A Try for Ptarmigan 23 1 



only translate the flash of the wonderful aborigi- 

 nal eyes, or guess what lay behind the mystical 

 bronze mask, — but that was impossible. Once 

 more my eyes turned northward. The grayness 

 seemed a trifle paler, and a puff of air, keen as 

 if from the very pole, met me. " Looks like 

 snow — too cold to snow," I muttered, then added 

 louder: — 



" We'll try it." 



The black eyes twinkled an instant with an 

 indescribable flash, then he turned into the cabin. 

 As I followed I heard him give utterance to a 

 peculiar low grunt, which might have meant any- 

 thing or nothing. I would have given a deal to 

 have been able to translate it, for beyond question 

 my decision had raised or lowered his estimation 

 of my woodcraft and general qualifications. I 

 acquired wisdom later. 



Within five minutes we were ready. Joe had 

 carefully watched the flask, sandwich, shells, and 

 tobacco go into my pockets, and again had 

 grunted softly when I examined my match-box. 

 Then without a word he led the way on the 

 creaking, netted shoes which alone rendered walk- 

 ing a possibility. He was a mighty pace-maker. 

 Snow-shoeing is the hardest of hard work, and 

 Joe certainly showed me all there was in it. 

 Before half a mile had been covered he had 

 me fumbling at the unruly button at my throat ; 



