A Try for Ptarmigan 133 



On till spring. Nor was the shoeing easy. The 

 old snow-shoer will understand what the condi- 

 tions meant, and while I was in very fair form 

 and no mean performer across country, I thor- 

 oughly realized that there was an iron man 

 ahead. This, too, while merely following a pace- 

 maker — a very different matter from leading. 



It was, perhaps, an hour later when he halted 

 and blew a great cloud of steam from his lips. 

 I understood, and at once produced the flask and 

 poured him a fair measure into the metal cup. 

 The good stuff fairly fell into him ; but an Ind- 

 ian's an Indian. 



" You no take ? " he queried, while a surprised 

 expression flitted across the chasm which had 

 entombed his share. 



" Bad for eyes — snow bad enough now," I 

 retorted, as I put away the flask, for Joe's eyes 

 seemed to say that if I didn't intend to take any, 

 he might as well have my share. But that was 

 not in order. 



Instead of moving forward, he smiled and 

 pointed at the snow. " Thur," was all he said. 



I looked and saw one, two, three — a dozen 

 tiny trails, as though elfin snow-shoers had passed 

 that way. They were queer little tracks, round- 

 ish, indistinct, running in single lines, the rear 

 rim of one almost overlapping the fore rim of an- 

 other. Never had I beheld the like. By the 



