“THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE” 29 
of the time encountering signs even up here on 
the range of the two-legged enemy—a dim blazed 
trail through the woods, old camp fires, and once, 
even, a fresh camp fire and men around it. He 
and little Softfur gave that fire a wide berth, 
going around it on soft, silent feet, while the 
campers slept, secure in the knowledge that there 
were no wolves in New England, and hadn’t been 
for almost a hundred years. 
At last he found the spot he wanted—a wild 
mountain ravine, with a spring that showed tracks 
of partridges, deer, coons, and other prey on the 
margin, with good forest cover all about, and all 
signs of man far away and far below. Here he 
and little Softfur had immediate good fortune in 
running down a rabbit, and then found them- 
selves a cosy den of leaves under a big, fallen log, 
and decided to call it home for a while. 
Little Softfur soon forgot her mother, and 
grew rapidly in size, strength and cunning. She 
grew so rapidly, in fact, that one day in the crisp 
autumn Swiftfoot decided, with her aid, to try 
cutting away a fawn from its mother. They ran 
the pair several miles before they got the doe cor- 
