242 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER 



man s suspicion. The trapper draws out his field-glass. 

 The sleeper is a mink, and its sleep is a sham with 

 beady, red eyes blinking a deal too lively for real 

 death. Why does it lie on its back rigid and straight 

 as if it were dead with all four tiny paws clutched out 

 stiff? The trapper scans the surface of the swamp to 

 see if some foolish musk-rat is swimming dangerously 

 near the sleeping mink. 



Presently the hawk circles lower lower ! Drop 

 straight as a stone! Its talons are almost in the mink s 

 body, when of a sudden the sleeper awakens awakens 

 with a leap of the four stiff little feet and a darting 

 spear-thrust of snapping teeth deep in the neck of the 

 hawk! At first the hawk rises tearing furiously at the 

 clinging mink with its claws. The wings sag. Down 

 bird and beast fall. Over they roll on the sandy 

 beach, hawk and mink, over and over with a thrashing 

 of the hawk s wings to beat the treacherous little 

 vampire off. Now the blood-sucker is on top clutch 

 ing clutching ! Now the bird flounders up craning 

 his neck from the death-grip. Then the hawk falls on 

 his back. His wings are prone. They cease to flutter. 



Eunning to the bank the trapper is surprised to see 

 the little blood-sucker making off with the prey instead 

 of deserting it as all creatures akin to the weasel family 

 usually do. That means a family of mink somewhere 

 near, to be given their first lesson in bird-hunting, in 

 mink-hawking by the body of this poor, dead, foolish 

 gyrfalcon. 



By a red mark here, by a feather there, crushed 

 grass as of something dragged, a little webbed foot 

 print on the wet clay, a tiny marking of double dots 

 where the feet have crossed a dry stone, the trapper 



