nd
found his way back by the cord.

On the second day of his blindness, no sun came up; nor could he guide
himself by the feel of the air, for there was no wind. It was one of the
dull dead gray days that precedes storms. How would he get his
directions to set out? Memory of last night's travel might only lead him
on the endless circling of the lost. Koot dug his snow-shoe to the base
of a tree, found moss, felt it growing on only one side of the tree,
knew that side must be the shady cold side, and so took his bearings
from what he thought was the north.

Koot said the only time that he knew any fear was on the evening of the
last day. The atmosphere boded storm. The fort lay in a valley.
Somewhere between Koot and that valley ran a trail. What if he had
crossed the trail? What if the storm came and wiped out the trail before
he could reach the fort? All day, whisky-jack and snow-bunting and fox
scurried from his presence; but this night in the dusk when he felt
forward on his hands and knees for the expected trail, the wild
creatures seemed to grow bolder. He imagined that he felt the coyotes
closer than on the other nights. And then the fearful thought came that
he might have passed the trail unheeding. Should he turn back?

Afraid to go forward or back, Koot sank on the ground, unhooded his face
and tried to _force_ his eyes to see. The pain brought biting salty
tears. It was quite useless. Either the night was very dark, or the eyes
were very blind.

And then white man or Indian--who shall say which came uppermost?--Koot
cried out to the Great Spirit. In mockery back came the saucy scold of a
jay.

But that was enough for Koot--it was prompt answer to his prayer; for
where do the jays quarrel and fight and flutter but on the trail?
Running eagerly forward, the trapper felt the ground. The rutted marks
of a "jumper" sleigh cut the hard crust. With a shout, Koot headed down
the sloping path to the valley where lay the fur post, the low hanging
smoke of whose chimneys his eager nostrils had already sniffed.

CHAPTER XVI

OTHER LITTLE ANIMALS BESIDES WAHBOOS THE RABBIT--BEING AN ACCOUNT
OF MUSQUASH THE MUSK-RAT, SIKAK THE SKUNK, WENUSK THE BADGER, AND
OTHERS

I

_Musquash the Musk-rat_

Every chapter in the trapper's life is not a "stunt."

There are the uneventful days when the trapper seems to do nothing but
wander aimlessly through the woods over the prairie along the margin of