150 THE MOOSE 



Just round the bend where the snow-wall stood 

 — he had thrown it up himself as protection from 

 the winds — was safety and the shack. He knew 

 every landmark by heart. The tree split by a 

 frost-blow, the moose skull he had placed in the 

 branch of the big pine, the track across which he 

 passed daily to his reserve of fuel, cut on days too 

 cold to venture forth over the trap-lines. 



He would crawl on, cheat the grim, grey tracker 

 who waited on his heels, and gaining the shelter of the 

 hut, warm his hands. They were cold — very cold. 



The cross had faded. Nothing was in sight but 

 a hawk in the high air, wheeling, wheeling. 



It was but a few yards now to the door of the 

 shack, so courageously had the crawler covered the 

 harsh surface of the snow ; it was but the length of 

 the little hut twice over, and yet — how tremendous 

 the distance, how almost more than uttermost 

 human effort could overcome. 



He must rest — he must rest ! Had man ever 

 worked so hard before, or ever better earned his 

 sleep. 



Scarcely the span of the trapper's own height 

 stood between him and his goal when he lay down 

 — beaten. 



