildyoungster of a girl, who lived alone with her father in a clearingabout a mile below the falls, and regarded Henderson with a childlikehero-worship. This shy little savage, whom all the Settlement knew as"Baisley's Sis, " had an intuitive knowledge of the wilderness and thetrails which rivalled even Henderson's accomplished woodcraft; and theindomitable deputy "set great store, " as he would have put it, by herfriendship. He would go down presently to the clearing and ask somequestions of the child. But first he wanted to do a bit of thinking. To think the better, the better to collect his tired and scatteredwits, he had stood his Winchester carefully upright between two sprucesaplings, filled his pipe, lighted it with relish, and seated himselfunder the old birch where he could look straight down upon thewheeling logs in Blackwater Pot. 

It was while he was looking down into the terrible eddy that hisefforts to think failed him and his pipe went out, and his interest inthe fortunes of the captive logs gradually took the hold of anightmare upon his overwrought imagination. One after one he wouldmark, snatched in by the capricious eddy and held back a little whilefrom its doom. One after one he would see crowded out again, byinexplicable whim, and hurled on into the raging horror of the falls. He fell to personifying this captive log or that, endowing it withsentience, and imagining its emotions each time it circled shudderingpast the cleft in the rim, once more precariously reprieved. 

At last, either because he was more deeply exhausted than he knew, orbecause he had fairly dropped asleep with his eyes open and hisfantastic imaginings had slipped into a veritable dream, he felthimself suddenly become identified with one of the logs. It was onewhich was just drawing around to the fateful cleft. Would it win pastonce more? No; it was too far out! It felt the grasp of the outwardsuction, soft and insidious at first, then resistless as the fallingof a mountain. With straining nerves and pounding heart Hendersonstrove to hold it back by sheer will and the wrestling of his eyes. But it was no use. Slowly the head of the log turned outward from itscircling fellows, quivered for a moment in the cleft, then shotsmoothly forth into the sluice. With a groan Henderson came to hissenses, starting up and catching instinctively at the butt of theheavy Colt in his belt. At the same instant the coil of a rope settledover his shoulders, pinioning his arms to his sides, and he was jerkedbackwards with a violence that fairly lifted him over the projectingroot of the birch. As he fell his head struck a stump; and he knewnothing more. 

When Henderson came to his senses he found himself in a mostbewildering position. He was lying face downwards along a log, hismouth pressed upon the rough bark. His arms and legs were in thewater, on either side of the log. Other logs moved past himsluggishly. For a moment he thought himself still in the grip of hisnightmare, and he struggled to wake himself. The struggle revealed tohim that he was bound fast upon the log. At this his wits cleared up, with a pang that was more near despair than anything he had everknown. Then his nerve steadied itself back into its wonted control. 

He realized what had befallen him. His enemies had back-trailed himand caught him off his guard. He was just where, in his awful dream, he had imagined himself as being. He was bound to one of the logs downin the great stone pot of Blackwater Eddy. 

For a second or two the blood in his veins ran ice, as he bracedhimself to feel the log lurch out into the sluice and plunge into thetrampling of the abyss. Then he observed that the other logs wereovertaking and passing him. His log, indeed, was not moving at all. Evidently, then, it was being held by some one. He tried to lookaround, but found himself so fettered that he could only lift his facea few inches from the log. This enabled him to see the whole surfaceof the eddy and the fateful cleft, and out across the raving torrentsinto the white curtain that swayed above the cauldron. But he couldnot, with the utmost twisting and stretching of his neck, see morethan a couple of feet up the smooth stone sides of the pot. 

As he strained on his bonds he heard a harsh chuckle behind him; andthe log, suddenly loosed with a jerk which showed him it had beenheld by a pike-pole, began to move. A moment later the sharp, steel-armed end of the pike-pole came down smartly on the forward endof the log, within a dozen inches of Henderson's head, biting a securehold. The log again came to a stop. Slowly, under pressure from theother end of the pike-pole, it rolled outward, submerging Henderson'sright shoulder, and turning his face till he could see all the way upthe sides of the pot. 

What he saw, on a ledge about three feet above the water, was RedPichot, holding the pike-pole and smiling down upon him smoothly. Onthe rim above squatted Bug Mitchell, scowling, and gripping his knifeas if he thirsted to settle up all scores on the instant. Imaginationwas lacking in Mitchell's make-up; and he was impatient--so far as hedared to be--of Pichot's fantastic procrastinatings. 

When Henderson's eyes met the evil, smiling glance of his enemy theywere steady and cold as steel. To Henderson, who had always, in everysituation, felt himself master, there remained now no mastery but thatof his own will, his own spirit. In his estimation there could be nodeath so dreadful but that to let his spirit cower before hisadversary would be tenfold worse. Helpless though he was, in aposition that was ignominiously and grotesquely horrible, and with theimminence of an appalling doom close before his eyes, his nerve neverfailed him. With cool contempt and defiance he met Red Pichot'ssmile. 

"I've always had an idee, " said the half-breed, presently, in a smoothvoice that penetrated the mighty vibrations of the falls, "ez how achap on a log could paddle roun' this yere eddy fer a deuce of a whileafore he'd hev to git sucked out into the sluice!"

As a theory this was undoubtedly interesting. But Henderson made noanswer. 

"I've held that idee, " continued Pichot, after a civil pause, "thoughI hain't never yet found a man, nor a woman nuther, as was willin' togive it a fair trial. But I feel sure ye're the man to oblige me. I'veleft yer arms kinder free, leastways from the elbows down, an' yerlegs also, more or less, so's ye'll be able to paddle easy-like. Thewalls of the pot's all worn so smooth, below high-water mark, there'snothin' to ketch on to, so there'll be nothin' to take off yerattention. I'm hopin' ye'll give the matter a right fair trial. But efye gits tired an' feels like givin' up, why, don't consider myfeelin's. There's the falls awaitin'. An' I ain't agoin' to bear nogrudge ef ye don't quite come up to my expectations of ye. "

As Pichot ceased his measured harangue he jerked his pike-pole loose. Instantly the log began to forge forward, joining the reluctantprocession. For a few moments Henderson felt like shutting his eyesand his teeth and letting himself go on with all speed to theinevitable doom. Then, with scorn of the weak impulse, he changed hismind. To the last gasp he would maintain his hold on life, and givefortune a chance to save him. When he could no longer resist, then itwould be Fate's responsibility, not his. The better to fight the awfulfight that was before him, he put clear out of his mind the picture ofRed Pichot and Mitchell perched on the brink above, smoking, andgrinning down upon the writhings of their victim. In a moment, as hislog drew near the cleft, he had forgotten them. There was room now inall his faculties for but one impulse, one consideration. 

The log to which he was bound was on the extreme outer edge of theprocession, and Henderson realized that there was every probability ofits being at once crowded out the moment it came to the exit. With adesperate effort he succeeded in catching the log nearest to him, pushing it ahead, and at last, just as they came opposite the cleft, steering his own log into its place. The next second it shot quiveringforth into the sluice, and Henderson, with a sudden cold sweat jumpingout all over him, circled slowly past the awful cleft. A shout ofironical congratulation came to him from the watchers on the brinkabove. But he hardly heard it, and heeded it not at all. He wasstriving frantically, paddling forward with one hand and backwardwith the other, to steer his sluggish, deep-floating log from theouter to the inner circle. He had already observed that to be on theouter edge would mean instant doom for him, because the outwardsuction was stronger underneath than on the surface, and his weightedlog caught its force before the others did. His arms were so boundthat only from the elbows down could he move them freely. He did, however, by a struggle which left him gasping, succeed in working inbehind another log--just in time to see that log, too, sucked out intothe abyss, and himself once more on the deadly outer flank of thecircling procession. 

This time Henderson did not know whether the watchers on the brinklaughed or not as he won past the cleft. He was scheming desperatelyto devise some less exhausting tactics. Steadily and rhythmically, butwith his utmost force, he back-paddled with both hands and feet, tillthe progress of his log was almost stopped. Then he succeeded incatching yet another log as it passed and manoeuvring in behind it. Bythis time he was halfway around the pot again. Yet again, by hisdesperate back-paddling, he checked his progress, and presently, bymost cunning manipulation, managed to edge in behind yet another log, so that when he again came round to the cleft there were two logsbetween him and doom. The outermost of these, however, was draggedinstantly forth into the fury of the sluice, thrust forward, as itwas, by the grip of the suction upon Henderson's own deep log. Feelinghimself on the point of utter exhaustion, he nevertheless continuedback-paddling, and steering and working inward, till he had succeededin getting three files of logs between himself and the outer edge. Then, almost blind and with the blood roaring so loud in his ears thathe could hardly hear the trampling of the falls, he hung on his log, praying that strength might flow back speedily into his veins andnerves. 

Not till he had twice more made the circuit of the pot, and twice moreseen a log sucked out from his very elbow to leap into the whitehorror of the abyss, did Henderson stir. The brief stillness, controlled by his will, had rested him for the moment. He was coolnow, keen to plan, cunning to husband his forces. Up to the very lastsecond that he could he would maintain his hold on life, countingalways on the chance of the unexpected. 

With now just one log remaining between himself and death, he lethimself go past the cleft, and saw that one log go out. Then, beingclose to the wall of the pot, he tried to delay his progress byclutching at the stone with his left hand and by dragging upon it withhis foot. But the stone surface was worn so smooth by the age-longpolishing of the eddy that these efforts availed him little. Before herealized it he was almost round again, and only by the most desperatestruggle did he succeed in saving himself. There was no other log nearby this time for him to seize and thrust forward in his place. It wassimply a question of his restricted paddling, with hands and feet, against the outward draught of the current. For nearly a minute thelog hung in doubt just before the opening, the current sucking at itshead to turn it outward, and Henderson paddling against it not onlywith hands and feet, but with every ounce of will and nerve that hisbody contained. At last, inch by inch, he conquered. His log movedpast the gate of death; and dimly, again, that ironical voice camedown to him, piercing the roar. 

Once past, Henderson fell to back-paddling again--not so violentlynow--till other logs came by within his reach and he could workhimself into temporary safety behind them. He was soon forced to theconviction that if he strove at just a shade under his utmost he wasable to hold his own and keep one log always between himself and theopening. But what was now his utmost, he realized, would very soon befar beyond his powers. Well, there was nothing to do but to keep ontrying. Around and around, and again and again around the terrible, smooth, deliberate circuit he went, sparing himself every ounce ofeffort that he could, and always shutting his eyes as the log besidehim plunged out into the sluice. Gradually, then, he felt himselfbecoming stupefied by the ceaselessly recurring horror, with theprolonged suspense between. He must sting himself back to the fullpossession of his faculties by another burst of fierce effort. Fiercely he caught at log after log, without a let-up, till, luckhaving favoured him for once, he found himself on the inner instead ofthe outer edge of the procession. Then an idea flashed into hisfast-clouding brain, and he cursed himself for not having thought ofit before. At the very centre of the eddy, of course, there must be asort of core of stillness. By a vehement struggle he attained it andavoided crossing it. Working gently and warily he kept the log rightacross the axis of the eddy, where huddled a crowd of chips andsticks. Here the log turned slowly, very slowly, on its own centre;and for a few seconds of exquisite relief Henderson let himself sinkinto a sort of lethargy. He was roused by a sudden shot, and the spatof a heavy bullet into the log about three inches before his head. Even through the shaking thunder of the cataract he thought herecognized the voice of his own heavy Colt; and the idea of that triedweapon being turned against himself filled him with childish rage. Without lifting his head he lay and cursed, grinding his teethimpotently. A few seconds later came another shot, and this time theball went into the log just before his right arm. Then he understood, and woke up. Pichot was a dead shot. This was his intimation thatHenderson must get out into the procession again. At the centre of theeddy he was not sufficiently entertaining to his executioners. Theidea of being shot in the head had not greatly disturbed him--he hadfelt as if it would be rather restful, on the whole. But the thoughtof getting a bullet in his arm, which would merely disable him anddeliver him over helpless to the outdraught, shook him with somethingnear a panic. He fell to paddling with all his remaining strength, anddrove his log once more into the horrible circuit. The commendatoryremarks with which Pichot greeted this move went past his earsunheard. 

Up to this time there had been a strong sun shining down into the pot, and the trees about its rim had stood unstirred by any wind. Now, however, a sudden darkness settled over everything, and sharp, fitfulgusts drew in through the cleft, helping to push the logs back. Henderson was by this time so near fainting from exhaustion that hiswits were losing their clearness. Only his horror of the fatal exit, the raving sluice, the swaying white spray-curtain, retained itskeenness. As to all else he was growing so confused that he hardlyrealized the way those great indrawing gusts, laden with spray, werehelping him. He was paddling and steering and manoeuvring for theinner circuit almost mechanically now. When suddenly the blacknessabout him was lit with a blue glare, and the thunder crashed over theechoing pot with an explosion that outroared the falls, he hardlynoted it. When the skies seemed to open, letting down the rain intorrents, with a wind that almost blew it level, it made no differenceto him. He went on paddling dully, indifferent to the bumping of thelogs against his shoulders. 

[Illustration: "He was roused by a sudden shot. "]

But to this fierce storm, which almost bent double the trees aroundthe rim of the pot, Red Pichot and Mitchell were by no means soindifferent. About sixty or seventy yards below the falls they had asnug retreat which was also an outlook. It was a cabin built in arecess of the wall of the gorge, and to be reached only by a narrowpathway easy of defence. When the storm broke in its fury Pichotsprang to his feet. 

"Let's git back to the Hole, " he cried to his companion, knocking thefire out of his pipe. "We kin watch just as well from there, an' seethe beauty slide over when his time comes. "

Pichot led the way off through the straining and hissing trees, andMitchell followed, growling but obedient. And Henderson, faint uponhis log in the raving tumult, knew nothing of their going. 

They had not been gone more than two minutes when a drenched littledark face, with black hair plastered over it in wisps, peered out fromamong the lashing birches and gazed down anxiously into the pot. Atthe sight of Henderson on his log, lying quite close to the edge, andfar back from the dreadful cleft, the terror in the wild eyes gave wayto inexpressible relief. The face drew back; and an instant later abare-legged child appeared, carrying the pike-pole which Pichot hadtossed into the bushes. Heedless of the sheeting volleys of the rainand the fierce gusts which whipped her dripping homespun petticoatabout her knees, she clambered skilfully down the rock wall to theledge whereon Pichot had stood. Bracing herself carefully, she reachedout with the pike-pole, which, child though she was, she evidentlyknew how to use. 

Henderson was just beginning to recover from his daze, and to noticethe madness of the storm, when he felt something strike sharply on thelog behind him. He knew it was the impact of a pike pole, and hewondered, with a kind of scornful disgust, what Pichot could bewanting of him now. He felt the log being dragged backwards, then heldclose against the smooth wall of the pot. A moment more and his bondswere being cut--but laboriously, as if with a small knife and by weakhands. Then he caught sight of the hands, which were little and brownand rough, and realized, with a great burst of wonder and tenderness, that old Baisley's "Sis, " by some miracle of miracles, had come to hisrescue. In a few seconds the ropes fell apart, and he lifted himself, to see the child stooping down with anxious adoration in her eyes. 

"Sis!" he cried. "You!"

"Oh, Mr. Henderson, come quick!" she panted. "They may git back anyminit. " And clutching him by the shoulder, she tried to pull him up bymain strength. But Henderson needed no urging. Life, with the returnof hope, had surged back into nerve and muscle; and in hardly moretime than it takes to tell it, the two had clambered side by side tothe rim of the pot and darted into the covert of the tossing trees. 

No sooner were they in hiding than Henderson remembered his rifle andslipped back to get it His enemies had not discovered it. It hadfallen into the moss, but the well-oiled, perfect-fitting chamber hadkept its cartridges dry. With that weapon in his hands Henderson felthimself once more master of the situation. Weariness and apprehensiontogether slipped from him, and one purpose took complete possession ofhim. He would settle with Red Pichot right there, on the spot where hehad been taught the terrible lesson of fear. He felt that he could notreally feel himself a man again unless he could settle the whole scorebefore the sun of that day should set. 

The rain and wind were diminishing now; the lightning was a mereshuddering gleam over the hill-tops beyond the river; and the thunderno longer made itself heard above the trampling of the falls. Henderson's plans were soon laid. Then he turned to Sis, who stoodsilent and motionless close at his side, her big, alert, shy eyeswatching like a hunted deer's the trail by which Red Pichot mightreturn. She was trembling in her heart at every moment that Hendersonlingered within that zone of peril. But she would not presume tosuggest any move. 

Suddenly Henderson turned to her and laid an arm about her littleshoulders. 

"You saved my life, kid!" he said, softly. "How ever did you know Iwas down there in that hell?"

"I jest _knowed_ it was you, when I seen Red Pichot an' Bug Mitchella-trackin' some one, " answered the child, still keeping her eyes onthe trail, as if it was her part to see that Henderson was not againtaken unawares. "I _knowed_ it was you, Mister Henderson, an' Ifollowed 'em; an' oh, I seen it all, I seen it all, an' I most diedbecause I hadn't no gun. But I'd 'ave killed 'em both, some day, sure, ef--ef they hadn't went away! But they'll be back now right quick. "

Henderson bent and kissed her wet black head, saying, "Bless you, kid!You an' me'll always be pals, I reckon!"

At the kiss the child's face flushed, and, for one second forgettingto watch the trail, she lifted glowing eyes to his. But he was alreadylooking away. 

"Come on, " he muttered. "This ain't no place for you an' me _yet_. "

Making a careful circuit through the thick undergrowth, swiftly butsilently as two wildcats, the strange pair gained a covert closebeside the trail by which Pichot and Mitchell would return to the rimof the pot. Safely ambuscaded, Henderson laid a hand firmly on thechild's arm, resting it there for two or three seconds, as a sign ofsilence. 

Minute after minute went by in the intense stillness. At last thechild, whose ears were even keener than Henderson's, caught her breathwith a little indrawing gasp and looked up at her companion's face. Henderson understood; and every muscle stiffened. A moment later andhe, too, heard the oncoming tread of hurried footsteps. Then Pichotwent by at a swinging stride, with Mitchell skulking obediently at hisheels. 

Henderson half raised his rifle, and his face turned grey and coldlike steel. But it was no part of his plan to shoot even Red Pichot inthe back. From the manner of the two ruffians it was plain that theyhad no suspicion of the turn which affairs had taken. To them it wasas sure as two and two make four that Henderson was still on his login the pot, if he had not already gone over into the cauldron. As theyreached the rim Henderson stepped out into the trail behind them, hisgun balanced ready like a trapshooter's. 

As Pichot, on the very brink, looked down into the pot and saw thathis victim was no longer there, he turned to Mitchell with a smile ofmingled triumph and disappointment. 

But, on the instant, the smile froze on his face. It was as if he hadfelt the cold, grey gaze of Henderson on the back of his neck. Somewarning, certainly, was flashed to that mysterious sixth sense whichthe people of the wild, man or beast, seem sometimes to be endowedwith. He wheeled like lightning, his revolver seeming to leap up fromhis belt with the same motion. But in the same fraction of a secondthat his eyes met Henderson's they met the white flame-spurt ofHenderson's rifle--and then, the dark. 

As Pichot's body collapsed, it toppled over the rim into BlackwaterPot and fell across two moving logs. Mitchell had thrown up his handsstraight above his head when Pichot fell, knowing instantly that thatwas his only hope of escaping the same fate as his leader's. 

One look at Henderson's face, however, satisfied him that he was notgoing to be dealt with on the spot, and he set his thick jaw stolidly. Then his eyes wandered down into the pot, following the leader whom, in his way, he had loved if ever he had loved any one or anything. Fascinated, his stare followed the two logs as they journeyed around, with Pichot's limp form, face upwards, sprawled across them. Theyreached the cleft, turned, and shot forth into the raving of thesluice, and a groan of horror burst from "Bug's" lips. By thisHenderson knew what had happened, and, to his immeasurable self-scorn, a qualm of remembered fear caught sickeningly at his heart. Butnothing of this betrayed itself in his face or voice. 

"Come on, Mitchell!" he said, briskly. "I'm in a hurry. You jest stepalong in front, an' see ye keep both hands well up over yer head, orye'll be savin' the county the cost o' yer rope. Step out, now. "

He stood aside, with Sis at his elbow, to make room. As Mitchellpassed, his hands held high, a mad light flamed up into his sulleneyes, and he was on the point of springing, like a wolf, at hiscaptor's throat. But Henderson's look was cool and steady, and his gunheld low. The impulse flickered out in the brute's dull veins. But ashe glanced at Sis he suddenly understood that it was she who hadbrought all this to pass. His black face snarled upon her like awolf's at bay, with an inarticulate curse more horrible than any wordscould make it. With a shiver the child slipped behind Henderson's backand hid her face. 

"Don't be skeered o' him, kid, not one little mite, " said Henderson, gently. "He ain't agoin' to trouble this earth no more. An' I'mgoin' to get yer father a job, helpin' me, down somewheres nearGreensville--because I couldn't sleep nights knowin' ye was runnin'round anywheres near that hell-hole yonder!"

The Iron Edge of Winter

The glory of the leaves was gone; the glory of the snow was not yetcome; and the world, smitten with bitter frost, was grey like steel. The ice was black and clear and vitreous on the forest pools. Theclods on the ploughed field, the broken hillocks in the pasture, theruts of the winding backwoods road, were hard as iron and rang underthe travelling hoof. The silent, naked woods, moved only by the bleakwind drawing through them from the north, seemed as if life hadforgotten them. 

Suddenly there came a light thud, thud, thud, with a pattering ofbrittle leaves; and a leisurely rabbit hopped by, apparently on nospecial errand. At the first of the sounds, a small, ruddy head withbulging, big, bright eyes had appeared at the mouth of a hole underthe roots of an ancient maple. The bright eyes noted the rabbit atonce, and peered about anxiously to see if any enemy were following. There was no danger in sight. 

Within two or three feet of the hole under the maple the rabbitstopped, sat up as if begging, waved its great ears to and fro, andglanced around inquiringly with its protruding, foolish eyes. As itsat up, it felt beneath its whitey fluff of a tail something hardwhich was not a stone, and promptly dropped down again on all fours toinvestigate. Poking its nose among the leaves and scratching with itsfore-paws, it uncovered a pile of beech-nuts, at which it began tosniff. The next instant, with a shrill, chattering torrent ofinvective, a red squirrel whisked out from the hole under the maple, and made as if to fly in the face of the big, good-natured trespasser. Startled and abashed by this noisy assault, the rabbit went boundingaway over the dead leaves and disappeared among the desolate greyarches. 

The silence was effectually dispelled. Shrieking and scoldinghysterically, flicking his long tail in spasmodic jerks, and callingthe dead solitudes to witness that the imbecile intruder had uncoveredone of his treasure-heaps, the angry squirrel ran up and down thetrunk for at least two minutes. Then, his feelings somewhat relievedby this violent outburst, he set himself to gathering the scatterednuts and bestowing them in new and safer hiding-places. 

In this task he had little regard for convenience, and time appearedto be no object whatever. Some of the nuts he took over to a big elmfifty paces distant, and jammed them one by one, solidly andconscientiously, into the crevices of the bark. Others he carried inthe opposite direction, to the edge of the open where the road ran by. These he hid under a stone, where the passing wayfarer might step overthem, indeed, but would never think of looking for them. While he wasthus occupied, an old countryman slouched by, his heavy boots making anoise on the frozen ruts, his nose red with the harsh, unmitigatedcold. The squirrel, mounted on a fence stake, greeted him with a floodof whistling and shrieking abuse; and he, not versed in the squirreltongue, muttered to himself half enviously: "Queer how them squur'lscan keep so cheerful in this weather. " The tireless little animalfollowed him along the fence rails for perhaps a hundred yards, seeinghim off the premises and advising him not to return, then went back inhigh feather to his task. When all the nuts were once more safelyhidden but two or three, these latter he carried to the top of a stumpclose beside the hole in the maple, and proceeded to make a meal. Thestump commanded a view on all sides; and as he sat up with a nutbetween his little, hand-like, clever fore-paws, his shining eyes keptwatch on every path by which an enemy might approach. 

Having finished the nuts, and scratched his ears, and jumped twicearound on the stump as if he were full of erratically acting springs, he uttered his satisfaction in a long, vibrant chir-r-r-r, andstarted to re-enter his hole in the maple-roots. Just at the door, however, he changed his mind. For no apparent reason he whisked about, scurried across the ground to the big elm, ran straight up the talltrunk, and disappeared within what looked like a mass of sticksperched among the topmost branches. 

The mass of sticks was a deserted crow's nest, which the squirrel, notcontent with one dwelling, had made over to suit his own personalneeds. He had greatly improved upon the architecture of the crows, giving the nest a tight roof of twigs and moss, and lining the snuginterior with fine dry grass and soft fibres of cedar-bark. In thissecure and softly swaying refuge, far above the reach of prowlingfoxes, he curled himself up for a nap after his toil. 

He slept well, but not long; for the red squirrel has always somethingon his mind to see to. In less than half an hour he whisked out againin great excitement, jumped from branch to branch till he was manyyards from his own tree, and then burst forth into vehement chatter. He must have dreamed that some one was rifling his hoards, for he raneagerly from one hiding-place to another and examined them allsuspiciously. As he had at least two-score to inspect, it took himsome time; but not till he had looked at every one did he seemsatisfied. Then he grew very angry, and scolded and chirruped, as ifhe thought some one had made a fool of him. That he had made a foolof himself probably never entered his confident and self-sufficientlittle head. 

While indulging this noisy volubility he was seated on the top of hisdining-stump. Suddenly he caught sight of something that smote himinto silence and for the space of a second turned him to stone. A fewpaces away was a weasel, gliding toward him like a streak of balefullight. For one second only he crouched. Then his faculties returned, and launching himself through the air he landed on the trunk of themaple and darted up among the branches. 

No less swiftly the weasel followed, hungry, bloodthirsty, relentlesson the trail. Terrified into folly by the suddenness and deadliness ofthis peril, the squirrel ran too far up the tree and was almostcornered. Where the branches were small there was no chance to swingto another tree. Perceiving this mistake, he gave a squeak of terror, then bounded madly right over his enemy's head, and was lucky enoughto catch foothold far out on a lower branch. Recovering himself in aninstant, he shot into the next tree, and thence to the next and thenext. Then, breathless from panic rather than from exhaustion, hecrouched trembling behind a branch and waited. 

The weasel pursued more slowly, but inexorably as doom itself. He wasnot so clever at branch-jumping as his intended prey, but he was notto be shaken off. In less than a minute he was following the scent upthe tree wherein the squirrel was hiding; and again the squirreldashed off in his desperate flight. Twice more was this repeated, thesquirrel each time more panic-stricken and with less power in nerve ormuscle. Then wisdom forsook his brain utterly. He fled straight to hiselm and darted into his nest in the swaying top. The weasel, runninglithely up the ragged trunk, knew that the chase was at an end. Fromthis cul de sac the squirrel had no escape. 

But Fate is whimsical in dealing with the wild kindreds. She seems todelight in unlooked-for interventions. While the squirrel trembled inhis dark nest, and the weasel, intent upon the first taste of warmblood in his throat, ran heedlessly up a bare stretch of the trunk, there came the chance which a foraging hawk had been waiting for. Thehawk, too, had been following this breathless chase, but ever baffledby intervening branches. Now he swooped and struck. His talons had thegrip of steel. The weasel, plucked irresistibly from his foothold, wascarried off writhing to make the great bird's feast. And the squirrel, realizing at last that the expected doom had been somehow turnedaside, came out and chattered feebly of his triumph. 

The Grip in Deep Hole

The roar of the falls, the lighter and shriller raging of the rapids, had at last died out behind the thick masses of the forest, as Barnesworked his way down the valley. The heat in the windless underbrush, alive with insects, was stifling. He decided to make once more for thebank of the stream, in the hope that its character might by this timehave changed, so as to afford him an easier and more open path. Pressing aside to his left, he presently saw the green gloom lightenbefore him. Blue sky and golden light came low through the thinningtrees, and then a gleam of unruffled water. He was nearing the edgenow; and because the underbrush was so thick about him he began to gocautiously. 

All at once, he felt his feet sinking; and the screen of thick bushesbefore him leaned away as if bowed by a heavy gust. Desperately heclutched with both hands at the undergrowth and saplings on eitherside; but they all gave way with him. In a smother of leafage andblinding, lashing branches he sank downwards--at first, as it seemed, slowly, for he had time to think many things while his heart wasjumping in his throat. Then, shooting through the lighter bushycompanions of his fall, and still clutching convulsively at those uponwhich he had been able to lay his grasp, he plunged feet first into adark water. 

The water was deep and cold. Barnes went down straight, and clearunder, with a strangled gasp. His feet struck, with some force, upona tangled, yielding mass, from which he rose again with a spring. His head shot up above the surface, above the swirl of foam, leafage, and débris; and splutteringly he gulped his lungs full ofair. But before he could clear his eyes or his nostrils, orrecover his self-possession, he was stealthily dragged down again. And with a pang of horror he realized that he was caught by the foot. 

A powerful swimmer, Barnes struck out mightily with his arms and cameto the surface again at once, rising beyond the shoulders. But by somuch the more was he violently snatched back again, strangling anddesperate, before he had time to empty his lungs and catch breath. This time the shock sobered him, flashing the full peril of thesituation before his startled consciousness. With a tremendous effortof will he stopped his struggling, and contented himself with agentle paddling to keep upright. This time he came more softly to thesurface, clear beyond the chin. The foam and débris and turbulence oflittle waves seethed about his lips, and the sunlight dancedconfusingly in his streaming eyes; but he gulped a fresh lungfulbefore he again went under. 

[Illustration: "He realized that he was caught by the foot. "]

Paddling warily now, he emerged again at once, and, with armsoutspread, brought himself to a precarious equilibrium, his mouth justabove the surface so long as he held his head well back. Keeping verystill, he let his bewildered wits clear, and the agitated surfacesettle to quiet. 

He was in a deep, tranquil cove, hardly stirred by an eddy. Some tenpaces farther out from shore the main current swirled past sullenly, as if weary from the riot of falls and rapids. Across the current alittle space of sand-beach, jutting out from the leafy shore, shonegolden in the sun. Up and down the stream, as far as his extremelyrestricted vision would suffer him to see, nothing but thick, overhanging branches, and the sullen current. Very cautiously heturned his head--though to do so brought the water over his lips--andsaw behind him just what he expected. The high, almost perpendicularbank was scarred by a gash of bright, raw, reddish earth, where thebrink had slipped away beneath his weight. 

Just within reach of his hand lay, half submerged, the thick, leafytop of a fallen poplar sapling, its roots apparently still clingingto the bank. Gently he laid hold of it, testing it, in the hope thatit might prove solid enough to enable him to haul himself out. But itcame away instantly in his grasp. And once more, in this slightdisturbance of his equilibrium, his head went under. 

Barnes was disappointed, but he was now absolutely master of hisself-possession. In a moment he had regained the only position inwhich he could breathe comfortably. Then, because the sun was beatingdown too fiercely on the top of his head, he carefully drew the bushytop of the poplar sapling into such a position that it gave him shade. As its roots were still aground, it showed no tendency to float offand forsake him in his plight. 

A very little consideration, accompanied by a cautious investigationwith his free foot, speedily convinced Barnes, who was a practicalwoodsman, that the trap in which he found himself caught could benothing else than a couple of interlaced, twisted branches, or roots, of some tree which had fallen into the pool in a former caving-in ofthe bank. In that dark deep wherein his foot was held fast, his mind'seye could see it all well enough--the water-soaked, brown-green, slimy, inexorable coil, which had yielded to admit the unlucky member, then closed upon the ankle like the jaws of an otter trap. He couldfeel that grip--not severe, but uncompromisingly firm, clutching thejoint. As he considered, he began to draw comfort, however, from thefact that his invisible captor had displayed a certain amount of giveand take. This elasticity meant either that it was a couple ofbranches slight enough to be flexible that held him, or that thesubmerged tree itself was a small one, not too steadfastly anchoreddown. He would free himself easily enough, he thought, as soon as heshould set himself about it coolly and systematically. 

Taking a long breath he sank his head under the surface, and peereddownward through the amber-brown but transparent gloom. Little gleamsof brighter light came twisting and quivering in from the swirls ofthe outer current. Barnes could not discern the bottom of the pool, which was evidently very deep; but he could see quite clearly theportion of the sunken tree in whose interwoven branches he was held. Ashimmering golden ray fell just on the spot where his foot vanished tothe ankle between two stout curves of what looked like slimy browncable or sections of a tense snake body. 

It was, beyond question, a nasty-looking trap; and Barnes could notblink the fact that he was in a tight place. He lifted his face abovethe surface, steadied himself carefully, and breathed deeply andquietly for a couple of minutes, gathering strength for a swift andvigorous effort. Then, filling his lungs very moderately, the betterto endure a strain, he stooped suddenly downward, deep into theyellow gloom, and began wrenching with all his force at those oozycurves, striving to drag them apart. They gave a little, but notenough to release the imprisoned foot. Another moment, and he had tolift his head again for breath. 

After some minutes of rest, he repeated the choking struggle, but, asbefore, in vain. He could move the jaws of the trap just enough toencourage him a little, but not enough to gain his release. Again andagain he tried it, again and again to fail just as he imagined himselfon the verge of success; till at last he was forced, for the moment, to acknowledge defeat, finding himself so exhausted that he couldhardly keep his mouth above water. Drawing down a stiffish branch ofthe sapling, he gripped it between his teeth and so held himselfupright while he rested his arms. This was a relief to nerves as wellas muscles, because it made his balance, on which he depended for thechance to breathe, so much the less precarious. 

As he hung there pondering, held but a bare half-inch abovedrowning, the desperateness of the situation presented itself to himin appalling clearness. How sunny and warm and safe, to hiswoods-familiar eyes, looked the green forest world about him. Nosound broke the mild tranquillity of the solitude, except, now andthen, an elfish gurgle of the slow current, or the sweetly cheerful_tsic-a-dee-dee_ of an unseen chicadee, or, from the intense blueoverhead, the abrupt, thin whistle of a soaring fish-hawk. To Barnesit all seemed such a safe, friendly world, his well-understoodintimate since small boyhood. Yet here it was, apparently, turnedsmooth traitor at last, and about to destroy him as pitilessly asmight the most scorching desert or blizzard-scourged ice-field. Asilent rage burned suddenly through all his veins--which was well, since the cold of that spring-fed river had already begun to fingerstealthily about his heart. A delicate little pale-blue butterfly, like a periwinkle-petal come to life, fluttered over Barnes's grim, upturned face, and went dancing gaily out across the shining water, joyous in the sun. In its dancing it chanced to dip a hair's-breadthtoo low. The treacherous, bright surface caught it, held it; andaway it swept, struggling in helpless consternation against thisunexpected doom. Before it passed out of Barnes's vision a great troutrose and gulped it down. Its swift fate, to Barnes's haggard eyes, seemed an analogue in little to his own. 

But it was not in the woodsman's fibre to acknowledge himself actuallybeaten, either by man or fate, so long as there remained a spark inhis brain to keep his will alive. He presently began searching withhis eyes among the branches of the poplar sapling for one stout enoughto serve him as a lever. With the right kind of a stick in his hand, he told himself, he might manage to pry apart the jaws of the trap andget his foot free. At last his choice settled upon a branch that hethought would serve his turn. He was just about to reach up and breakit off, when a slight crackling in the underbrush across the streamcaught his ear. 

His woodsman's instinct kept him motionless as he turned his eyes tothe spot. In the thick leafage there was a swaying, which moved downalong the bank, but he could not see what was causing it. Softly hedrew over a leafy branch of the sapling till it made him a perfectscreen, then he peered up the channel to find out what the unseenwayfarer was following. 

A huge salmon, battered and gashed from a vain struggle to leap thefalls, was floating, belly-upward, down the current, close to Barnes'sside of the stream. A gentle eddy caught it, and drew it into thepool. Sluggishly it came drifting down toward Barnes's hidden face. Inthe twigs of the poplar sapling it came to a halt, its great scarletgills barely moving as the last of life flickered out of it. 

Barnes now understood quite well that unseen commotion which hadfollowed, along shore, the course of the dying salmon. It was nosurprise to him whatever when he saw a huge black bear emerge upon theyellow sandspit and stand staring across the current. Apparently, itwas staring straight at Barnes's face, upturned upon the surface ofthe water. But Barnes knew it was staring at the dead salmon. Hisheart jumped sickeningly with sudden hope, as an extravagant notionflashed into his brain. Here was his rescuer--a perilous one, to besure--vouchsafed to him by some whim of the inscrutable forest-fates. 

He drew down another branchy twig before his face, fearful lest hisconcealment should not be adequate. But in his excitement he disturbedhis balance, and with the effort of his recovery the water swirlednoticeably all about him. His heart sank. Assuredly, the bear wouldtake alarm at this and be afraid to come for the fish. 

But to his surprise the great beast, which had seemed to hesitate, plunged impetuously into the stream. Nothing, according to a bear'sknowledge of life, could have made that sudden disturbance in the poolbut some fish-loving otter or mink, intent upon seizing the booty. Indignant at the prospect of being forestalled by any such furtivemarauder, the bear hurled himself forward with such force that thespray flew high into the branches, and the noise of his splashing wasa clear notification that trespassers and meddlers had better keepoff. That salmon was his, by right of discovery; and he was going tohave it. 

The bear, for all the seeming clumsiness of his bulk, was aredoubtable swimmer; and almost before Barnes had decided clearly onhis proper course of action those heavy, grunting snorts and vastexpulsions of breath were at his ear. Enormously loud they sounded, shot thus close along the surface of the water. Perforce, Barnes madeup his mind on the instant. 

The bunch of twigs which had arrested the progress of the floatingsalmon lay just about an arm's length from Barnes's face. Swimminghigh, his mighty shoulders thrusting up a wave before him which buriedBarnes's head safely from view, the bear reached the salmon. Grabbingit triumphantly in his jaws, he turned to make for shore again. 

This was Barnes's moment. Both arms shot out before him. Through thesuffocating confusion his clutching fingers encountered the bear'shaunches. Sinking into the long fur, they closed upon it with a gripof steel. Then, instinctively, Barnes shut his eyes and clenched histeeth, and waited for the shock, while his lungs felt as if they wouldburst in another moment. 

But it was no long time he had to wait--perhaps two seconds, whileamazement in the bear's brain translated itself through panic intoaction. Utterly horrified by this inexplicable attack, from the rearand from the depths, the bear threw himself shoulder high from thewater, and hurled himself forward with all his strength. Barnes feltthose tremendous haunches heaving irresistibly beneath his clutchingfingers. He felt himself drawn out straight, and dragged ahead till hethought his ankle would snap. Almost he came to letting go, to savethe ankle. But he held, on, as much with his will as with his grip. Then, the slimy thing in the depths gave way. He felt himself beingjerked through the water--free. His fingers relaxed their clutch onthe bear's fur--and he came to the surface, gasping, blinking, andcoughing. 

For a moment or two he paddled softly, recovering his breath andshaking the water from nostrils and eyes. He had an instant ofapprehensiveness, lest the bear should turn upon him and attack him ata disadvantage; and by way of precaution he gave forth the most savageand piercing yell that his labouring lungs were capable of. But he sawat once that on this score he had nothing to fear. It was awell-frightened bear, there swimming frantically for the sandspit;while the dead salmon, quite forgotten, was drifting slowly away onthe sullen current. 

Barnes's foot was hurting fiercely, but his heart was light. Swimmingat leisure, so as to just keep head against the stream, he watched thebear scuttle out upon the sand. Once safe on dry land, the great beastturned and glanced back with a timid air to see what manner of beingit was that had so astoundingly assailed him. Man he had seenbefore--but never man swimming like an otter; and the sight wasnothing to reassure him. One longing look he cast upon the salmon, nowfloating some distance away; but that, to his startled mind, was justa lure of this same terrifying and perfidious creature whose brightgrey eyes were staring at him so steadily from the surface of thewater. He turned quickly and made off into the woods, followed by aloud, daunting laugh which spurred his pace to a panicky gallop. 

When he was gone, Barnes swam to the sandspit. There he wrung out hisdripping clothes, and lay down in the hot sand to let the sun soakdeep into his chilled veins. 

The Nest of the Mallard

When the spring freshet went down, and the rushes sprang green allabout the edges of the shallow, marshy lagoons, a pair of mallardstook possession of a tiny, bushy island in the centre of the broadestpond. Moved by one of those inexplicable caprices which keep most ofthe wild kindreds from too perilous an enslavement to routine, thispair had been attracted by the vast, empty levels of marsh and mere, and had dropped out from the ranks of their northward-journeyingcomrades. Why should they beat on through the raw, blustering springwinds to Labrador, when here below them was such a nesting-place asthey desired, with solitude and security and plenty. The flock wenton, obeying an ancestral summons. With heads straight out before, andrigid, level necks--with web feet folded like fans and stretchedstraight out behind, rigid and level--they sped through the air onshort, powerful, swift-beating wings at the rate of sixty or seventymiles an hour. Their flight, indeed, and their terrific speed were notunlike those of some strange missile. The pair who had dropped behindpaid no heed to their going; and in two minutes they had faded outagainst the pale saffron morning sky. 

These two were the only mallards in this whole wide expanse of grassand water. Other kinds of ducks there were, in plenty, but themallards at this season kept to themselves. The little island whichthey selected for their peculiar domain was so small that no othermating couples intruded upon its privacy. It was only about ten feetacross; but it bore a favourable thicket of osier-willow, and allaround it the sedge and bulrush reared an impenetrable screen. Itshighest point was about two feet above average water level; and onthis highest point the mallard duck established her nest. 

The nest was a mere shallow pile of dead leaves and twigs and drysedges, scraped carelessly together. But the inside was not careless. It was a round smooth hollow, most softly lined with down from theduck's own breast. When the first pale, greenish-tinted egg was laidin the nest, there was only a little of this down; but the delicateand warm lining accumulated as the pale green eggs increased innumber. 

In the construction of the nest and the accumulation of the eggs nointerest whatever was displayed by the splendid drake. He never, unless by chance, went near it. But as a lover the lordly fellow wasmost gallant and ardent. While his mate was on the nest laying, he wasusually to be seen floating on the open mere beyond the reed-fringe, pruning his plumage in the cold pink rays of the first of thesunrise. 

It was plumage well worth pruning, this of his, and fully justifiedhis pride in it. The shining, silken, iridescent dark green of thehead and neck; the snowy, sharply defined, narrow collar of white, dividing the green of the neck from the brownish ash of the back andthe gorgeous chestnut of the breast; the delicate pure grey of thebelly finely pencilled with black lines; the rich, glossy purple ofthe broad wing-bars shot with green reflections; the jaunty, recurvedblack feathers of the tail; the smart, citron-yellow of the bill andfeet;--all these charms were ample excuse for his coxcombry andcontinual posings. They were ample excuse, too, for the admirationbestowed upon him by his mottled brown mate, whose colours wereobviously designed not for show but for concealment. When sitting onher nest, she was practically indistinguishable from the twigs anddead leaves that surrounded her. 

Having laid her egg, the brown duck would cover the precious contentsof the nest with twigs and leaves, that they might not be betrayed bytheir conspicuous colour. Then she would steal, silently as a shadow, through the willow stems to the water's edge, and paddle cautiouslyout through the rushes to the open water. On reaching her mate allthis caution would be laid aside, and the two would set up an animatedand confidential quacking. They would sometimes sail around each otherslowly in circles, with much arching of necks and quaint stiff bowingof heads; and sometimes they would chase each other in scurrying, napping rushes along the bright surface of the water. Both before andafter these gay exercises they would feed quietly in the shallows, pulling up water-weed sprouts and tender roots, or sifting insects andlittle shellfish from the mud by means of the sensitive tips andguttered edges of their bills. The mallard pair had few enemies todread, their island being so far from shore that no four-footedmarauder, not even the semi-amphibious mink himself, ever visited it. And the region was one too remote for the visits of the pot-hunter. Infact, there was only one foe against whom it behoved them to be onceaseless guard. This was that bloodthirsty and tireless slayer, thegoshawk, or great grey henhawk. Where that grim peril was concerned, the brown duck would take no risks. For the sake of those eggs amongthe willow stems, she held her life very dear, never flying more thana short circle around the island to stretch her wings, never swimmingor feeding any distance from the safe covert of the rushes. 

But with the glowing drake it was different. High spirited, bold forall his wariness, and magnificently strong of wing, from sheerrestlessness he occasionally flew high above the ponds. And one day, when some distance from home, the great hawk saw him and swooped downupon him from aërial heights. 

The impending doom caught the drake's eye in time for him to avoid thestroke of that irresistible descent. His short wings, with theirmuscles of steel, winnowed the air with sudden, tremendous force, andhe shot ahead at a speed which must have reached the rate of a hundredmiles an hour. When the swooping hawk had rushed down to his level, hewas nearly fifty yards in the lead. 

In such a case most of the larger hawks would have given up the chase, and soared again to abide the chance for a more fortunate swoop. Butnot so the implacable goshawk. His great pinions were capable not onlyof soaring and sailing and swooping, but of the rapid and violentflapping of the short-winged birds; and he had at his command a speedeven greater than that of the rushing fugitive. As he pursued, hiswings tore the air with a strident, hissing noise; and the speed ofthe drake seemed as nothing before that savage, inescapable onrush. Had the drake been above open water, he would have hurled himselfstraight downward, and seized the one chance of escape by diving; butbeneath him at this moment there was nothing but naked swamp andsloppy flats. In less than two minutes the hiss of the pursuing wingswas close behind him. He gave a hoarse squawk, as he realized thatdoom had overtaken him. Then one set of piercing talons clutched hisoutstretched neck, cutting clean through his wind-pipe; and anotherset bit deep into the glossy chestnut of his breast. 

For several days the widowed duck kept calling loudly up and down theedges of the reeds--but at a safe distance from the nest. When shewent to lay, she stayed ever longer and longer on the eggs, broodingthem. Three more eggs she laid after the disappearance of her mate, and then, having nine in the nest, she began to sit; and the openwater beyond the reed fringes saw her no more. 

At first she would slip off the nest for a few minutes every day, verystealthily, to feed and stretch and take a noiseless dip in theshallow water among the reeds; but as time went on she left the eggsonly once in two days. Twice a day she would turn the eggs overcarefully, and at the same time change their respective positions inthe nest, so that those which had been for some hours in the centre, close to her hot and almost naked breast, might take their turn in thecooler space just under her wings. By this means each egg got its fairshare of heat, properly distributed, and the little life taking shapewithin escaped the distortion which might have been caused by lyingtoo long in one position. Whenever the wary brown mother left thenest, she covered the eggs with down, now, which kept the warmth inbetter than leaves could. And whenever she came back from her briefswim, her dripping feathers supplied the eggs with needed moisture. 

It is a general law that the older an egg is the longer it takes tohatch. The eggs of the mallard mother, of course, varied in age fromfifteen days to one before she began to sit. This being the case, atthe end of the long month of incubation they would have hatched atintervals covering in all, perhaps, a full day and a half; andcomplications would have arisen. But the wise mother had counteractedthe working of the law by sitting a little while every day. Therefore, as a matter of fact, the older eggs got the larger share of thebrooding, in exact proportion; and the building of the little liveswithin the shells went on with almost perfect uniformity. 

During the long, silent month of her patient brooding, spring hadwandered away and summer had spread thick green and yellow lily bloomsall over the lonely meres. A bland but heavy heat came down throughthe willow tops, so that the brown duck sometimes panted at her task, and sat with open bill, or with wings half raised from the eggs. Then, one night, she heard faint tappings and peepings beneath her. Sturdyyoung bills began chipping at the inside of the shells, speedilybreaking them. Each duckling, as he chipped the shell just before thetip of his beak, would turn a little way around in his narrowquarters; till presently the shell would fall apart, neatly dividedinto halves; and the wet duckling, tumbling forth, would snuggle upagainst the mother's hot breast and thighs to dry. Whenever thishappened, the wise mother would reach her head beneath, and fit thetwo halves of shell one within the other, or else thrust them out ofthe nest entirely, lest they should get slipped over another egg andsmother the occupant. Sometimes she fitted several sets of the emptyshells together, that they might take up less room; and altogether sheshowed that she perfectly understood her business. Then, late in themorning, when the green world among the willows and rushes was stilland warm and sweet, she led her fluffy, sturdy brood straight down tothe water, and taught them to feed on the insects that clung to thebulrush stalks. 

Mrs. Gammit and the Porcupines

"I hain't come to borry yer gun, Mr. Barron, but to ax yer advice. "

Mrs. Gammit's rare appearances were always abrupt, like her speech;and it was without surprise--though he had not seen her for a month ormore--that Joe Barron turned to greet her. 

"It's at yer sarvice, jest as the gun would be ef ye wanted it, Mrs. Gammit--_an'_ welcome! But come in an' set down an' git cooled off amite. 'Tain't no place to talk, out here in the bilin' sun. "

Mrs. Gammit seated herself on the end of the bench, just inside thekitchen door, twitched off her limp, pink cotton sunbonnet, and wipedher flushed face with the sleeve of her calico waist. Quite unsubduedby the heat and moisture of the noonday sun, under which she hadtramped nine miles through the forest, her short, stiff, grey hairstood up in irregular tufts above her weather-beaten forehead. Herhost, sitting sidewise on the edge of the table so that he could swingone leg freely and spit cleanly through the open window, bit off acontemplative quid of "blackjack" tobacco, and waited for her tounfold the problems that troubled her. 

Mrs. Gammit's rugged features were modelled to fit an expression ofvigorous, if not belligerent, self-confidence. She knew hercapabilities, well-tried in some sixty odd years of unprotectedspinsterhood. Merit alone, not matrimony, it was, that had crownedthis unsullied spinsterhood with the honorary title of "Mrs. " Hermassive and energetic nose was usually carried somewhat high, in a notunjustifiable scorn of such foolish circumstance as might seek tothwart her will. 

But to-day these strenuous features found themselves surprised by anexpression of doubt, of bewilderment, almost one might say ofhumility. At her little clearing in the heart of the great wildernessthings had been happening which, to her amazement, she could notunderstand. Hitherto she had found an explanation, clear at least toherself, for everything that befell her in these silent backwoodswhich other folks seemed to find so absurdly mysterious. Armed withher self-confidence she had been able, hitherto, to deal with everysituation that had challenged her, and in a manner quite satisfactoryto herself, however the eternal verities may have smiled at it. Butnow, at last, she was finding herself baffled. 

Joe Barron waited with the patience of the backwoodsman and theIndian, to whom, as to Nature herself, time seems no object, thoughthey always somehow manage to be on time. Mrs. Gammit continued to fanher hot face with her sunbonnet, and to ponder her problems, while thelines deepened between her eyes. A big black and yellow wasp buzzedangrily against the window-pane, bewildered because it could not getthrough the transparent barrier. A little grey hen, with large, drooping comb vividly scarlet, hopped on to the doorsill, eyed Mrs. Gammit with surprise and disapprobation, and ran away to warn the restof the flock that there was a woman round the place. That, as they allknew by inheritance from the "shooings" which their forefathers hadsuffered, meant that they would no longer be allowed in the kitchen topick up crumbs. 

At last Mrs. Gammit spoke--but with difficulty, for it came hard toher to ask advice of any one. 

"I sp'ose now, mebbe, Mr. Barron, you know more about the woodscritters'n what I do?" she inquired, hopefully but doubtfully. 

The woodsman lifted his eyebrows in some surprise at the question. 

"Well, now, if I don't I'd _oughter_, " said he, "seein' as how I'vekinder lived round amongst 'em all my life. If I know _anything_, it'sthe backwoods an' all what pertains to that same!"

"Yes, you'd _oughter_ know more about them than I do!" assented Mrs. Gammit, with a touch of severity which seemed to add "and see that youdo!" Then she shut her mouth firmly and fell to fanning herself again, her thoughts apparently far away. 

"I hope 'tain't no _serious_ trouble ye're in!" ventured her hostpresently, with the amiable intention of helping her to deliver hersoul of its burden. 

But, manlike, he struck the wrong note. 

"Do you suppose, " snapped Mrs. Gammit, "I'd be traipsin' over herenine mile thro' the hot woods to ax yer advice, Mr. Barron, if_'twarn't_ serious?" And she began to regret that she had come. Mennever did understand anything, anyway. 

At this sudden acerbity the woodsman stroked his chin with his hand, to hide the ghost of a smile which flickered over his lean mouth. 

"Jest like a woman, to git riled over nawthin'!" he thought. "Soundskinder nice an' homey, too!" But aloud, being always patient with thesex, he said coaxingly--

"Then it's right proud I am that ye should come to me about it, Mrs. Gammit. I reckon I kin help you out, mebbe. What's wrong?"

With a burst of relief Mrs. Gammit declared her sorrow. 

"It's the aigs, " said she, passionately. "Fer nigh on to a month, now, I've been alosin' of 'em as fast as the hens kin git 'em laid. An' all I kin do, I cain't find out what's atakin' 'em. "

Having reached the point of asking advice, an expression of pathetichopefulness came into her weather-beaten face. Under quite otherconditions it might almost have been possible for Mrs. Gammit to learnto lean on a man, if he were careful not to disagree with her. 

"Oh! Aigs!" said the woodsman, relaxing slightly the tension of hissympathy. "Well, now, let's try an' git right to the root of thetrouble. Air ye plumb sure, in the first place, that the hens isreally _layin'_ them aigs what ye don't git?"

Mrs. Gammit stiffened. 

"Do I look like an eejut?" she demanded. 

"Not one leetle mite, you don't!" assented her host, promptly andcordially. 

"I was beginning to think mebbe I did!" persisted the injured lady. 

"Everybody knows, " protested the woodsman, "as how what you don'tknow, Mrs. Gammit, ain't hardly wuth knowin'. "

"O' course, that's puttin' it a leetle too strong, Mr. Barron, " sheanswered, much mollified. "But I do reckon as how I've got _some_horse sense. Well, I _thought_ as how them 'ere hens _might_ 'avestopped layin' on the suddint; so I up an' watched 'em. Land's sakes, but they was alayin' fine. Whenever I kin take time to stan' right byan' _watch_ 'em lay, I git all the aigs I know what to do with. Butwhen I _don't_ watch 'em, _clost_--nary an aig. Ye ain't agoin' topersuade me a hen kin jest quit layin' when she's a mind ter, waitin'tell ye pass her the compliment o' holdin' out yer hand fer the aig!"

"There's lots o' hens that pervarted they'll turn round an' _eat_their own aigs!" suggested the woodsman, spitting thoughtfully throughthe open window. The cat, coiled in the sun on a log outside, sprangup angrily, glared with green eyes at the offending window, andscurried away to cleanse her defiled coat. 

"Them's not _my_ poultry!" said Mrs. Gammit with decision. "I thoughto' that, too. An' I watched 'em on the sly. But they hain't a one of'em got no sech onnateral tricks. When they're through layin', theyjest hop off an' run away acacklin', as they should. " And she shookher head heavily, as one almost despairing of enlightenment. "No, efye ain't got no more idees to suggest than that, I might as well begoin'. "

"Oh, I was jest kinder clearin' out the underbrush, so's to git asquare good look at the situation, " explained Barron. "Now, I kin tillye somethin' about it. Firstly, it's a weasel, bein' so sly, an'quick, an' audashus! Ten to one, it's a weasel; an' ye've got totrap it. Secondly, if 'tain't a weasel, it's a fox, an' a _mighty_cute fox, as ye're goin' to have some trouble in aketchin'. An'thirdly--an' lastly--if 'tain't neither weasel nor fox, it's jestbound to be an extra cunnin' skunk, what's takin' the trouble to bekeerful. Generally speakin', skunks ain't keerful, because they don'thave to be, nobody wantin' much to fool with 'em. But onc't in awhile ye'll come across't one that's as sly as a weasel. "

"Oh, 'tain't none o' them!" said Mrs. Gammit, in a tone which conveyeda poor opinion of her host's sagacity and woodcraft. "I've suspicionedthe weasels, an' the foxes, an' the woodchucks, but hain't found asign o' any one of 'em round the place. An' _as_ fer _skunks_--well, Ireckon, I've got a nose on my face. " And to emphasize the fact, shesniffed scornfully. 

"To be sure! An' a fine, handsome nose it is, Mrs. Gammit!" repliedthe woodsman, diplomatically. "But what you _don't_ appear to knowabout skunks is that when they're up to mischief is jest the time whenyou don't smell 'em. Ye got to bear that in mind!"

Mrs. Gammit looked at him with suspicion. 

"Be that reelly so?" demanded she, sternly. 

"True's gospel!" answered Barron. "A skunk ain't got no smell unlesshe's a mind to. "

"Well, " said she, "I guess it ain't no skunk, anyhow. I kind o' feelit in my bones 'tain't no skunk, smell or no smell. "

The woodsman looked puzzled. He had not imagined her capable of suchunreasoning obstinacy. He began to wonder if he had overrated herintelligence. 

"Then I give it up, Mrs. Gammit, " said he, with an air of having lostall interest in the problem. 

But that did not suit his visitor at all. Her manner became moreconciliatory. Leaning forward, with an almost coaxing look on herface, she murmured--

"I've had an _idee_ as how it _might_ be--mind, I don't say it is, butjest it _might_ be----" and she paused dramatically. 

"Might be what?" inquired Barron, with reviving interest. 

"Porkypines!" propounded Mrs. Gammit, with a sudden smile of triumph. 

Joe Barron neither spoke nor smiled. But in his silence there wassomething that made Mrs. Gammit uneasy. 

"Why _not_ porkypines?" she demanded, her face once more growingsevere. 

"It _might_ be porkypines as took them aigs o' yourn, Mrs. Gammit, an'it _might be bumbly-bees_!" responded Barron. "But 'tain't likely!"

Mrs. Gammit snorted at the sarcasm. 

"Mebbe, " she sneered, "ye kin tell me _why_ it's so impossible itcould be porkypines. I seen a big porkypine back o' the barn, onlyyestiddy. An' that's more'n kin be said o' yer weasels, an' foxes, an'skunks, what ye're so sure about, Mr. Barron. "

"A porkypine ain't necess_ar_ily after aigs jest because he's back ofa barn, " said the woodsman. "An' anyways, a porkypine don't eat aigs. He hain't got the right kind o' teeth fer them kind o' vittles. He's_got_ to have something he kin gnaw on, somethin' substantial an'solid--the which he prefers a young branch o' good tough spruce, though it _do_ make his meat kinder strong. No, Mrs. Gammit, it ain'tno porkypine what's stealin' yer aigs, take my word fer it. An' themore I think o' it the surer I be that it's a weasel. When a weasellearns to suck aigs, he gits powerful cute. Ye'll have to be rightsmart, I'm telling ye, to trap him. "

During this argument of Barron's his obstinate and offended listenerhad become quite convinced of the justice of her own conclusions. Thesarcasm had settled it. She _knew_, now, that she had been right allalong in her suspicion of the porcupines. And with this certainty herindignation suddenly disappeared. It is _such_ a comfort to becertain. So now, instead of flinging his ignorance in his face, shepretended to be convinced--remembering that she needed his advice asto how to trap the presumptuous porcupine. 

"Well, Mr. Barron, " said she, with the air of one who would takedefeat gracefully, "supposin' ye're right--an' ye'd _oughter_know--how would ye go about _ketchin'_ them weasels?"

Pleased at this sudden return to sweet reasonableness, the woodsmanonce more grew interested. 

"I reckon we kin fix _that_!" said he, confidently and cordially. "I'll give ye three of my little mink traps. There's holes, I reckon, under the back an' sides o' the shed, or barn, or wherever it is thatthe hens have their nests?"

"Nat'rally!" responded Mrs. Gammit. "The thieves ain't agoin' to comein by the front doors, right under my nose, be they?"

"Of course, " assented the woodsman. "Well, you jest set them 'eretraps in three o' them holes, well under the sills an' out o' the way. Don't go fer to bait'em, mind, or Mr. Weasel'll git to suspicionin'somethin', right off. Jest sprinkle bits of straw, an' hayseed, an'sech rubbish over 'em, so it all looks no ways out o' the ordinary. You do this right, Mrs. Gammit; an' first thing ye know ye'll have yerthief. I'll git the traps right now, an' show ye how to set 'em. "

And as Mrs. Gammit walked away with the three steel traps under herarm, she muttered to herself--

"Yes, Joe Barron, an' I'll show ye the thief. An' he'll have quills onhim, sech as no _weasel_ ain't never had on him, I reckon. "

On her return, Mrs. Gammit was greeted by the sound of highexcitement among the poultry. They were all cackling wildly, andcraning their necks to stare into the shed as if they had just seen aghost there. Mrs. Gammit ran in to discover what all the fuss wasabout. The place was empty; but a smashed egg lay just outside one ofthe nests, and a generous tuft of fresh feathers showed her that therehad been a tussle of some kind. Indignant but curious, Mrs. Gammitpicked up the feathers, and examined them with discriminating eyes tosee which hen had suffered the loss. 

"Lands sakes!" she exclaimed presently, "ef 'tain't the old rooster!He's made a fight fer that 'ere aig! Lucky he didn't git stuck full o'quills!"

Then, for perhaps the hundredth time, she ran fiercely and noisilybehind the barn, in the hope of surprising the enemy. Of course shesurprised nothing which Nature had endowed with even the merestapology for eyes and ears; and a cat-bird in the choke-cherry bushessquawked at her derisively. Stealth was one of the things which Mrs. Gammit did not easily achieve. Staring defiantly about her, her eyesfell upon a dark, bunchy creature in the top of an old hemlock at theother side of the fence. Seemingly quite indifferent to her vehementexistence, and engrossed in its own affairs, it was crawling out upona high branch and gnawing, in a casual way, at the young twigs as itwent. 

"Ah, ha! What did I tell ye? I knowed all along as how it was aporkypine!" exclaimed Mrs. Gammit, triumphantly, as if Joe Barroncould hear her across eight miles of woods. Then, as she eyed theimperturbable animal on the limb above her, her face flushed withquick rage, and snatching up a stone about the size of her fist shehurled it at him with all her strength. 

In a calmer moment she would never have done this--not because it wasrude, but because she had a conviction, based on her own experience, that a stone would hit anything rather than what it was aimed at. Andin the present instance she found no reason to change her views on thesubject. The stone did not hit the porcupine. It did not, even for onemoment, distract his attention from the hemlock twigs. Instead ofthat, it struck a low branch, on the other side of the tree, andbounced back briskly upon Mrs. Gammit's toes. 

With a hoarse squeak of surprise and pain the good lady jumpedbackwards, and hopped for some seconds on one foot while she grippedthe other with both hands. It was a sharp and disconcerting blow. Asthe pain subsided a concentrated fury took its place. The porcupinewas now staring down at her, in mild wonder at her inexplicablegyrations. She glared up at him, and the tufts of grey hair about hersunbonnet seemed to rise and stand rigid. 

"Ye think ye're smart!" she muttered through her set teeth. "But I'llfix ye fer that! Jest you wait!" And turning on her heel she stalkedback to the house. The big, brown teapot was on the back of the stove, where it had stood since breakfast, with a brew rust-red andbitter-strong enough to tan a moose-hide. Not until she had reheatedit and consumed five cups, sweetened with molasses, did she recoverany measure of self-complacency. 

That same evening, when the last of the sunset was fading inpale violet over the stump pasture and her two cow-bells were_tonk-tonking_ softly along the edge of the dim alder swamp, Mrs. Gammit stealthily placed the traps according to the woodsman'sdirections. Between the massive logs which formed the foundationsof the barn and shed, there were openings numerous enough, andsome of them spacious enough, almost, to admit a bear--a verysmall, emaciated bear. Selecting three of these, which somehowseemed to her fancy particularly adapted to catch a porcupine'staste, she set the traps, tied them, and covered them lightlywith fine rubbish so that, as she murmured to herself when allwas done, "everythin' looked as nat'ral as nawthin'. " Then, whenher evening chores were finished, she betook herself to herslumbers, in calm confidence that in the morning she would findone or more porcupines in the trap. 

Having a clear conscience and a fine appetite, in spite of the potencyof her tea Mrs. Gammit slept soundly. Nevertheless, along toward dawn, in that hour when dream and fact confuse themselves, her nightcappedears became aware of a strange sound in the yard. She snortedimpatiently and sat up in bed. Could some beneficent creature of thenight be out there sawing wood for her? It sounded like it. But sherejected the idea at once. Rubbing her eyes with both fists, she creptto the window and looked out. 

There was a round moon in the sky, shining over the roof of the barn, and the yard was full of a white, witchy radiance. In the middle of itcrouched two big porcupines, gnawing assiduously at a small woodentub. The noise of their busy teeth on the hard wood rang loud upon thestillness, and a low _tonk-a-tonk_ of cow-bells came from the pastureas the cows lifted their heads to listen. 

The tub was a perfectly good tub, and Mrs. Gammit was indignant atseeing it eaten. It had contained salt herrings; and she intended, after getting the flavour of fish scoured out of it, to use it forpacking her winter's butter. She did not know that it was for the sakeof its salty flavour that the porcupines were gnawing at it, butleaped to the conclusion that their sole object was to annoy andpersecute herself. 

"Shoo! Shoo!" she cried, snatching off her nightcap and flapping it atthem frantically. But the animals were too busy to even look up ather. The only sign they gave of having heard her was to raise theirquills straight on end so that their size apparently doubled itselfall at once. 

Mrs. Gammit felt herself wronged. As she turned and ran downstairs shemuttered, "First it's me aigs--an' now it's me little tub--an' Lordyknows what it's goin' to be next!" Then her dauntless spirit flamed upagain, and she snapped, "But there ain't agoin' to be no next!" andcast her eyes about her for the broom. 

Of course, at this moment, when it was most needed, that usuallyexemplary article was not where it ought to have been--standing besidethe dresser. Having no time to look for it, Mrs. Gammit snatched upthe potato-masher, and rushed forth into the moonlight with a gurglingyell, resolved to save the tub. 

She was a formidable figure as she charged down the yard, and atordinary times the porcupines might have given way. But when aporcupine has found something it really likes to eat, its courage issuperb. These two porcupines found the herring-tub delicious beyondanything they had ever tasted. Reluctantly they stopped gnawing for amoment, and turned their little twinkling eyes upon Mrs. Gammit insullen defiance. 

Now this was by no means what she had expected, and the ferocity ofher attack slackened. Had it been a lynx, or even a bear, her couragewould probably not have failed her. Had it been a man, a desperadowith knife in hand and murder in his eyes, she would have flown uponhim in contemptuous fury. But porcupines were different. They weremysterious to her. She believed firmly that they could shoot theirquills, like arrows, to a distance of ten feet. She had a swift visionof herself stuck full of quills, like a pincushion. At a distance ofeleven feet she stopped abruptly, and hurled the potato-masher with adeadly energy which carried it clean over the barn. Then theporcupines resumed their feasting, while she stared at themhelplessly. Two large tears of rage brimmed her eyes, and rolled downher battered cheeks; and backing off a few paces she sat down upon thesaw-horse to consider the situation. 

But never would Mrs. Gammit have been what she was had she beencapable of acknowledging defeat. In a very few moments her resourcefulwits reasserted themselves. 

"Queer!" she mused. "One don't never kinder seem to hit what one aimsat! But one always hits _somethin'_! Leastways, I do! If I jest flingenough things, an' keep on aflingin', I might hit a porkypine jest aswell as anything else. There ain't nawthin' onnateral about aporkypine, to keep one from hitt'n' him, I reckon. "

The wood-pile was close by; and the wood, which she had sawed andsplit for the kitchen stove, was of just the handy size. She wascareful, now, not to take aim, but imagined herself anxious toestablish a new wood-pile, in haste, just about where that sound ofinsolent gnawing was disturbing the night. In a moment a shower ofsizable firewood was dropping all about the herring-tub. 

The effect was instantaneous. The gnawing stopped, and the porcupinesglanced about uneasily. A stick fell plump upon the bottom of the tub, staving it in. The porcupines backed away and eyed it with grievedsuspicion. Another stick struck it on the side, so that it bouncedlike a jumping, live thing, and hit one of the porcupines sharply, rolling him over on his back. Instantly his valiant quills went downquite flat; and as he wriggled to his feet with a squeak of alarm, helooked all at once little and lean and dark, like a wet hen. Mrs. Gammit smiled grimly. 

"Ye ain't feelin' quite so sassy now, be ye?" she muttered; and thesticks flew the faster from her energetic hands. Not many of them, tobe sure, went at all in the direction she wished, but enough weredropping about the herring-tub to make the porcupines remember thatthey had business elsewhere. The one that had been struck had nolonger any regard for his dignity, but made himself as small aspossible and scurried off like a scared rat. The other, unvanquishedbut indignant, withdrew slowly, with every quill on end. The sticksfell all about him; but Mrs. Gammit, in the excitement of hertriumph, was now forgetting herself so far as to take aim, thereforenever a missile touched him. And presently, without haste, hedisappeared behind the barn. 

With something almost like admiration Mrs. Gammit eyed his departure. 

"Well, seein' as I hain't scairt ye _much_, " she muttered dryly, "mebbe ye'll obleege me by coming back an' gittin' into my trap. Butye ain't agoin' to hev no more o' my good herrin'-tub, ye ain't. " Andshe strode down the yard to get the tub. It was no longer a good tub, for the porcupines had gnawed two big holes in the sides, and Mrs. Gammit's own missiles had broken in the bottom. But she obstinatelybore the poor relics into the kitchen. Firewood they might become, butnot food for the enemy. 

No more that night was the good woman's sleep disturbed, and she sleptlater than usual. As she was getting up, conscience-stricken at thesound of the cows in the pasture lowing to be milked, she heard asquawking and fluttering under the barn, and rushed out half dressedto see what was the matter. She had no doubt that one of the audaciousporcupines had got himself into a trap. 

But no, it was neither porcupine, fox, nor weasel. To her consternation, it was her old red top-knot hen, which now lay flat upon the trap, with outstretched wings, exhausted by its convulsive floppings. Shepicked it up, loosed the deadly grip upon its leg, and slammed theoffending trap across the barn with such violence that it bounced upand fell into the swill-barrel. Her feelings thus a little relieved, she examined Red Top-knot's leg with care. It was hopelessly shatteredand mangled. 

"Ye cain't never scratch with _that_ ag'in, ye cain't!" muttered Mrs. Gammit, compassionately. "Poor dear, ther ain't nawthin' fer it but tomake vittles of ye now! Too bad! Too bad! Ye was always sech a finelayer an' a right smart setter!" And carrying the victim to the blockon which she was wont to split kindling wood, she gently but firmlychopped her head off. 

Half an hour later, as Mrs. Gammit returned from the pasture with abrimming pail of milk, again she heard a commotion under the barn. Butshe would not hurry, lest she should spill the milk. "Whatever it be, it'll be there when I git there!" she muttered philosophically; andkept on to the cool cellar with her milk. But as soon as she haddeposited the pail she turned and fairly ran in her eagerness. Thespeckled hen was cackling vain-gloriously; and as Mrs. Gammit passedthe row of nests in the shed she saw a white egg shining. But she didnot stop to secure it. 

As she entered the barn, a little yellowish brown animal, with asharp, triangular nose and savage eyes like drops of fire, ran at herwith such fury that for an instant she drew back. Then, with a roarof indignation at its audacity, she rushed forward and kicked at it. The kick struck empty air; but the substantial dimensions of the footseemed to daunt the daring little beast, and it slipped away like adarting flame beneath the sill of the barn. The next moment, as shestooped to look at the nearest of the two traps, another slim yellowcreature, larger than the first, leaped up, with a vicious cry, andalmost reached her face. But, fortunately for her, it was held fast byboth hind legs in the trap, and fell back impotent. 

Startled and enraged, Mrs. Gammit kicked at it, where it lay dartingand twisting like a snake. Naturally, she missed it; but it did notmiss her. With unerring aim it caught the toe of her heavy cowhideshoe, and fixed its teeth in the tough leather. Utterly taken bysurprise, Mrs. Gammit tried to jump backwards. But instead of that, she fell flat on her back, with a yell. Her sturdy heels flew up inthe air, while her petticoats flopped back in her face, bewilderingher. The weasel, however, had maintained his dogged grip upon the toeof her shoe; so something _had_ to give. That something was the cordwhich anchored the trap. It broke under the sudden strain. Trap andweasel together went flying over Mrs. Gammit's prostrate head. Theybrought up with a stupefying slam against the wall of the pig-pen, making the pig squeal apprehensively. 

Disconcerted and mortified, Mrs. Gammit scrambled to her feet, shookher petticoats into shape, and glanced about to see if the wildernessin general had observed her indiscretion. Apparently, nothing hadnoticed it. Then, with an air of relief, she glanced down at hervicious little antagonist. The weasel lay stunned, apparently dead. But she was not going to trust appearances. Picking trap and victim uptogether, on the end of a pitchfork, she carried them out and droppedthem into the barrel of rain water at the corner of the house. Half-revived by the shock, the yellow body wriggled for a moment ortwo at the bottom of the barrel. As she watched it, a doubt passedthrough Mrs. Gammit's mind. Could Joe Barron have been right? _Was_ itweasels, after all, that were taking her eggs? But she dismissed theidea at once. Joe Barron didn't know everything! And there, indisputably, were the porcupines, bothering her all the time, withunheard-of impudence. Weasels, indeed!

"'Twa'n't _you_ I was after, " she muttered obstinately, apostrophizingthe now motionless form in the rain-barrel. "It was them drattedporkypines, as comes after my aigs. But _ye're_ a bad lot, too, an'I'm right glad to have got ye where ye won't be up to no mischief. "

All athrill with excitement, Mrs. Gammit hurried through her morning'schores, and allowed herself no breakfast except half a dozen violentcups of tea "with sweetenin'. " Then, satisfied that the weasel in therain-barrel was by this time securely and permanently dead, she fishedit out, and reset the trap in its place under the barn. The other trapshe discovered in the swill-barrel, after a long search. Relieved tofind it unbroken, she cleaned it carefully and put it away to bereturned, in due time, to its owner. She would not set it again--and, indeed, she would have liked to smash it to bits, as a sacrifice tothe memory of poor Red Top-knot. 

"I hain't got no manner o' use fer a porkypine trap what'll go out o'its way to ketch hens, " she grumbled. 

The silent summer forenoon, after this, wore away without event. Mrs. Gammit, working in her garden behind the house, with the hot, sweetscent of the flowering buckwheat-field in her nostrils and the drowsyhum of bees in her ears, would throw down her hoe about once in everyhalf-hour and run into the barn to look hopefully at the traps. Butnothing came to disturb them. Neither did anything come to disturb thehens, who attended so well to business that at noon Mrs. Gammit hadseven fresh eggs to carry in. When night came, and neither weasels norporcupines had given any further sign of their existence, Mrs. Gammitwas puzzled. She was one of those impetuous women who expecteverything to happen all at once. When milking was over, and hersolitary, congenial supper, she sat down on the kitchen doorstep andconsidered the situation very carefully. 

What she had set herself out to do, after the interview with JoeBarron, was to catch a porcupine in one of his traps, and thus, according to her peculiar method of reasoning, convince the confidentwoodsman that porcupines _did_ eat eggs! As for the episode of theweasel, she resolved that she would not say anything to him about it, lest he should twist it into a confirmation of his own views. As forthose seven eggs, so happily spared to her, she argued that thecapture of the weasel, with all its attendant excitement, had servedas a warning to the porcupines and put them on their guard. Well, shewould give them something else to think about. She was now allimpatience, and felt unwilling to await the developments of themorrow, which, after all, might refuse to develop! With a suddenresolution she arose, fetched the gnawed and battered remains of theherring-tub from their concealment behind the kitchen door, andpropped them up against the side of the house, directly beneath herbedroom window. 

At first her purpose in this was not quite clear to herself. But thememory of her triumph of the previous night was tingling in her veins, and she only knew she wanted to lure the porcupines back, that shemight do _something_ to them. And first, being a woman, thatsomething occurred to her in connexion with hot water. How conclusiveit would be to wait till the porcupines were absorbed in theirconsumption of the herring-tub, and then pour scalding water down uponthem. After all, it was more important that she should vanquish herenemies than prove to a mere man that they really were her enemies. What did she care, anyway, what that Joe Barron thought? Then, oncemore, a doubt assailed her. What if he were right? Not that she wouldadmit it, for one moment. But just supposing! Was she going to pourhot water on those porcupines, and scald all the bristles off theirbacks, if they really _didn't_ come after her eggs? Mrs. Gammit wasessentially just and kind-hearted, and she came to the conclusion thatthe scheme might be too cruel. 

"Ef it be you uns as takes the aigs, " she murmured thoughtfully, "akittle o' bilin' water to yer backs ain't none too bad fer ye! But efit be _only_ my old herrin'-tub ye're after, then bilin' water's tooha'sh!"

In the end, the weapon she decided upon was the big tin pepper-pot, well loaded. 

Through the twilight, while the yard was all in shadow, Mrs. Gammitsat patient and motionless beside her open window. The moon rose, seeming to climb with effort out of the tangle of far-off treetops. The faint, rhythmic breathing of the wilderness, which, to thesensitive ear, never ceases even in the most profound calm, took onthe night change, the whisper of mystery, the furtive suggestion ofmenace which the daylight lacks. Sitting there in ambush, Mrs. Gammitfelt it all, and her eager face grew still and pale and solemn like astatue's. The moonlight crept down the roofs of the barn and shed andhouse, then down the walls, till only the ground was in shadow. And atlast, through this lower stratum of obscurity, Mrs. Gammit saw twosquat, sturdy shapes approaching leisurely from behind the barn. 

She held her breath. Yes, it was undoubtedly the porcupines. Undauntedby the memory of their previous discomfiture, they came straightacross the yard, and up to the house, and fell at once to theirfeasting on the herring-tub. The noise of their enthusiastic gnawingechoed strangely across the attentive air. 

Very gently, with almost imperceptible motion, Mrs. Gammit slid herright hand, armed with the pepper-pot, over the edge of thewindow-sill. The porcupines, enraptured with the flavour of theherring-tub, never looked up. Mrs. Gammit was just about to turn thepepper-pot over, when she saw a third dim shape approaching, andstayed her hand. It was bigger than a porcupine. She kept very still, breathing noiselessly through parted lips. Then the moonlight reachedthe ground, the shadows vanished, and she saw a big wildcat stealingup to find out what the porcupines were eating. 

Seeing the feasters so confident and noisy, yet undisturbed, theusually cautious wildcat seemed to think there could be no dangernear. Had Mrs. Gammit stirred a muscle, he would have marked her; butin her movelessness her head and hand passed for some harmless naturalphenomenon. The wildcat crept softly up, and as he drew near, theporcupines raised their quills threateningly, till nothing could beseen of their bodies but their blunt snouts still busy on theherring-tub. At a distance of about six feet the big cat stopped, andcrouched, glaring with wide, pale eyes, and sniffing eagerly. Mrs. Gammit was amazed that the porcupines did not at once discharge avolley at him and fill him full of quills for his intrusion. 

The wildcat knew too much about porcupines to dream of attacking them. It was what they were eating that interested him. They seemed to enjoyit so much. He crept a few inches nearer, and caught a whiff of theherring-tub. Yes, it was certainly fish. A true cat, he doted on fish, even salt fish. He made another cautious advance, hoping that theporcupines might retire discreetly. But instead of that they merelystopped gnawing, put their noses between their forelegs, squattedflat, and presented an unbroken array of needle points to hisdangerous approach. 

The big cat stopped, quite baffled, his little short tail, not morethan three inches long, twitching with anger. He could not see thatthe tub was empty; but he could smell it, and he drew in his breathwith noisy sniffling. It filled him with rage to be so baffled; for heknew it would be fatal to go any nearer, and so expose himself to adeadly slap from the armed tails of the porcupines. 

Just what he would have attempted, however, in his eagerness, willnever be known. For at this point, Mrs. Gammit's impatience overcameher curiosity. With a gentle motion of her wrist she turned thepepper-pot over, and softly shook it. The eyes of the wildcat werefixed upon that wonderful, unattainable herring-tub, and he sawnothing else. But Mrs. Gammit in the vivid moonlight saw a fine cloudof pepper sinking downwards slowly on the moveless air. 

Suddenly the wildcat pawed at his nose, drew back, and grew rigid withwhat seemed an effort to restrain some deep emotion. The next momenthe gave vent to a loud, convulsive sneeze, and began to spit savagely. He appeared to be not only very angry, but surprised as well. When hefell to clawing frantically at his eyes and nose with both paws, Mrs. Gammit almost strangled with the effort to keep from laughing. But sheheld herself in, and continued to shake down the pungent shower. Amoment more, and the wildcat, after an explosion of sneezes whichalmost made him stand on his head, gave utterance to a yowl ofconsternation, and turned to flee. As he bounded across the yard heevidently did not see just where he was going, for he ran head firstinto the wheelbarrow, which straightway upset and kicked him. For aninstant he clawed at it wildly, mistaking it for a living assailant. Then he recovered his wits a little, and scurried away across thepasture, sneezing and spitting as he went. 

Meanwhile the porcupines, with their noses to the ground and theireyes covered, had been escaping the insidious attack of the pepper. But at last it reached them. Mrs. Gammit saw a curious shiver passover the array of quills. 

Now it was contrary to all the most rigid laws of the porcupine kindto uncoil themselves in the face of danger. At the same time, it wasimpossible to sneeze in so constrained an attitude. Their effort washeroic, but self-control at last gave way. As it were with a snap, oneof the globes of quills straightened itself out, and sneezed andsneezed and sneezed. Then the other went through the same spasmodicprocess, while Mrs. Gammit, leaning halfway out of the window, squealed and choked with delight. But the porcupines were obstinate, and would not run away. Very slowly they turned and retired down theyard, halting every few feet to sneeze. With tears streaming down hercheeks Mrs. Gammit watched their retreat, till suddenly some of thevagrant pepper was wafted back to her own nostrils, and she herselfwas shaken with a mighty sneeze. This checked her mirth on theinstant. Her face grew grave, and drawing back with a mortified airshe slammed the window down. 

"Might 'a' knowed I'd be aketchin' cold, " she muttered, "settin' in adraught this time o' night. "

Not until she had thoroughly mastered the tickling in her nostrils didshe glance forth again. Then the porcupines were gone, and not even anecho of their far-off sneezes reached her ears. 

In the days that followed, neither weasel, wildcat, nor porcupine cameto Mrs. Gammit's clearing, and the daily harvest of strictly fresheggs was unfailing. At the end of a week, the good lady felt justifiedin returning the traps to Joe Barron, and letting him know howmistaken he had been. 

"There, Mr. Barron, " said she, handing him the three traps, "I'mobleeged to you, an' there's yer traps. But there's one of 'em ain'tno good. "

"Which one be it?" asked the woodsman as he took them. 

"I've marked it with a bit of string, " replied Mrs. Gammit. 

"What's the matter with it? I don't see nawthin' wrong with it!" saidBarron, examining it critically. 

"Tain't no good! You take my word fer it! That's all I've got tosay!" persisted Mrs. Gammit. 

"Oh, well, seem' as it's you sez so, Mrs. Gammit, that's enough, "agreed the woodsman, civilly. "But the other is all right, eh? Whatdid they ketch?"

"Well, they ketched a big weasel!" said Mrs. Gammit, eyeing him withchallenge. 

A broad smile went over Barron's face. 

"I knowed it, " he exclaimed. "I knowed as how it was a weasel. "

"An' _I_ knowed as how ye'd say jest them very words, " retorted Mrs. Gammit. "But ye don't know everythin', Joe Barron. It wa'n't no weaselas was takin' them there aigs!"

"What were it then?" demanded the woodsman, incredulously. 

"It was two big porkypines an' a monstrous big wildcat, " answered Mrs. Gammit in triumph. 

"Did ye ketch 'em at it?" asked the woodsman, with a faint note ofsarcasm in his voice. But the sarcasm glanced off Mrs. Gammit'sarmour. She regarded the question as a quite legitimate one. 

"No, I kain't say as I did, _exackly_, " she replied. "But they comeanosin' round, an' to teach 'em a lesson to keep ther noses out o'other people's hens' nests I shook a little pepper over 'em. I tellye, they took to the woods, asneezin' that bad I thought ye might 'a'heard 'em all the way over here. Ye'd 'ave bust yerself laffin', ef yecould 'a' seed 'em rootin'. An' since then, Mr. Barron, I git all theaigs I want. Don't ye talk to me o' _weasels_--the skinny little rats. _They_ ain't wuth noticin', no more'n a chipmunk. "

The Battle in the Mist

In the silver-grey between dawn and sunrise the river was filled withmist from bank to bank. It coiled and writhed and rolled, herethinning, there thickening, as if breathed upon irregularly byinnumerable unseen mouths. But there was no wind astir; and thebrown-black, glistening current beneath the white folds was glassysmooth save where the occasional big swirls boiled up with a swishinggurgle, or the running wave broke musically around an upthrustshoulder of rock or a weedy snag. The river was not wide--not morethan fifty yards from bank to bank; but from the birch canoe slippingquietly down along one shore, just outside the fringe of alderbranches, the opposite shore was absolutely hidden. There was nothingto indicate that an opposite shore existed, save that now and againthe dark top of a soaring pine or elm would show dimly for a moment, seeming to float above the ghostly gulfs of mist. 

The canoe kept close along the shore for guidance, as one feels one'sway along a wall in the dark. The channel, moreover, was deep andclear in shore; while out under the mist the soft noises of ripplesproclaimed to the ears of the two canoeists the presence of frequentrock and snag and shallow. Lest they should run upon unseen dangersahead, the canoeists were travelling very slowly, the bow-man restingwith his paddle across the gunwales before him, while the stern-man, his paddle noiselessly waving like the fin of a trout, did no morethan keep his craft to her course and let her run with the current. 

Down along the shore, keeping just behind the canoe and close to thewater's edge, followed a small, dark, sinuous creature, its piercingeyes, bead-black with a glint of red behind them, fixed in savagecuriosity upon the canoemen. It was about two feet in length, withextremely short legs, and a sharp, triangular head. As it ran--and itsmovements were as soundless and effortless as those of a snake--ithumped its long, lithe body in a way that suggested a snake's coils. It seemed to be following the canoe out of sheer curiosity--acuriosity, however, which was probably well mixed with malevolence, seeing that it was the curiosity of a mink. These two strangecreatures moving on the water were, of course, too large andformidable for the big mink to dream of attacking them; but he couldwonder at them and hate them--and who could say that some chance to dothem a hurt might not arise? Stealthy, wary, and bold, he kept hisdistance about eight or ten feet from the canoe; and because he wasbehind he imagined himself unseen. As a matter of fact, however, thesteersman of the canoe, wiser in woodcraft and cunninger even than he, had detected him and was watching him with interest from the corner ofhis eye. So large a mink, and one so daring in curiosity, was aphenomenon to be watched and studied with care. The canoeist did nottake his comrade in the bow into his confidence for some minutes, lestthe sound of the human voice should daunt the animal. But presently, in a monotonous, rhythmic murmur which carried no alarm to the mink'sear but only heightened its interest, he called the situation to hiscompanion's notice; and the latter, without seeming to see, kept watchthrough half-closed lids. 

A little way down the shore, close to the water's edge, somethinground and white caught the mink's eye. Against the soft browns anddark greys of the wet soil, the object fairly shone in its whiteness, and seemed absurdly out of place. It was a hen's egg, either droppedthere by a careless hen from the pioneer's cabin near by, or left by amusk-rat disturbed in his poaching. However it had got there, it wasan egg; and the canoeists saw that they no longer held the mink'sundivided attention. Gently the steersman sheered out a few feetfarther from the bank, and at the same time checked the canoe'sheadway. He wanted to see how the mink would manipulate the egg whenhe got to it. 

The egg lay at the foot of a little path which led down the bushy bankto the water--a path evidently trodden by the pioneer's cattle. Downthis path, stepping daintily and turning his long inquisitive nose andbig, bright, mischievous eyes from side to side, came a raccoon. Hewas a small raccoon, a little shorter than the mink, but lookingheavier by reason of his more stocky build and bushier, looser fur. His purpose was to fish or hunt frogs in the pool at the foot of thepath; but when he saw the egg gleaming through the misty air, his eyessparkled with satisfaction. A long summer passed in proximity to thepioneer's cabin had enabled him to find out that eggs were good. Hehastened his steps, and with a sliding scramble, which attracted theattention of the men in the canoe, he arrived at the water's edge. Butto his indignant astonishment he was not the first to arrive. 

The mink was just ahead. He reached the egg, laid one paw upon it inpossession, and turned with a snarl of defiance as the raccoon camedown the bank. The latter paused to note the threatening fangs andmalign eyes of his slim rival. Then, with that brisk gaiety which theraccoon carries into the most serious affairs of his life, andparticularly into his battles, he ran to the encounter. The men inthe canoe, eagerly interested, stole nearer to referee the match. 

Quick as the raccoon was, his snake-like adversary was quicker. Doubling back upon himself, the mink avoided that confident anddangerous rush, and with a lightning snap fixed hold upon his enemy'sneck. But it was not, by half an inch, the hold he wanted; and hislong, deadly teeth sank not, as he had planned, into the foe's throat, but into the great tough muscles a little higher up. He dared not letgo to try for the deadlier hold, but locked his jaws and whipped hislong body over the other's back, hoping to evade his antagonist'steeth. 

The raccoon had lost the first point, and his large eyes blazed withpain and anger. But his dauntless spirit was not in the leastdismayed. Shaking the long, black body from his back, he swung himselfhalf round and caught his enemy's slim loins between his jaws. It wasa cruelly punishing grip, and under the stress of it the mink lashedout so violently that the two, still holding on with locked jaws, rolled over into the water, smashing the egg as they fell. The canoe, now close beside them, they heeded not at all. 

"Two to one on the mink!" whispered the traveller in the bow of thecanoe, delightedly. But the steersman smiled, and said "Wait!"

To be in the water suited the mink well enough. A hunter of fish intheir holes, he was almost as much at home in the water as a fish. Butthe raccoon it did not suit at all. With a splutter he relinquishedhis hold on the mink's loins; and the latter, perceiving theadvantage, let go and snapped again for the throat. But again hemiscalculated the alertness of the raccoon's sturdy muscles. Thelatter had turned his head the instant that the mink's jaws relaxed, and the two gnashed teeth in each other's faces, neither securing ahold. The next moment the raccoon had leaped back to dry land, turningin threatening readiness as he did so. 

Though there was no longer anything to fight about, the mink's bloodwas up. His eyes glowed like red coals, his long, black shape lookedvery fit and dangerous, and his whole appearance was that ofvindictive fury. The raccoon, on the other hand, though bedraggledfrom his ducking, maintained his gay, casual air, as if enjoying thewhole affair too much to be thoroughly enraged. When the mink dartedupon him, straight as a snake strikes, he met the attack with acurious little pirouette; and the next instant the two were once morelocked in a death grapple. 

It was some moments before the breathless watchers in the canoe couldmake out which was getting the advantage, so closely were the greybody and the black intertwined. Then it was seen that the raccoon wasusing his flexible, hand-like paws as a bear might, to hold his foedown to the punishment. Both contestants were much cut, and bleedingfreely; but the mink was now getting slow, while the raccoon was ascheerfully alert as ever. At length the mink tore loose and made onemore desperate reach for his favourite throat-hold. But this time itwas the raccoon who avoided. He danced aside, flashed back, and caughtthe mink fairly under the jaw. Then, bracing himself, he shook his foeas a terrier might. And in a minute or two the long, black shapestraightened out limply amid the sand and dead leaves. 

When the body was quite still the raccoon let go and stood over itexpectantly for some minutes. He bit it several times, and seeing thatthis treatment elicited no retort, suffered himself to feel assured ofhis victory. Highly pleased, he skipped back and forth over the body, playfully seized it with his fore-paws, and bundled it up into a heap. Then seeming to remember the origin of the quarrel, he sniffedregretfully at the crumbled fragments of egg-shell. His expression ofdisappointment was so ludicrous that in spite of themselves the men inthe canoe exploded with laughter. 

As the harsh, incongruous sound startled the white stillnesses, in thelifting of an eyelid the little conqueror vanished. One of thecanoeists stepped ashore, picked up the body of the slain mink, andthrew it into the canoe. As the two resumed their paddles and slippedaway into the mist, they knew that from some hiding-place on the banktwo bright, indignant eyes were peering after them in wonder. 

Melindy and the Spring Bear

Soft, wet and tender, with a faint green filming the sodden pasturefield, and a rose-pink veil covering the maples, and blue-grey catkinstinting the dark alders, spring had come to the lonely little clearingin the backwoods. From the swampy meadow along the brook's edge, across the road from the cabin and the straw-littered barn-yard, cametoward evening that music which is the distinctive note of thenorthern spring--the thrilling, mellow, inexpressibly wistful flutingof the frogs. 

The sun was just withdrawing his uppermost rim behind the far-offblack horizon line of fir-tops. The cabin door stood wide open toadmit the sweet air and the sweet sound. Just inside the door sat oldMrs. Griffis, rocking heavily, while the woollen sock which she wasknitting lay forgotten in her lap. She was a strong-featured, muscularwoman, still full of vigour, whom rheumatism had met and halted in thebusy path of life. Her keen and restless eyes were following eagerlyevery movement of a slender, light-haired girl in a blue cotton waistand grey homespun skirt, who was busy at the other side of the yard, getting her little flock of sheep penned up for the night for fear ofwild prowlers. 

Presently the girl slammed the pen door, jammed the hardwood peg intothe staple, ran her fingers nervously through the pale fluff of herhair, and came hurrying across the yard to the door with a smile onher delicate young face. 

"_There_, Granny!" she exclaimed, with the air of one who has just gota number of troublesome little duties accomplished, "I guess nolynxes, or nothing, 'll get the sheep to-night, anyways. Now, I mustgo an' hunt up old 'Spotty' afore it gets too dark. I don't see what'smade her wander off to-day. She always sticks around the barn close asa burr!"

The old woman smiled, knowing that the survival of a wild instinct inthe cow had led her to seek some hiding-place, near home but secluded, wherein to secrete her new-born calf. 

"I guess old 'Spotty' knows enough to come home when she gets ready, Child!" she answered. "She's been kept that close all winter, the snowbein' so deep, I don't wonder she wants to roam a bit now she can git'round. Land sakes, I wish't _I_ could roam a bit, 'stead er sittin', sittin', an' knittin', knittin', mornin', noon an' night, all along ofthese 'ere useless old legs of mine!"

"Poor Granny!" murmured the girl, softly, tears coming into her eyes. "I wish't we could get 'round, the two of us, in these sweet-smellin'spring woods, an' get the first Mayflowers together! Couldn't you justtry now, Granny? I believe you are goin' to walk all right again someday, just as well as any of us. Do try!"

Thus adjured, the old woman grasped the arms of her chair sturdily, set her jaw, and lifted herself quite upright. But a groan forceditself from her lips, and she sank back heavily, her face creased withpain. Recovering herself with a resolute effort, however, she smiledrather ruefully. 

"Some day, mebbe, if the good Lord wills!" said she, shaking her head. "But 'tain't this day, Melindy! You'll be the death o' me yet, Child, you're so set on me gittin' 'round ag'in!"

"Why, Granny, you did splendid!" cried the girl. "That was the bestyet, the best you've ever done since I come to you. You stood just asstraight as anybody for a minute. Now, I'll go an' hunt old 'Spotty. '"And she turned toward the tiny path that led across the pasture to theburnt-woods. 

But Mrs. Griffis's voice detained her. 

"What's the good o' botherin' about old 'Spotty' to-night, Melindy?Let her have her fling. Them frogs make me that lonesome to-night Ican't bear to let ye a minnit out o' my sight, Child! Ther' ain't noother sound like it, to my way o' thinkin', for music nor forlonesomeness. It 'most breaks my heart with the sweetness of it, risin' an' fallin' on the wet twilight that way. But I just got tohave somebody 'round when I listen to it!"

"Yes, Granny, I love it, too!" assented Melindy in a preoccupied tone, "when I ain't too bothered to listen. Just now, I'm thinkin' about old'Spotty' out there alone in the woods, an' maybe some hungry lynxeswatchin' for her to lie down an' go to sleep. You know how hungry thebears will be this spring, too, Granny, after the snow layin' deep solate. I just couldn't sleep, if I thought old 'Spotty' was out therein them queer, grey, empty woods all night. In summer it's different, an' then the woods are like home. "

"Well, " said her grandmother, seeing that the girl was bent upon herpurpose, "if ye're skeered for old 'Spotty, ' ye'd better be a littlemite skeered for yerself, Child! Take along the gun. Mebbe ye mightsee a chipmunk a-bitin' the old cow jest awful!"

Heedless of her grandmother's gibe, Melindy, who had a very practicalbrain under her fluffy light hair, picked up the handy little axewhich she used for chopping kindling. 

"No guns for me, Granny, you know, " she retorted. "This 'ere littleaxe's good enough for me!" And swinging it over her shoulder she wentlightly up the path, her head to one side, her small mouth puckered ina vain effort to learn to whistle. 

What Melindy and her grandmother called the "Burnt Lands" was a stripof country running back for miles from the clearing. The fire had goneover it years before, cutting a sharply defined, gradually wideningpath through the forest, and leaving behind it only a few scatteredrampikes, or tall, naked trunks bleached to whiteness by the storms ofmany winters. Here and there amid these desolate spaces, densethickets of low growth had sprung up, making a secure hiding-place ofevery hollow where the soil had not had all the life scorched out ofit. 

Having crossed the pasture, Melindy presently detected those faintindications of a trail which the uninitiated eye finds it soimpossible to see. Slight bendings and bruises of the blueberry andlaurel scrub caught her notice. Then she found, in a bare spot, theunmistakable print of a cow's hoof. The trail was now quite clear toher; and it was clearly that of old "Spotty. " Intent upon her questshe hurried on, heedless of the tender colours changing in the skyabove her head, of the first swallows flitting and twittering acrossit, of the keen yet delicate fragrance escaping from every sap-swollenbud, and of the sweetly persuasive piping of the frogs from the watermeadow. She had no thought at that moment but to find the truant cowand get her safely stabled before dark. 

The trail led directly to a rocky hollow about a hundred yards fromthe edge of the pasture--perhaps a hundred and fifty yards from thedoorway wherein Mrs. Griffis sat intently watching Melindy's progress. The hollow was thick with young spruce and white birch, clusteredabout a single tall and massive rampike. 

Into this shadowy tangle the girl pushed fearlessly, peering aheadbeneath the dark, balsam-scented branches. She could see, in a brokenfashion, to the very foot of the rampike, across which lay a hugefallen trunk. But she could see nothing of old "Spotty, " who, byreason of her vivid colouring of red and white splotches, would havebeen conspicuous against those dark surroundings. 

There was something in the silence, combined with the absence of thecow whom she confidently expected to find, which sent a little chillto the girl's heart. She gripped her axe more tightly, and stood quitemotionless, accustoming her eyes to the confused gloom; and presentlyshe thought she could distinguish a small brownish shape lying on amound of moss near the foot of the rampike. A moment more and shecould see that it was looking at her, with big, soft eyes. Then a pairof big ears moved. She realized that it was a calf she was looking at. Old "Spotty's" truancy was accounted for. 

But where was old "Spotty"? Melindy thought for a moment, andconcluded very properly that the mother, considering the calfwell-hidden, had slipped away to the spring for a drink. She was onthe point of stepping forward to admire the little new-comer and seeif it was yet strong enough to be led home to the barn, when astealthy rustling at the farther side of the thicket arrested her. 

Certainly that could not be the cow, who was anything but stealthy inher movements. But what could it be?

Melindy had a sudden prescience of peril. But her nerves stiffened toit, and she had no thought of retreat. It might be one of those savagelynxes, spying upon the calf in its mother's absence. At this ideaMelindy's small mouth itself set very grimly, and she rejoiced thatshe had brought the axe along. The lynx, of all the wild creatures, she regarded with special antagonism. 

The stealthy movements came nearer, nearer, then suddenly died out. Amoment more and a dark bulk took shape noiselessly among thefir-branches, some ten or twelve feet beyond the spot where thehelpless calf was lying. 

For a second Melindy's heart stood still. What was her little axeagainst a bear! Then she recalled the general backwoods faith that thebiggest black bear would run from a human being, if only he had plentyof room to run. She looked at the helpless little one curled up onits mossy bed. She looked at the savage black shape gliding slowlyforward to devour it. And her heart leaped with returning courage. 

The bear, its fierce eyes glancing from side to side, was now withinfive or six feet of its intended prey. With a shrill cry of warningand defiance Melindy sprang forward, swinging her axe, and ordered thebeast to "Git out!" She was greatly in hopes that the animal wouldyield to the authority of the human voice, and retire abashed. 

At any other season, it is probable that the bear would have done justas she hoped it would. But now, it had the courage of a rampant springappetite. Startled it was, and disturbed, at the girl's suddenappearance and her shrill cry; and it half drew back, hesitating. ButMelindy also hesitated; and the bear was quick to perceive herhesitation. For a few seconds he stood eyeing her, his head down andswinging from side to side. Then, seeming to conclude that she was nota formidable antagonist, he gave vent to a loud, grunting growl, andlurched forward upon the calf. 

With a wild scream, half of fury, half of fear, Melindy also dartedforward, trusting that the animal would not really face her onslaught. And the calf, terrified at the sudden outcry, staggered to its feetwith a loud bleating. 

The bear was just upon it, with great black paw uplifted for thefatal stroke that would have broken its back, when he saw Melindy'saxe descending. With the speed of a skilled boxer he changed thedirection of his stroke, and fended off the blow so cleverly that theaxe almost flew from the girl's grasp. The fine edge, however, caughta partial hold, and cleft the paw to the bone. 

Furious with the pain, and his fighting blood now thoroughly aroused, the bear forgot the calf and sprang at his daring assailant. Light-footed as a cat, the girl leapt aside, just in time, darted overthe fallen trunk, and dodged around the base of the rampike. Sherealized that she had undertaken too much, and her only hope now wasthat either she would be able to outrun the bear, or that the latterwould turn his attentions again to the calf and forget about her. 

The bear, however, had no intention of letting her escape hisvengeance. For all his bulk, he was amazingly nimble and was at herheels again in a second. Though she might have outstripped him in theopen, he would probably have caught her in the hampering thicket; butat this crucial moment there came a bellow and a crashing of branchesclose behind him, and he whirled about just in time to receive theraging charge of old "Spotty, " who had heard her youngster's call. 

The bear had no time to dodge or fend this onslaught, but only tobrace himself. The cow's horns, unfortunately, were short andwide-spreading. She caught him full in the chest, with the force of abattering-ram, and would have hurled him backwards but that his mightyclaws and forearms, at the same instant, secured a deadly clutch uponher shoulders. She bore him backward against the trunk indeed, butthere he recovered himself; and when she strove to withdraw foranother battering charge, she could not tear herself free. Foiled inthese tactics, she lunged forward with all her strength, again andagain, bellowing madly, and endeavouring to crush out her enemy'sbreath against the tree. And the bear, grunting, growling, andwhining, held her fast while he tore at her with his deadly claws. 

Too much excited to think any longer of flight, Melindy stood upon thefallen trunk and breathlessly watched the battle. In a few moments sherealized that old "Spotty" was getting the worst of it; and upon thisher courage once more returned. Running down the great log as close asshe dared, she swung up her axe, and paused for an opening. She wasjust about to strike, when a well-known voice arrested her, and shejumped back. 

"Git out of the way, Child, " it commanded, piercing the turmoil. "Gitout of the way an' let me shoot!"

The crippled old woman, too, had heard the cry of her young. When thatscream of Melindy's cleft the evening air, Mrs. Griffis had shot outof her chair as if she had never heard of rheumatism. She did not knowanything hurt her. At the summons of this imperious need her oldvigour all came back. Snatching up the big duck-gun from the corner, where it stood always loaded and ready, she went across the pastureand through the laurel patches at a pace almost worthy of Melindyherself. When she plunged through the bushes into the hollow, and sawthe situation, her iron will steadied her nerves to meet the crisis. 

The instant Melindy had jumped out of the way Mrs. Griffis ran closeup to the combatants. The bear was being kept too busy to spare herany attention whatever. Coolly setting the muzzle of the big gun(which was loaded with buckshot) close to the beast's side, justbehind the fore-shoulder, she pulled the trigger. There was a roarthat filled the hollow like the firing of a cannon, and the bearcollapsed sprawling, with a great hole blown through his heart. 

Old "Spotty" drew back astonished, snorted noisily, and rolled wildeyes upon her mistress. Then, unable to believe that her late foe wasreally no longer a menace to her precious calf, she fell once moreupon the lifeless form and tried to beat it out of all likeness to abear. The calf, who had been knocked over but not hurt in the bear'scharge upon Melindy, had struggled to its feet again; and Mrs. Griffis pushed it forward to attract its mother's attention. This moveproved successful; and presently, in the task of licking the littlecreature all over to make sure it was not hurt, "Spotty" forgot hernoble rage. Then, slowly and patiently, by pushing, pulling, andcoaxing, the two women got the calf up out of the hollow and along thehomeward path, while the mother, heedless of her streaming wounds, crowded against them, mooing softly with satisfaction. She was cravingnow, for her little one, the safe shelter of the barn-yard. 

At the well the quaint procession stopped, and the calf fell tonursing; while Melindy washed the cow's wounds, and Mrs. Griffishunted up some tar to use as a salve upon them. As she moved brisklyabout the yard, Melindy broke into a peal of joyous but almosthysterical laughter. 

"I declare to goodness, Granny, " she cried, in response to the oldwoman's questioning look, "if you ain't just as spry as me. I've heardtell that bear's grease was a great medicine for rheumatism. It'splain to be seen, Granny, that you've used up a whole bear foryours. "

"It wasn't the bear, Child!" answered the old woman, gravely. "It wasthat ter'ble scream o' yours cured my rheumatiz! Old 'Spotty, ' shecome to her young one's call. Could I do less, Child, when I heerd mylittle one cry out fer me?"

WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE'S

 A Certain Rich Man

 _Cloth, $1. 50 net_

 "It pulsates with humor, interest, passionate love, adventures, pathos--every page is woven with threads of human nature, life as we know it, life as it is, and above it all a spirit of righteousness, true piety, and heroic patriotism. These inspire the author's genius and fine literary quality, thrilling the reader with tenderest emotion, and holding to the end his unflagging, absorbing interest. "--_The Public Ledger_, Philadelphia. 

 "Mr. White has written a big and satisfying book made up of the elements of American life as we know them--the familiar humor, sorrows, ambitions, crimes, sacrifices--revealed to us with peculiar freshness and vigor in the multitude of human actions and by the crowd of delightful people who fill his four-hundred odd pages.... It deserves a high place among the novels that deal with American life. No recent American novel save one has sought to cover so broad a canvas, or has created so strong an impression of ambition and of sincerity. "--_Chicago Evening Post. _

 "The great fictional expression of this mighty Twentieth Century altruistic movement is sure to be something in kind and in degree akin to Mr. White's 'A Certain Rich Man. '"--_Brooklyn Daily Eagle_. 

 "An American novel, home-grown in home soil, vital with homely American motives, and fragrant with homely American memories, Mr. White has certainly achieved. "--_New York Times_. 

 Dr. Washington Gladden considered this book of sufficient importance to take it and the text from which the title was drawn as his subject for an entire sermon, in the course of which he said: "In its ethical and social significance it is the most important piece of fiction that has lately appeared in America. I do not think that a more trenchant word has been spoken to this nation since 'Uncle Tom's Cabin. ' And it is profoundly to be hoped that this book may do for the prevailing Mammonism what 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' did for slavery. "

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