196 THE MOOSE 



stood in the Valley of the Shadow, and passed 

 to safety through the aid of others. He recognized 

 the unusual claim of brotherhood this night's 

 incident made upon him, and as the huddled mass 

 grunted contentedly in the warmth of the fire, the 

 master words of the Mowgli, of whom the trapper 

 had never heard, stirred dimly in his brain : 

 " We be of one blood, Thou and I !" 

 The wind ruffled the thick, dark, winter coat, 

 on-ending the long hair, and smoothed it down 

 again gently. A strange line over which the 

 hair did not grow arrested the trapper's attention, 

 and that he might see more clearly he picked out a 

 flaming fir torch from the fire and held it over the 

 rounded quarter of the sleeping moose. 



N. R. 



Clear cut, gnarled as a deep incision in the bark 

 of a tree gnarls up, the letters stood out. 



After all the years the man recognized the 

 brand. And the scene changed to the far-off 

 corral, the struggling little calf, and the red-haired 

 tatterdemalion. He remembered ! 



" Wal !" he said. His one catapultic word for 

 any situation. " Wal !' 



