CHAPTER VIII 



THE TRAPPER 



DAY was breaking, and cold mist, less white 

 than the virgin snow, hung over the land ; slowly 

 it was lifting now that the long winter night was 

 over. 



Gullfoot came to the door of his cabin, fumbled 

 a moment to release the wooden peg-latch, 

 coughed heavily, and looked out in grave con- 

 templation of the dreary scene while chill air 

 searched like deadly serpent in through the open 

 door. The clearing, the great expanse of frozen 

 lake to North and South, the dark forest back- 

 ground : all were familiar and dear to his heart. 

 But to-day he saw them not in appreciation, for 

 his thoughts were with the weather and its over- 

 night effect on his long trap-line. 



A little fresh snow had fallen ; enough to spoil 

 Fox-traps on the lakes if wind should arise and 

 drift it : but, wind or not, other traps, set in 

 the shelter of the forest for Marten, and Mink, 

 and Wolverine were safe from being smothered, 

 and the better disguised of human scent, now 

 that they lay beneath this light, fresh covering 

 of snow. . . . Hud ! there was no need for anxiety 

 this day : traps were not buried in two or three 

 feet of fresh snow ; and there was no indication of 

 storm. 



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