CHAPTER X 



THE MAKING OF THE MOCCASINS 



IT is a grim joke of the animal world that the lazy 

 moose is the moose that gives wings to the feet of the 

 pursuer. When snow comes the trapper must have 

 snow-shoes and moccasins. For both, moose supplies 

 the best material. 



Bees have their drones, beaver their hermits, and 

 moose a ladified epicure who draws off from the feed 

 ing-yards of the common herd, picks out the sweetest 

 browse of the forest, and gorges herself till fat as a 

 gouty voluptuary. While getting the filling for his 

 snow-shoes, the trapper also stocks his larder; and if 

 he can find a spinster moose, he will have something 

 better than shredded venison and more delicately fla 

 voured than finest teal. 



Sledding his canoe across shallow lakelets, now 

 frozen like rock, still paddling where there is open way, 

 the trapper continues to guide his course up the water 

 ways. Big game, he knows, comes out to drink at sun 

 rise and sunset ; and nearly all the small game frequents 

 the banks of streams either to fish or to prey on the 

 fisher. 



Each night he sleeps in the open with his dog on 

 guard; or else puts up the cotton tepee, the dog curl 

 ing outside the tent flap, one ear awake. And each 



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