Success and Failure 



struck south. Spruce trees began to show on the 

 barrens and caribou trails roused hope in the hearts 

 of the hunters. 



&quot;Look! in the spruces,&quot; whispered Jones, drop 

 ping the rope of his sled. Among the black trees 

 gray objects moved. 



&quot; Caribou !&quot; said Rea. &quot;Hurry! Shoot! Don t 

 miss!&quot; 



But Jones waited. He knew the value of the last 

 bullet. He had a hunter s patience. When the cari 

 bou came out in an open space, Jones whistled. It 

 was then the rifle grew set and fixed; it was then the 

 red fire belched forth. 



At four hundred yards the bullet took some frac 

 tion of time to strike. What a long time that was ! 

 Then both hunters heard the spiteful spat of the lead. 

 The caribou fell, jumped up, ran down the slope, and 

 fell again to rise no more. 



An hour of rest, with fire and meat, changed the 

 world to the hunters; still glistening, it yet had lost 

 its bitter cold, its deathlike clutch. 



&quot;What s this?&quot; cried Jones. 



Moccasin tracks of different sizes, all toeing north, 

 arrested the hunters. 



&quot;Pointed north! Wonder what thet means?&quot; 

 Rea plodded on, doubtfully shaking his head. 



Night again, clear, cold, silver, starlit, silent 



189 



