150 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER 



ening his claws in midsummer as a cat will scratch 

 chair-legs; for great pits deep in the clay banks, where 

 some silly badger or gopher ran down to the depths of 

 his burrow in sheer terror only to have old bruin come 

 ripping and tearing to the innermost recesses, with 

 scattered fur left that told what had happened. 



Some soft oozy moss-padded lair, deep in the marsh 

 with the reeds of the brittle cat-tails lifting as if a 

 sleeper had just risen, sets Ba tiste s pulse hopping 

 jumping marking time in thrills like the lithe 

 bounds of a pouncing mountain-cat. With tread soft 

 as the velvet paw of a panther, he steals through the 

 cane-brake parting the reeds before each pace, brush 

 ing aside softly silently what might crush! snap! 

 sound ever so slight an alarm to the little pricked ears 

 of a shaggy head tossing from side to side jerk jerk 

 from right to left from left to right always on 

 the listen! on the listen! for prey! for prey! 



&quot; Oh, for sure, that Ba tiste, he was but a fool- 

 hunter,&quot; as his comrades afterward said (it is always so 

 very plain afterward) ; &quot;that Ba tiste, he was a fool! 

 What man else go step step into the marsh after a 

 bear! 



But the truth was that Ba tiste, the cunning rascal, 

 always succeeded in coming out of the marsh, out of 

 the bush, out of the windfall, sound as a top, safe and 

 unscratched, with a bear-skin over his shoulder, the 

 head swinging pendant to show what sort of fellow he 

 had mastered. 



&quot; Dat wan! ah! diable! he has long sharp nose 

 he was thin thin as a barrel all gone but de hoops 

 ah! voila! he was wan ugly gargon, was dat bear! &quot; 



Where the hunters found tufts of fur on the sage 



