The men hurried to the
scene to find on the snow, fast held in one of those devilish
engines called a bear trap -- the body of their enemy -- Hoag,
the trapper, held by a leg, and a hand in the gin he himself had
been setting.
A fierce light played on the Indian's face. Rolf was stricken
with horror. But even while they contemplated the body, the
faint cry was heard again coming from it.
"He's alive; hurry!" cried Rolf. The Indian did not hurry, but he came.
He had vowed vengeance at sight; why should he haste to help?
The implacable iron jaws had clutched the trapper by one knee and
the right hand. The first thing was to free him. How? No man
has power enough to force that spring. But the jackscrew!
"Quonab, help him! For God's sake, come!" cried Rolf in agony,
forgetting their feud and seeing only tortured, dying man.
The Indian gazed a moment, then rose quickly, and put on the
jackscrew. Under his deft fingers the first spring went down,
but what about the other? They had no other screw. The long
buckskin line they always carried was quickly lashed round and
round the down spring to hold it.
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