Raymond S. Spears

“ He scurried into the wilderness, clearing his line of its impeding windfalls, dropping traps at the cubby sites, keeping keen watch for sign and tale of the wilderness, reading the news of his quarry and his peltry.
For one thing, Old Hang-Nose was around yet. Toward that bull moose the trapper bore a particular, personal, instinctive resentment. French Louey knew the old boy's hoofprints, whether in beach sand, in caribou moss, or under the spruces in deeps of dark purple, dead-fallen green needles. ”

“ Dread of the bitter cold, of the fanged wilderness affected even the taunting and buoyant spirits of the old trapper.
He was glad to come back to Blue Jay harbor now. The background of the grim old lake, with its floating fields of ice, its splash of blue gray waters, and its impassible barrier, was less menacing than the covert of the green timber where the dead cold oppressed even the habituated toughness of French Louey himself. ”

“ A wraith of the green timber, he flitted hither and yon, tending to his terribly efficient steel traps; choking lynx who did not know what was strangling them; picking up tracks of furs that he knew—here a certain black-tailed fox—there an otter with a snaky slide, and always when he came to it, turning to follow it for a few rods, however tired he might be, along the trail of old Hang-Nose or of the big cow who now ranged his range.
French Louey wondered about that bull moose. ”

“ Old Hang-Nose was coming, plowing through the snow, the sharp crust cutting him. The belled cow was coming, too, heavy and slow in that deep tanglefoot. Driven by such hunger the wolves could not easily be held off by even the quick blows of the long, slender legs of the big bull. The cow, his mate, was in dire need. The trapper blinked, staring at the snow beyond the shadows of his cabin in the starlight He was used to tragic aspects in the wilderness. ”

“ Old Hang-Nose and the cow had retreated from some miles inland to the heavy balsam fir and spruce knoll flats just within the lake's walls of red stone. When French Louey came down to his log cabin, in from the snow-covered hulk of his little sailboat as it lay drawn out on the beach, he found that the two moose were yarded at his very door. ”

“ He thrust more [madly] into the [??] to empty it again into the gray devils, as they would have conquered.
For half a minute the wolves would not believe what was happening. They tasted warm blood in their mouths; but the most frantic could not withstand gunfire, or the shrieking triumphant, battle-loving human prancing at them.
The pack vanished in the timber—those that could go. Silence fell upon the wilderness with a kind of crash. The howls, yelps, the very whines disappeared. French Louey himself grew still. ”

“ Light of pack, grim of visage savage of intentions, he went ransacking the valley of boiling springs for the big moose.
"I need dat meat!" he said, reckless of the rabbits, grouse, and fish which he had hung up. "Nothing lak bull moose to mak' a man strong!"
He found and followed the big fellow's tracks. They led through open burning, across springy swamps of caribou moss, through ridge gaps and into windfall where the down timber was laid in heaps—top on top. French Louey paused at the thicket, which covered acres. He sat down to scratch his chin; he whispered to himself ”

“ When at last he bobbed out to fell some white birch and block them off for winter firewood, he muttered and cursed under his breath while he slammed the splitting blade in deep, or sent the cutting edge into the soft, white wood. ”

“ French Louey screamed and cackled, and jumping high, reckless of consequences, he dashed the few yards along the hard path to his smoking little spring, to plunge into the mêlée.
He threw up his carbine, shooting as he glanced along the side of the short barrel. He saw with satisfaction the red flash of powder: he heard a loud snarl turn into a howl of frantic grief and agony. He threw seven bullets into the [??] leaping [??] . ”