MOOSEWA'S DEATH 245 



with a strange, soft sound like a breath, quite 

 unHke that of any small animal rustling through 

 the density, and until the dawn broke it was with 

 him. 



That night the same, the next night also, and 

 then Moosewa knew. 



It was Lucivee, the lynx. 



He sat in the lustrous, first light of day washing 

 his glossy coat, and as the big bull stood up stiffly, 

 the cat leered over its shoulder and then went on 

 licking fur. 



That so small a thing as a lynx could terrorize 

 a mammoth seems an odd thing, but it was the 

 cat's persistency did it. Perhaps he smelt the 

 blood which sometimes fell from the spreading 

 and suppurating wound ; perhaps he had counted 

 the days and the chances. Whatever tempted 

 him, his soft-cushioned feet never took him far. 



When darkness fell the weak moose fixed his 

 little sunken eyes on the inky blackness ahead, 

 fearful lest in some chance moment of unconscious- 

 ness the lynx, taking his quarry unawares, might 

 make it impossible for him to put up much of a fight. 



Everything in the woods he so loved frightened 

 him. The wind, shrieking and moaning in the 



