l game
were taken with Beatrice's pistol.

Sometimes he took ptarmigan--those whistling, sprightly grouse of the
high steeps--and Beatrice served uncounted numbers of them, like the
famous blackbirds, baked in a pie. Fried ptarmigan was a dish never to
forget; roast ptarmigan had a distinctive flavor all its own, and the
memory of ptarmigan fricassee often called Ben home to the cavern an
hour before the established mealtime. Indeed, they partook of all the
northern species of that full-bosomed clan, the upland game birds;
little, brown quail, willow grouse, fool hens, and the incomparable blue
grouse, half of the breast of which was a meal. It was true that their
little store of pistol cartridges was all but gone, but worlds of big
game remained to fall back upon.

Ben never ceased regretting that he had not brought a single fishhook
and a piece of line. He had long since carried the canoe from the river
bank and hid it in the tall reeds of the lake shore, not only for
pleasure's sake, but to preserve it for the autumn floods when they
might want to float on down to the Indian villages; and surely it would
have afforded the finest sport in the way of trolling for lake trout.
But with utter callousness he made his pistol serve as a hook and line.
Often he would crawl down, cautiously as a stalking wolf, to the edge of
a trout pool, then fire mercilessly at a great, spotted beauty below.
The bullet itself did not penetrate the water, but the shock carried
through and the fish usually turned a white belly to the surface. A fat
brook or lake trout, dipped in flour and fried to a chestnut brown, was
a delight that never grew old.

At every fresh find Beatrice would come triumphant into Ben's presence;
and at such times they scarcely conducted themselves like enemies. An
unguessed boyishness and charm had come to Ben in these ripe, full
summer days: the hard lines softened in his face and mostly the hard
shine left his eyes. Beatrice found herself curiously eager to please
him, taking the utmost care and pains with every dish she prepared for
the table; and it was true that he made the most joyful, exultant
response to her efforts. The searing heat back of his eyes was quite
gone, now. Even the scarlet fluid of his veins seemed to flow more
quietly, with less fire, with less madness. A gentling influence had
come to bear upon him; a great kindness, a new forbearance had
brightened his outlook toward all the world. A great