THE VALUE OF THEIR FUR 41 



how careful an Indian is not to waste the breath 

 of his Ironstick ; he will creep, and creep, and 

 sneak, just like &quot; 



&quot; Lynx,&quot; suggested Whisky-Jack. 



&quot; Well, Grasshead, seeing that I could n t get 

 away, as he thought, came cautiously to within 

 about five lengths, meaning to make sure of my 

 death, you know, Brothers ; and just as he raised 

 his Ironstick I charged. He did n t expect that 

 it frightened him. The ball struck me in the 

 shoulder, and made me furious with rage. The 

 Indian turned to run ; but I cut him down, and 

 trampled him to death I ground him into the 

 frozen earth with my antlers. He gave the queer 

 Man-cry that is of fear and pain it s awful ! 

 I wish he hadn t followed me I wish I hadn t 

 killed him.&quot; 



&quot; You were justified, Mooswa,&quot; said Black 

 King; &quot;there is no blame that is the Law of 

 the Forest : 



&quot; First we run for our lives, 

 Then we fight for our lives : 

 And we turn at bay when the killer drives. 



&quot; Bravo, bravo ! &quot; applauded Whisky-Jack. 

 &quot;Don t fret about the Indian, old Jelly-Nose. 

 I m glad you killed him. I Ve heard the White 

 Trappers say that the only good Indians are the 

 dead ones.&quot; 



