SANCTUARY 199 



The door of the shack opened against the driven 

 snow. The trapper, ready to go out on his lengthy 

 trap-hne, stood looking at the place where the 

 moose had lain. His eyes followed the animal's 

 tracks, and fell on the giant horns. 



His hands closed on the polished points. He 

 fingered the wonderful branched palmations, trying 

 to think of them as having been tender, pliable, 

 pulsing with life — to believe that busy living cells 

 had made them — and all for him I 



" Wal !" he said, at last. " Wal I" 



