The fish-line was coiled on the
ground and then attached to an arrow, the bow bent -- zip
-- the arrow picked up the line, coil after coil, and trans-
fixed the muskrat. Splash! and the animal was gone under
the ice.
But the cord was in the hands of the hunter; a little
gentle pulling and the rat came to view, to be despatched
with a stick and secured. Had he shot it with a gun, it
had surely been lost.
He returned to his camp, ate his frugal breakfast, and fed a
small, wolfish-looking yellow dog that was tied in the lodge.
He skinned the muskrat carefully, first cutting a
slit across the rear and then turning the skin back like a
glove, till it was off to the snout; a bent stick thrust into
this held it stretched, till in a day, it was dry and ready for
market. The body, carefully cleaned, he hung in the
shade to furnish another meal.
As he worked, there were sounds of trampling in the
woods, and presently a tall, rough-looking man, with a
red nose and a curling white moustache, came striding
through brush and leaves. He stopped when he saw the
Indian, stared contemptuously at the quarry of the morning
chase, made a scornful remark about "rat-eater," and went
on toward the wigwam, probably to peer in, but the
Indian's slow, clear, "keep away!" changed his plan.
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