to
the trout. Ben knew perfectly how the silver fish had learned to dart
with such rapidity in the water. They learned it keeping out of the way
of the otter and the mink.

They saw the tracks of marten--the mink that has gone into the tree tops
to live; the doglike imprints of a coyote at which Fenris whimpered and
scratched in excitement (doubtless wishing to run him down and bite him,
as is the usual reception to the detested coyote by the more important
woods creatures) and once the fresh mud showed that an old grizzly--the
forest monarch, the ancient, savage despot of the woods of which all
foresters, near and far, speak with deep respect--had passed that way
but a few minutes before. Foresters both, the two riders had every
reason to believe that the old gray tyrant was lurking somewhere in the
thickets beside the trail, half in anger, half in curiosity watching
them ride past. And of course the tracks of moose, and of their fellows
of mighty antlers, the caribou, were in profusion.

To all these things Beatrice responded with the joy of a true nature
lover. Her heart thrilled and her eyes were bright; and every new track
was a fresh surprise and delight. But Ben was affected more deeply
still. The response he made had its origin and font in deeply hidden
centers of his spirit; mysterious realms that no introspection could
reveal or words lay bare.

He knew nothing of Beatrice's sense of constant surprise. In his own
heart he had known that all these woodspeople would be waiting for
him--just as they were--and he would have known far greater amazement to
have found some of them gone. And instead of sprightly delight he knew
only an all-pervading sense of comfort, as a man feels upon returning to
his home country, among the people whom he knows and understands.

XII

At the very headquarters of Poor Man's Creek, where the stream had
dwindled to a silver thread between mossy banks, Beatrice and Ben made
their noon camp. They were full in the heart of the wild, by now, and
had mounted to those high levels and park lands beloved by the caribou.
They built a small fire beside the stream and drew water from the deep,
clear pools that lay between cascade and cascade.

Ben Darby slowly became aware that this was one of the happiest hours
of his life. He watched, with absorbed delight, the deft, sure motions
of the girl as she fried the grouse and sliced bread, while Ben
himself tended to the coffee. Already