Years afterwards, the knowledge gained stood me in good stead in clearing up another mystery.  It was in a lumber camp—­always a superstitious place—­in the heart of a Canada forest.  I had followed a wandering herd of caribou too far one day, and late in the afternoon found myself alone at a river, some twenty miles from my camp, on the edge of the barren grounds.  Somewhere above me I knew that a crew of lumbermen were at work; so I headed up river to find their camp, if possible, and avoid sleeping out in the snow and bitter cold.  It was long after dark, and the moon was flooding forest and river with a wonderful light, when I at last caught sight of the camp.  The click of my snowshoes brought a dozen big men to the door.  At that moment I felt rather than saw that they seemed troubled and alarmed at seeing me alone; but I was too tired to notice, and no words save those of welcome were spoken until I had eaten heartily.  Then, as I started out for another look at the wild beauty of the place under the moonlight, a lumberman followed and touched me on the shoulder.

“Best not go far from camp alone, sir.  ’T isn’t above safe hereabouts,” he said in a low voice.  I noticed that he glanced back over his shoulder as he spoke.

“But why?” I objected.  “There’s nothing in these woods to be afraid of.”

“Come back to camp and I’ll tell you.  It’s warmer there,” he said.  And I followed to hear a strange story,—­how “Andy there” was sitting on a stump, smoking his pipe in the twilight, when he was struck and cut on the head from behind; and when he sprang up to look, there was nothing there, nor any track save his own in the snow.  The next night Gillie’s fur cap had been snatched from his head, and when he turned there was nobody in sight; and when he burst into camp, with all his wits frightened out of him, he could scarcely speak, and his face was deathly white.  Other uncanny things had happened since, in the same way, and coupled with a bad accident on the river, which the men thought was an omen, they had put the camp into such a state of superstitious fear that no one ventured alone out of doors after nightfall.

I thought of Kookooskoos and my own head, but said nothing.  They would only have resented the suggestion.

Next day I found my caribou, and returned to the lumber camp before sunset.  At twilight there was Kookooskoos, an enormous fellow, looking like the end of a big spruce stub, keeping sharp watch over the clearing, and fortunately behind the camp where he could not see the door.  I called the men and set them crouching in the snow under the low eaves.—­“Stay there a minute and I’ll show you the ghost.”  That was all I told them.

Taking the skin of a hare which I had shot that day, I hoisted it cautiously on a stick, the lumbermen watching curiously.  A slight scratch of the stick, a movement of the fur along the splits, then a great dark shadow shot over our heads.  It struck the stick sharply and swept on and up into the spruces across the clearing, taking Bunny’s skin with it.