ANTOINE GARDAPEE. 225 



in good range of the rear of a trap, and on examining the 

 latter there was evidence of a tussle and some blood, but 

 about an inch of snow had fallen in the night, and the 

 affair had occurred at least twenty-four hours before; but 

 Antoine was still missing. I saw where he had left the 

 trail, and where he had returned to it one hundred yards 

 below, and again where he had stepped on the stones in 

 the brook, which lead a long way down as well as across, 

 and I took the trail down the valley home. He was not 

 there, and it was nearly night of the fourth day. He 

 had been out four nights, and I was alarmed perhaps 

 "scared" would express it better. Here I was hundreds 

 of miles in the wilderness alone. The feeling was not 

 entirely one of selfish helplessness now. I could care 

 for myself fairly well in the woods, and did not mind the 

 solitude; but I found that I had a feeling of love for my 

 companion which had been latent and only brought out 

 by his long absence, which it seemed must be caused by 

 some accident. I ate supper and tried to sleep, but for 

 the second time in the woods I was tired, but not sleepy. 



Morning came. I cooked enough to last me several 

 days on a trip after my companion. I would go back to 

 the stepping stones where I had lost the trail, and find 

 it. Dead or alive, I must know where Antoine was. 

 He had not been hurt in a dead-fall, that was sure, for I 

 had seen them all; but, if living, he would surely have 

 been back before this. I slung my haversack and 

 blankets, and started back on his outgoing trail, deter- 

 mined to find him if possible, and to look closer along 

 the banks of the stream, where the new snow might have 

 covered his track for a short distance. I had hardly got 

 one hundred yards from the cabin when I heard Antoine 

 call: "Hello! where you go now? Come back here; I 

 want some grub for to heat. You run 'way w'en I come 



