THE LYNX. 443 



strangers. He was not a house-dog, but a dog for big 

 game surpassed by few. Alas, poor Badger ! He lias since 

 passed away, in a most miserable manner, having been poi- 

 soned by an Indian who claimed he had bitten him. 



Badger's attention was called to the trail, which he 

 sniffed and smelled, and soon took up. With nose to the 

 snow, he slowly trails along; then, lifting up his voice in a 

 deep bay, he dashes aw^ay, hot on the trail of the Lynx. 



We followed him, over fallen tree-trunks covered deep 

 with snow, under snow-covered and reclining limbs, through 

 thick undergrowths and tangles of all kinds, where one 

 touch of the hand, body, or boot was sufficient to shake 

 down the soft snow upon coat, cap, and rifle, till the entire 

 party are white from head to foot. Now the dog runs 

 silent, having missed the trail; but soon his keen nose 

 strikes it again, and away he goes, his deep, bass notes 

 guiding the hunters aright. 



The storm has abated; the sun coldly peeps through the 

 thick foliage and towering tree-tops. Warming up as the 

 day grows older, ten thousand diamonds sparkle from limb, 

 leaf, and trunk, till the beautiful snow-white covering, glit- 

 tering, glinting in the rays of the December sun, dazzles 

 the eye. Nature now in her grandest form calls forth 

 the wonder and delight of the enthusiastic worshipers at 

 her shrine. 



But the Lynx is not yet caught, and that, not Nature- 

 worship, is the business of to-day; so onward we spring, the 

 footstep silent and noiseless as death, no sound, breaking the 

 stillness but the baying of the dog, the chirp of a squirrel, or 

 the whir of a grouse as it starts from under foot, and, straight 

 as an arrow, sails onto a limb, and sits there, a big brown 

 bird with outstretched neck, stupidly allowing the intruder 

 to pass beneath without stirring a feather. The moaning 

 of the wind through the tree-tops adds its melody or dis- 

 cord, as you may please to term it, to the other slight dis- 

 turbances, save which, all is a vast, unbroken solitude. 



The track of the Lynx is plainly outlined before us, deep 

 cut into the soft snow. Where an extra jump has been 



