THE FOREST KING 171 



the sun's heat, but from a chance match thrown 

 into the river grass by a prospector toihng up the 

 river in a dory. 



In a dense rampart of closely-gi'owing scrub- 

 bushes near the water's edge Moosewa was asleep, 

 dreaming he was young again, and back on the 

 never-to-be-forgotten islet with his mother. The 

 ominously sounding cracks of the trees wove them- 

 selves into the noise of beavers at work on the 

 dam, the curious clicking of the frizzling leaves 

 into the splashing of the lagoon over the stones 

 where the river swirled in. 



A drift of smoke passed across the deer's 

 nervously-mo\dng nose, and on the instant the 

 big beast was up and feeling the wind for danger. 



Above the arch of the trees a dark pall loomed, 

 obliterating the sky. The crash of a big tree 

 falling drove the moose forward a few paces. 

 And then he saw the flames 1 

 They swept towards him, grey and red and black, 

 licking up the lichen hanging from the trees. The 

 fire had a good start as it came up the low-growing 

 river scrub, even if the dampness of the forest must 

 soon kill it out. 



A wolf, with the hair of his back on end, loped 



