KOOT AND THE BOB-CAT 215 



out. There was no trail of approach or retreat. The 

 padded print of the thief was in the snow as if the ani 

 mal had dropped from the sky and gone back to the 

 sky. 



Koot measured off ten strides from the rifled snare 

 and made a complete circuit round it. The rabbit 

 runway cut athwart the snow circle, but no mark like 

 that shuffling padded print. 



&quot; It isn t a wolverine, and it isn t a fisher, and it 

 isn t a coyote,&quot; Koot told himself. 



The dog emitted stupid little sharp barks looking 

 everywhere and nowhere as if he felt what he could 

 neither see nor hear. Koot measured off ten strides 

 more from this circuit and again walked completely 

 round the snare. Not even the rabbit runways cut 

 this circle. The white man grows indignant when baf 

 fled, the Indian superstitious. The part that was 

 white man in Koot sent him back to the scene in quick 

 jerky steps to scatter poisoned rabbit meat over the 

 snow and set a trap in which he readily sacrificed a 

 full-grown bunny. The part that was Indian set a 

 world of old memories echoing, memories that were as 

 much Koot s nature as the swarth of his skin,, memo 

 ries that Koot s mother and his mother s ancestors 

 held of the fabulous man-eating wolf called the loup- 

 garou, and the great white beaver father of all beavers 

 and all Indians that glided through the swamp mists 

 at night like a ghost, and the monster grisly that 

 stalked with uncouth gambols through the dark de 

 vouring benighted hunters. 



This time when the mongrel uttered his little 

 sharp barkings that said as plainly as a dog could 

 speak, &quot; Something s somewhere! Be careful there 



