KOOT AND THE BOB-CAT 285 



Koot said the only time that he knew fear was on the evening of 

 the last day. The atmosphere boded storm. The fort lay in a 

 valley. Somewhere between Koot and that valley ran a trail. 

 What if he had crossed the trail ? What if the storm came and 

 wiped out the trail before he could reach the fort ? All day, whiskey- 

 jack and snow-bunting and fox scurried from his presence ; but this 

 night in the dusk when he felt forward on his hands and knees for 

 the expected trail, the wild creatures seemed to grow bolder. He 

 imagined that he felt the pursuers closer than on the other nights. 

 And then the fearful thought came that he might have passed the 

 trail unheeding. Should he turn back ? 



Afraid to go forward or back, Koot sank on the ground, un- 

 hooded his face and tried to force his eyes to see. The pain brought 

 biting, salty tears. It was quite useless. Either the night was very 

 dark, or the eyes were very blind. 



And then white man or Indian — who shall say which came 

 uppermost ? — Koot cried out to the Great Spirit. In mockery 

 back came the saucy scold of a jay. 



But that was enough for Koot — it was prompt answer to his 

 prayer; for where do the jays quarrel and fight and flutter but on 

 the trail ? Running eagerly forward, the trapper felt the ground. 

 The rutted marks of a "jumper" sleigh cut the hard crust. With 

 a shout, Koot headed down the sloping path to the valley where 

 lay the fur post, the low hanging smoke of whose chimneys his 

 eager nostrils had already sniffed. 



