Tbe White Wolf of the Nortb 359 



Then another and another showed, until I could 

 plainly see seven birds in all. They were from about 

 eight to ten yards distant, and as motionless as so 

 many snowballs, which they greatly resembled. 



My right hand rose slowly to my frosted chops, 

 teeth seized the point of the heavy mitten, and the 

 bare hand slipped forth and closed upon the grip. 

 In five seconds the steaming hand felt the nip of 

 the air and the apparently red-hot touch of metal. 

 Then I let the mitten fall from my mouth. 



Purr-r-whir-r-bur-r ! The white forms rose some- 

 thing like quail, but lacking the hollow thunder and 

 impetuous dash of the brave brown bird. Even as 

 the gun leaped to shoulder I realized that the white 

 ghosts were not going so fast, but true to old quail 

 training, the trigger finger worked as though dense 

 cover was only two yards instead of a mile away. 

 The first bird stopped shattered within twenty- 

 five yards, and the second not more than five yards 

 beyond its mate, Jo grunted like a bull moose, 

 then dashed ahead, and I chuckled as I remembered 

 that this was the first time he had seen a " squaw- 

 gun " in action. But, instead of going direct to the 

 birds, he chased on with long strides to a point 

 sixty odd yards beyond, and stooping, picked up a 

 third ptarmigan which had managed to get into line 

 with the second. This he triumphantly retrieved. 

 Beautiful, snowy things they were, with the cold, 

 white sparks powdering their spotless covering and 

 sticking to the hair-like texture of the poor little 

 snow-shoes. Two were perfect for mounting, and 

 even the shattered one might, with extra care, be 

 saved. So far, so good. I had killed my own 



