the twilight. Those were good days; and 



no hunting ever paid better in happiness 



than that which followed the trails without 



a thought of harm, and was content to let 



the snow tell its own stories. But, like all 



good times, they did not last very long. 



Work called me away; and I like to think 



that the solitary old Indian sometimes missed 



his queer hunting companion, who used 



to go out for caribou and leave his rifle at 



home, and who always came back satisfied 



at nightfall. 



The door of the little hunting camp now 



hangs open on its hinges, and within are 



only mice and squirrels. Newell is far away, 



following other trails. The birch logs that {_ f 



sang to us the woods' songs are now ashes, 



and the wind has scattered them to the forest 



again; but Pequam's coat, still glossy and ^^; 



soft and warm, curls itself into a great muff 



about a little girl's fingers. The winter wind 



ruffles it, and it starts and gleams and ft'jT % 



lit 



271 



77>eTraf/offfie 



Cunning One 



quivers nervously, as „ 

 if it heard a footfall Wk 



on its track; and 



m 



t j/OT/f wm* 



