BATISTE, THE BEAR HUNTER 231 



suddenly on them, over the old hen went, flopping broken-winged 

 to decoy the trapper till her children could run for shelter — when 

 — lo ! — of a sudden, the broken wing is mended and away she 

 darts on both wings before he has uncased his gun ! There are the 

 stories of bear hunters like Ba'tiste sitting on the other side of the 

 fire there, who have been caught in their own bear traps and held till 

 they died of starvation and their bones bleached in the rusted steel. 



That story has such small relish for Ba'tiste that he hitches 

 farther away from the others and lies back flat on the ground close 

 to the willow under-tangle with his head on his hand. 



"For sure," says Ba'tiste contemptuously, "nobody doesn't 

 need no tree to climb here ! Sacre ! — cry wolf ! — wolf ! — and 

 for sure ! — diable ! — de beeg loup-garou will eat you yet !" 



Down somewhere from those stars overhead drops a call silvery 

 as a flute, clear as a piccolo — some night bird lilting like a mote on 

 the far oceans of air. The trappers look up with a movement 

 that in other men would be a nervous start ; for any shrill cry pierces 

 the silence of the prairie in almost a stab. Then the men go on 

 with their yarn telling of how the Blackfeet murdered some traders 

 on this very ground so long ago, till the gloom gathering over willow 

 thicket and encircling cliffs seems peopled with those marauding 

 warriors. One man rises, saying that he is "goin' to turn in" and 

 is taking a step through the dark to his canoe when there is a dull 

 pouncing thud. For an instant the trappers thought that their 

 comrade had stumbled over his boat. But a heavy groan — a 

 low guttural cry — a shout of "Help — help — help Ba'tiste!" 

 and the man who had risen plunged into the crashing cane-brake, 

 calling out incoherently for them to "help — help Ba'tiste !" 



In the confusion of cries and darkness, it was impossible for 

 the other two trappers to know what had happened. Their first 

 thought was of the Indians whose crimes they had been telling. 

 Their second was for their rifles — and they had both sprung over the 

 •fire where they saw the third man striking — striking — striking 

 wildly at something in the dark. A low worrying growl — and 



