Part 11 (2/2)
Half a mile down this openway, off the hoainst the snow--and stands! The dog prances round and round as if he would hold the creature for his master's shot; and the Indian calculates--” After all, there is only one”
What a chance to approach it under cover, as it has approached his traps! The stars are already pricking the blue darkness in cold, steel points; and the Northern Lights are swinging through the gloom like mystic censers to an invisible Spirit, the Spirit of the still, white, wide, northern wastes It is as clear as day
One thought of his loss at the fox trap sends the Indian flitting through the underwoods like a hunted partridge The sharp barkings of the dog increase in fury, and when the trapper eled a hundred yards farther That was the ain advances But the wolf keeps ae for the old-fashi+oned et abreast of the wolf and utterly heedless of the increasing danger, as each step puts greater distance between hie He will pass the wolf, coe of the woods to get his ai furiously at his own moonlit shadow The wolf, after the fashi+on of his kind, has apparently disappeared into the ground, just as he always seearou,” but no wolf-deend devoured the very real substance of that fox
The dog stops barking, gives a whine and skulks to his master's feet, while the trapper becoh the underbrush Eyes look out of the dark in the flash of green lights fro, but thewith a silvery clearness that throwswolf shadows on the snow to the trapper's very feet
Then the man knows that he has been tricked
The Indian knows the wolf-pack too well to atteht fro that wolves of forest and prairie hold in deadly fear--fire Two or three shots ring into the darkness followed by a yelping hohich tells him there is one wolf less, and the others will hold off at a safe distance Contrary to the wood only on a windy day, the Indian whips out his axe and chops with all hisfire That will keep the rascals away till the pack goes off in full cry, or daylight co, the Indian hastily makes a bow, and shoots arrow after arroith the tip in flaes But the night is too clear The sky is silver with stars, and hts flicker and wane and fade and flanal The sht coluht of the trees, for the frost lies on the land heavy, palpable, impenetrable And for all the frost is thick to the touch, the night is as clear as burnished steel
That is the peculiarity of northern cold The air seems to become absolutely compressed with the cold; but that same cold freezes out and precipitates every particle of floating moisture till earth and sky,of polishedin a gale, coent half-breed says this is frohts The white man says it is electric activity in compressed air The Indian says it is a spirit, and he may mutter the words of the braves in death chant:
”If I die, I die valiant, I go to death fearless
I die a brave o to those heroes who died without fear”
Hours pass The trapper gives over shooting fire arrows into the air He heaps his fire and watches, ht of the moon is white like statuary The snow is pure as statuary The snow-edged trees are chiselled clear like statuary; and the silence is of stone Only the snap of the blaze, the crackling of the frosted air, the break of a twig back a has uard
By-and-bye the rustling through the brush ceases; and the dog at last lowers his ears and lies quiet The trapper throws a stick into the woods and sends the dog after it The dog cos of alarm The man knows that the wolves have drawn off Will he wait out that long Northern night? He has had nothing to eat but the piece of pemmican The heavy frost drowsiness will coo out An hour's run will carry him home; but to make speed with the snow-shoes he must run in the open, exposed to all watchers
When an Indian balancesup his hood, belting in the caribou coat and kicking up the dog, the trapper strikes out for the open way leading back to the line of his traps, and the hollohere the lodges have been built for shelter against wind There is another reason for building lodges in a hollow Sound of the hunter will not carry to the gaaame should turn hunter and the man turn hunted! The trapper speeds down the snowy slope, striding, sliding, coasting, vaulting over hu rather than running The frosty air acts as a conductor to sound, and the frost filainst the face of the er It is the dog that catches the first breath of peril, uttering a smothered ”_oo!_” The trapper tries to persuade himself the alarm was only the far screaain, deep and faint, like an echo in a dolance over his shoulder shows hiainst the sky
He has been tricked again, and kno the fox feels before the dogs in full cry
The trapper is no longer ahis blood and the sleuth-hounds of the wilds on his trail Soht the slip-strings, he sees that the dog's feet have been cut by the snow crust and are bleeding It is life for life now; the old, hard, inexorable Mosaic law, that has no new dispensation in the northern wilderness, and demands that a beast's life shall not sacrifice ais dead
The far, faint howl has deepened to a loud, exultant bay The wolf-pack are in full cry The man has rounded the open alley between the trees and is speeding down the hillside winged with fear He hears the pack pause where the dog fell That gives him respite The moon is behind, and thehiain, hard, , but dare not pause A great drift thrusts across his way and the shadow in front runs slower They are gaining on his for breath are his own or his pursuers' At the crest of the drift he braces hioes to the bottom with the swiftness of a sled on a slide
The slant ht throws another shadow on the snow at his heels
It is the leader of the pack The man turns, and tosses up his arms--an Indian trick to stop pursuit Then he fires The ravening hunter ofhi howl
The man is off and away
If he only had the quick rifle, hich white le quarry, he would be safe enough now But the old , and speed will serve him better than another shot
Then the snow-shoe noose slips co the racquet on edge and clogging hiht it they are upon hiht to the last breath His hood falls back, and he wheels with thetheir h overhead On one side, far away, are the tepee peaks of the lodges; on the other, the solemn, shadowy, snoreathed trees, like funeral watchers--watchers of how many brave deaths in a desolate, lonely land where no ht well and died without fear!
The wolf-pack attacks in tays In front, by burying the red-gu at sinews of the runner's legs--called haenuity of attack? The same hard master who teaches the Indian to be as er!