s dogs, and by the
time this was accomplished his own feelings had calmed. Ralph,
recognizing the danger of his mood, had gripped himself sternly, and
returned to his cooking.

And so the crisis was passed and the disaster temporarily averted. But
in their hearts both men knew that the savage wild, ingrained in their
natures, would not always be so easily stifled. Unless they parted, a
dire calamity must surely befall.

CHAPTER IX.

TO THE DEATH

The forest gloom is broken by gladdening beams of sunlight. They sketch
a mazy fretwork pattern of light and shade on the dank underlay of
rotting vegetation which the melting snow has laid bare. The air is
weighted down with heavy, resinous odours, and an enervating warmth has
descended to the depths of the lower forests. But Winter has not yet
spread its wings for its last flight. Spring's approach has been
heralded by its feathered trumpeters, garbed in their sober plumage. It
is on its way, that is all. The transition of the seasons is at hand.
Winter still resists, and the gentle legions of Spring have yet to fight
out their annual battle. The forests are astir with wild, furred life;
the fierce life which emphasizes the solitude of the mountain world. The
pine-cones scrunch under the feet of the prowling beast as he moves
solemnly upon his dread way; there is a swish of bush or a snapping of
wood as some startled animal seeks cover; or a heavy crashing of
branches, as the mighty-antlered moose, solemn-eyed, unheeding, thrusts
himself through the undergrowth.

Ralph was bending over a large trap. It was still set although the bait
had been removed. It had been set at the mouth of a narrow track where
it opened out in a small, snow-covered clearing. The blood stains of the
raw meat with which it had been baited were still moist, but the flesh
itself had been taken. He turned from his inspection. There were
footprints in the snow, evidently the tracks of a timber-wolf. His face
expressed his disgust as he rebaited the trap. Wolves were the pest of
his life. Their skins were almost worthless, and they were as cunning as
any dog-fox. A trap had no terrors for them. He moved away to continue
on his journey. Suddenly he drew up and scanned the white carpet. His
trailing instincts were keenly alert.

The snow was disturbed by other marks than those made by the wolf. In
places the ground was laid bare, and broken pine-cones were displayed
upon its surface as though