Followers of the Trail | Page 5

face in his hands, but the opportunity was
gone and he resolutely fixed his thoughts upon the hope of the dog's
return.
The woods were very still. As the coppery sun sank lower, it cast long
blue shadows upon the snow, while the cold grew more intense. Dave
shivered and huddled down as far as possible into his coat.
Gradually there grew upon him the feeling that he was not alone; that
he was being watched by hostile eyes. A strange prickling of his scalp
under his fur cap caused him to turn his head slightly and so meet the
unwinking gaze of a pair of pale yellow orbs. Involuntarily Dave
stiffened. The creature's round, moon-like face, gray-brown fur and
tufted ears proclaimed it a Canada lynx, one of the most savage of the
cat tribe.
[Illustration: Slowly it advanced, its body almost brushing the snow.]
As a rule, the lynx, in common with other wilderness inhabitants, is shy
of man; still he is not to be trusted. The winter had been a hard one,
game was scarce and the animal was emboldened by hunger. Moreover
it seemed to know that the man was crippled. Slowly it advanced, its
body almost brushing the snow, its huge furry pads making no sound
upon the smooth crust, its unwinking eyes fixed upon those of the man.
The perspiration stood out upon Dave's forehead as he stared back into
the brilliant, cruel eyes of the lynx. He was unarmed save for his
hunting knife, a poor weapon against so savage a beast, yet he drew it,
determined to die fighting.

A few paces away the lynx paused and the trapper could see the
muscles of its powerful hind legs gather for the spring. His own
muscles braced instinctively to meet it. But strangely the animal's
attention wavered. It sniffed the air uncertainly. An instant later there
came a furious barking and a yell which seemed to shatter the silence as
a delicate vase is shattered by a blow. The lynx shrank back and with
one bound melted into the shadows of the forest. At the same moment
Pal, closely followed by his master, rushed up and with a friendly red
tongue licked the trapper's face.
"I didn't know I could yell so," chuckled the Hermit. "Like to scared the
beast to death. It is a good thing Pal found you when he did, though.
You look about frozen."
He had picked up the trapper's axe, which he now used to good effect.
In another moment the cruel jaws of the trap had been loosened and the
foot was free, though Dave was unable to stand. Good woodsmen as
they were, they were equal to the emergency. The axe again came into
play, and on a rude sledge made of thick spruce boughs, the wounded
man began the trip to the Hermit's cabin which was nearer than his own.
Pal frisked joyously about, now at the head of the little procession,
again bringing up the rear, growling deep in his throat at some
imaginary enemy of the wonderful beings whom it was his duty to
protect. It was some distance through the heavy forest, fast growing
shadowy with the coming of night. Before the old rail fence came into
view, the Hermit was spent with fatigue, while Dave Lansing was all
but fainting from the pain of his rough ride.
At length, however, the cabin was reached. The almost frozen trapper
was gradually thawed out and his wound dressed, the Hermit showing
himself wonderfully skillful in the process. This done, the host set
about the preparation of supper while Dave lay comfortably in the bunk
watching him, with a warm glow of thankfulness for his rescue and a
determination to be more humane in his dealings with the creatures of
the wild. As for Pal, he dozed contentedly before the fire, his eyes
occasionally turning to the man whom he had rescued from death, but
for the most part following every movement of his adored master.

THE CALL OF THE SPRING
As the days began to lengthen and the sun climbed higher, the forest
country of the north stirred under the icy fetters that had bound it for
long, weary months, during which the snow had drifted deep and
famine had stalked the trails. Under the influence of a warm south wind
the sunlit hours became musical with the steady drip, drip of melting
snow, while new life seemed to flow in the veins of the forest creatures
grown gaunt under the pinch of hunger. Only Kagh, the porcupine, had
remained full fed, but Kagh had been unusually blessed by a kind
Providence, in that every tree held a meal for him in its soft inner
fibers.
It was yet too early to expect the final