THE TRAPPER 155 



Every year it was the same. 



He would lie down at night with ears strained 

 to listen, and it would be winter still. In the 

 morning he would waken to find the trees putting 

 forth buds in promise, and the snow lying only in 

 the hollows and in patches of sheltered grass. Over 

 the tundras was a faint growth of emerald, and 

 from the sky the geese called. 



With the memory of the hard days and nights 

 they had seen, endured, and passed, to link 

 together the little band it seemed most natural 

 to Moosewa that the seven of them should roam 

 a summer world under the same leader. But as 

 better weather drifted over the face of the land, 

 lately so harsh and cruel, the moose in ones and 

 twos drifted away also, indifferent to those with 

 whom they had faced life and death in many grisly 

 forms. 



First the cows and the calf, streaking off 

 Moosewa knew not how, so silently and secretly 

 did they pass. Next the three-year-old, a nimble, 

 stirring spirit. He was with them at night, 

 browsing on the willow shoots where the river 

 forked into a tiny bight alive with flights of newly- 

 arrived ducks, and in the morning was gone. 



