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he replied, "it is a combination of mind and eye. Mind tells me that Black Rifle could not clean and dress his bear unless he got it to water. Mind tells me that a brook is flowing in the valley just ahead of us, because there is scarcely a valley in the country that does not have its brook. Eye tells me that Black Rifle finished his task by the great oak there. Do you not see the huge buzzards flying above the tree? They are conclusive. Ah, the forest people gathered fast in numbers! They expected that Black Rifle would leave them a great feast." They found a little brook of clear, cold water and, beside it, the place where Black Rifle had cleaned his bear, reserving afterward the choice portion for himself. "When he went on," said Tayoga, "the forest people made a rush for what he did not want, which was much. Great birds came. We cannot see their trail through the air, but we can see where they hopped about here on the ground, tore at the flesh, and fought with one another for the spoil. A lynx came, and then another, and then wolves. The weasel and the mink too hung on the outskirts, waiting for what the bigger animals might leave. Among them they left nothing and they were not long in the task." Only shining bones lay on the ground. They had been picked clean and all the forest people had gone after their brief banquet. The trails led away in different directions, but that of Black Rifle went on toward the south. The traces, however, were more distinct than they had been before he stopped for the bear. "It is because he is carrying much weight," said Tayoga. "Black Rifle no longer skips along like a youth, as Red Coat here does." "You can have all the sport with me you wish," said Grosvenor. "I don't forget that you saved my life, when by all the rules of logic it was lost beyond the hope of recovery." "Black Rifle would not eat so much bear meat himself," said Tayoga, "nor would he carry such a burden, without good cause. It may be that he expects us. He has perhaps heard that we are in this region." "It's possible," said the hunter. Full of eagerness, they pressed forward on the trail. CHAPTER VI BLACK RIFLE They had been following the trail about half an hour, when Tayoga noticed that it was growing deeper. "Ah," he said, "Black Rifle now walks much more slowly, so slow that he barely creeps, and his feet press down harder. I think he is going to make another stop." "Maybe
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