THE ROSE MOUNTAINS 283 



About four in the afternoon, just before reaching the 

 Tay River, where the Pelly curves sharply around a bar 

 bordering a flat of fine poplar trees, we heard a loud 

 crack back in the woods. As we rapidly glided around 

 the curve and approached a favorable wind, another crack 

 sounded, and then another. The moose were rutting, 

 and I thought that the noise was made by a bull knock- 

 ing his horns against a tree. We dropped down to the 

 lower end of the bar, quietly paddled to the shore, and I 

 stepped into the woods. Fortunately the wind came from 

 the direction of the noise, and I was wearing moosehide 

 moccasins the best of all footgear to muffle the foot- 

 steps. The undergrowth was not dense and I could see 

 well ahead through a fine poplar grove. 



As I entered the woods a rabbit ran away, thumping 

 the ground to the right. I paused some time to listen, 

 but not a sound was audible, except the rustling of the 

 leaves on the trees. Then, step by step, I cautiously ad- 

 vanced, and, nearing the spot where the noise had sounded, 

 saw another rabbit skipping away to the left. I stood for 

 several minutes and listened, but could not hear a sound. 

 Just as I was about to return I saw the dusky form of a 

 lynx, fifty feet ahead, apparently following with noiseless 

 tread the trail of the rabbit. Its grayish color blended so 

 perfectly with the fallen leaves and poplar trunks that I 

 could scarcely distinguish it as it glided along. Raising 

 my rifle and following the lynx as best I could, a favorable 

 opportunity was presented as it passed through the dense 

 poplar growth, and I fired, knocking it down. But it 

 jumped up and was running in zigzag leaps as I fired 



