the stern
touched land. He wanted to see what the squirrel, up there in the bow,
was going to do about it.

The little animal made up his mind quickly. Scared but resolute, he
darted along the gunwale. The rower, with both arms outspread, was
directly in his way. He hesitated, gave a nervous chirrup, then launched
himself high into the air. His little feet struck smartly on the top of
the man's head. Then he was off up the bank as if hawk and pickerel and
rapids were all after him together. A moment later from the thick top of
a fir-tree came his shrill chatter of triumph and defiance.

"Sassy little varmint!" muttered the old river-man, looking up at him
with indulgent eyes.

A Duel in the Deep

Though there was no wind, the wide surface of the estuary was curiously
disturbed. In from the open sea came swiftly as it were a wedge of
roughness, its edges lightly dancing, sparkling with blue-and-silver
flashes. The strange disturbance kept on straight up the channel,
leaving the placid shoals along-shore to shine unruffled in the low,
level-glancing Arctic sun.

Down along the flat, interminable shore, picking his way watchfully
among the ragged ice-cakes of the tempestuous spring, came a huge white
bear. His small, snaky, cruel head was bent downwards, while his fierce
little eyes peered among the tumbled ice blocks for possible dead fish.
His long, loose-jointed body twisted sinuously as he moved--the only
living creature to be seen up and down the level desolation of those
bleak shores.

The white bear was an old male, restless, and of savage temper. Like
many of his fellows among the older males, he had not been so fortunate
as to slumber away the long, terrific, Arctic winter in the shelter of a
snow-buried rock. All through the months of dark and tempest, of ghostly
auroras and cold unspeakable, he had roamed the dead world and fought
his fight with hunger. His craft, his strength, his fierce desperation
in attack, had pulled him through. Lean and savage, he sniffed the
oncoming of spring, and watched the ice go grinding out.

Presently his keen ears noted a faint sound, which seemed to blow in
from the sea. As there was no wind, this was worthy of note. Lifting his
black nose high above the ice-cakes, he sniffed and peered intently at
the inrushing wedge of tumbled water. His uncertainty was not for long.
The salmon were returning. This was the vanguard of the spring run.

For a few seconds the g