As she crossed the fresh trail of the bull 

 moose the old mother lynx thrust her big 

 head into it for a long sniff. The line closed *&*** 

 up instantly and each lynx stood like a statue, 

 his blunt nose down into a reeking hoof mark, 

 studying through dull senses what it was 

 that had just passed. The old lynx swung 

 her head up and down the line of her mo- 

 tionless cubs; then with a ferocious snarl 

 curling under her \vhiskers she pushed for- 

 ward again. A score of starving lynxes all 

 together would scarcely follow a bull of that 

 stride and power. Only the smell of blood 

 would drag them unwillingly along such a 

 trail ; and even then, if they overtook the 

 author of it, they would only squat around 

 him in a fierce solemn circle, yawning hun- 

 grily and hoping he would die. Now, some- 

 where just ahead, easier game was hiding. 

 An unvoiced command seemed to run up 

 and down the line of waiting cubs. Each 

 thrust his head out at the same instant and 

 the silent march went on. 



When the last of the line had glided out 

 of sight among the bushes of the point below, 



