THE LONE TRAIL 205 



beautiful, hungry beast on-ended every hair, and 

 crouched for the spring which could not come off. 



Cutting down a birch pole five feet or so in 

 length, the trapper, having a first-hand knowledge 

 of the ways of cats, caught the thin-skulled creature 

 a blow on the head, which ended his career. 



In his early days of hunting Cretney had once 

 tried to kill a trapped lynx at close quarters with 

 one of the light axes trappers always carry, and he 

 bore traces of the fracas yet. The lynx had not 

 waited for the blow to fall, but shot forward, all 

 impeded as he was, and clung to the hunter's leg, 

 clawing and scratching. When at last the chance 

 of getting in a swinging cut presented itself, the 

 axe fell with such force that the lynx had no skull 

 left, and yet his teeth still clung. One of many 

 experiences, and an object lesson in how to ap- 

 proach a cornered enemy. 



Taking the trap-line in his giant stride, a horn- 

 less moose swung across the path, his huge form 

 outlined across the luminous abbreviated horizon. 

 Looking after him carefully, with keen, practised 

 eyes, the trapper noted the handsome swinging 

 bell, that of a bull in his prime, and the unfinished 

 appearance of the massive head. 



