238 MOOSWA 



foul odour; his nose told him nothing of other 

 affairs. 



Then for a matter of ten miles there was 

 but the sweet breath of Spruce as the wind 

 filtered through a long point covered with it. 

 &quot; Line clear/ the frosty air signalled, as Mooswa, 

 taking a straight course for the merging of dark 

 green and river-white, raced eagerly. 



At the &quot; Second Rapid,&quot; where the float-ice had 

 grounded on rock-boulders in the Autumn clos 

 ing-time, the river bosom humped like a corduroy 

 road. &quot; I must remember this spot on my coming 

 back,&quot; Mooswa muttered, as he picked his way 

 more slowly over the troubled ice-road. &quot; Here 

 I can make a big run if enemies are close,&quot; he 

 added as a stretch of many miles reached away, 

 level as a mill pond. 



&quot; Wolves ! the Gray Hunters ! the Murder 

 Brothers who go in packs !&quot; he said, as his quick- 

 feeling nose picked their presence from the North 

 Wind. &quot; Not Rof s Pack,&quot; he continued, samp 

 ling the scent a little finer &quot; Strangers !&quot; and 

 he watched warily, cocking his ears forward for 

 a warning whimper. 



&quot; Huh ! they re busy ! &quot; for as he flashed over 

 their cross-trail there arose the fainter odour of 

 Caribou. &quot; Safe journey, cousin,&quot; he muttered, 

 &quot; and confusion to the Throat-cutters, It the 



