g near the trigger and his snow-blinded
eyes staring ahead into the storm, something like a sob escaped his
lips.

Ahead of him the stream narrowed until it almost buried itself under a
mass of towering cedars. The closeness of the forest walls now added to
the general gloom, intensified by the first gray pallor of the Northern
dusk, which begins to fall in these regions early in the afternoon of
November days. For a moment, just before plunging into the gloomy trail
between the cedars, Wabi stopped and listened. He heard nothing but the
beating of his own heart, which worked like a trip-hammer within his
breast. The stillness was oppressive. And the longer he listened the
more some invisible power seemed to hold him back. It was not fear, it
was not lack of courage, but--

What was there just beyond those cedars, lurking cautiously in the snow
gloom?

With instinct that was almost animal in its unreasonableness Wabi sank
upon his knees. He had seen nothing, he had heard nothing; but he
crouched close, until he was no larger than a waiting wolf, and there
was a deadly earnestness in the manner in which he turned his rifle into
the deeper gloom of those close-knit walls of forest. Something was
approaching, cautiously, stealthily, and with extreme slowness. The
Indian boy felt that this was so, and yet if his life had depended upon
it he could not have told why. He huddled himself lower in the snow. His
eyes gleamed with excitement. Minute after minute passed, and still
there came no sound. Then, from far up that dusky avenue of cedars,
there came the sudden startled chatter of a moose-bird. It was a warning
which years of experience had taught Wabi always to respect. Perhaps a
roving fox had frightened it, perhaps the bird had taken to noisy flight
at the near tread of a moose, a caribou, or a deer. But--

To Wabi the soft, quick notes of the moose-bird spelled man! In an
instant he was upon his feet, darting quickly into the sheltering cedars
of the shore. Through these he now made his way with extreme caution,
keeping close to the bank of the frozen stream. After a little he paused
again and concealed himself behind the end of a fallen log. Ahead of him
he could look into the snow gloom between the cedars, and whatever was
coming through that gloom would have to pass within a dozen yards of
him. Each moment added to his excitement. He heard the chatter of a red
squirrel, much nearer than the moose-bird. Once he fa