Up the shanty
corner it flashed, hardly appearing to climb, swung that yellow
throat and dark-brown muzzle for a second, then made toward the entry.
Rolf sat with staring eyes as the beautiful demon, elegantly
spurning the roof sods, went at easy, measured bounds toward the
open chink -- toward its doom. One, two, three -- clearing the
prickly cedar bush, its forefeet fell on the hidden trap; clutch,
a savage shriek, a flashing, -- a struggle baffling the eyes to
follow, and the master of the squirrels was himself under
mastery.
Rolf rushed forward now. The little demon in the trap was
frothing with rage and hate; it ground the iron with its teeth;
it shrieked at the human foeman coming.
The scene must end, the quicker the better, and even as the
marten itself had served the flying squirrel and the mice, and as
Quonab served the mink, so Rolf served the marten and the woods
was still.
Chapter 29. Snowshoes
That's for Annette," said Rolf, remembering his promise as he
hung the stretched marten skin to dry.
"Yi! Yi! Yi!" came three yelps, just as he had heard them the
day he first met Quonab, and crossing the narrow lake he saw his
partner's canoe.
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