But this did not mean that he missed anything; the steady tramp,
tramp of their feet, while it dulled all sounds for the hunter,
seemed to have no effect on Skookum. Again the raspy squeal of
some far tree reached his inmost brain, and his hair rose as he
stopped and gave a low "woof."
The hunters held still; the wise ones always do, when a dog says
"Stop!" They waited. After a few minutes it came again -- merely
the long-drawn creak of a tree bough, wind-rubbed on its
neighbour.
And yet, "Woof, woof, woof," said Skookum, and ran ahead.
"Come back, you little fool!" cried Rolf.
But Skookum had a mind of his own. He trotted ahead, then
stopped, paused, and sniffed at something in the snow. The
Indian picked it up. It was the pocket jackscrew that every
bear trapper carries to set the powerful trap, and without which,
indeed, one man cannot manage the springs.
He held it up with "Ugh! Hoag in trouble now." Clearly the rival
trapper had lost this necessary tool.
But the finding was an accident. Skookum pushed on. They came
along a draw to a little hollow. The dog, far forward, began
barking and angrily baying at something.
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