THE TRAPPER 141 



imprints of the morning disclosed the patent fact 

 that the animals had made off running. Particles 

 of frozen snow kicked up and scattered far in 

 advance of the tracks told the story. A heavy 

 beast like the moose, in raising its foot out of snow, 

 necessarily knocks up a little snow with the fore 

 of every hoof, incriminating mounds that betray 

 direction just as surely as long strides determine 

 pace. 



Before him as he crossed the beaten yards lay the 

 imprints of a bear — a good one, too. How long 

 they had lain there he could hardly guess, for tracks 

 in sheltered places very often remain for indefinite 

 periods ; but his practised eye took in the situation 

 at a glance, and his dull blood thrilled at the un- 

 expected stroke of luck. 



Rarely can a trapper obtain a bear-skin during 

 the hibernating season. His chance lies in shooting 

 the first bears out before their fine winter coats are 

 ruined by the havoc worked by the bushes and 

 wear and tear of the forests. 



Cutting down a stalwart spruce with a light axe, 

 the hunter arranged the sling of his rifle so that the 

 weapon lay to a ready hand, making no special 

 feature of silence, and taking his stand on the verge 



