It was evidently a paradise for deer, and there were
in less degree the tracks of other animals -- mink in fair
abundance, one or two otters, a mountain lion, and a cow moose
with her calf. It was thrilling to see such a feast of
possibilities. The hunters were led on and on, revelling in the
prospect of many joys before them, when all at once they came on
something that turned their joy to grief -- the track of a man;
the fresh imprint of a cowhide boot. It was maddening. At first
blush, it meant some other trapper ahead of them with a prior
claim to the valley; a claim that the unwritten law would allow.
They followed it a mile. It went striding along the shore at a
great pace, sometimes running, and keeping down the west shore.
Then they found a place where he had sat down and broken a lot of
clam shells, and again had hastened on. But there was no mark of
gunstock or other weapon where he sat; and why was he wearing
boots? The hunters rarely did.
For two miles the Indian followed with Rolf, and sometimes found
that the hated stranger had been running hard. Then they turned
back, terribly disappointed.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122