THE LONE TRAIL 213 



It was over — the fight was over. Lucivee of the 

 bluff had conquered. Lucivee of the thicket did 

 not exist. 



The tabby advanced from her retreat, well- 

 groomed, sleek, and purring. She passed by the 

 stretched body of her late admirer callously — a dead 

 cat merely I The hero of the fight sat blinking his 

 one eye in the sunlight waiting for her. He knew 

 she would come, for it is thus that Nature rewards 

 all well-graced players. 



They swam back across the lagoon together, 

 climbing to the high bluff among the swallows. 



And the big moose, standing noiselessly in the 

 shallows, wallowing now and again deep, deep into 

 the squelching mud, watched and listened as he 

 had watched and listened a hundred times, for, if 

 the end was sometimes different, the tale was 

 always the same. 



He was dreadfully harassed by the moose flies, 

 who descended on him in the forest from all sides ; 

 they almost forbade travelling in the woods at all. 

 When he would eat, the enemies attacked him in 

 such overwhelming numbers that he was glad to 

 get into the water once more. Sometimes they 

 even made him wonder whether the winter was not 



