108 PORTRAITS IN INK 



II. THE TRAPPER 



Bill, the trapper, is a figure so out of place in the 

 midst of the civihzation that has swept away for- 

 ests and game, that you almost wonder if he is not 

 an Indian who happened to be born with a white 

 skin, fair hair and blue eyes, or a pioneer hunter 

 who drank at the fountain of youth in middle age 

 and so has been preserved since the old wild days 

 when the unmeasured wilderness stretched out into 

 unknown lands and sheltered countless game. He 

 has many of their traits, many of the qualifications 

 that would fit him to live their lives amid their be- 

 fitting surroundings; and is as out of place as they 

 would be in this latter-day tameness of men and 

 nature. 



His tall, spare form, full of inert vigor and 

 strength, clad in garments that befit his calling 

 and that bear odorous witness of it, shacking 

 leisurely among restless, busy men, on whose in- 

 cessant bustle he casts wondering eyes alert 

 through all their dreaminess, is as incongruous 

 here as would be a becurled dandy in the heart of 

 the wilderness. 



He has that instinct, or sixth sense, possessed by 

 few except Indians and dumb animals, which en- 

 ables him to make his way to any desired point 

 without any apparent guidance, though, save of 

 dark night, he has Uttle use for it in these narrow 



