The youth was staring at the averted face beside him, mouth open and utter amazement on his features.

Maren went on.

“And lastly, M’sieu, far at the end of the trail,—­at the outer, rim of the circle traced by his traps,—­he comes eagerly, to peep and peer for what might have happened at the head of the little dip leading down to the stream where the firs bend heavily under their weight of snow.

“Here he had laid his cunningest instrument, a thing of giant jaws, of sharp ragged points, each inlocking with the other, the whole unholy thing hung to a chain at whose other end there lay a ball of iron, weighing, M’sieu, some eighty pounds.  That was for the .great shy bear, rocking along ire his quest of berries or some tree that should ring hollow under his scratching claws, bespeaking the hive of the wild bees.  The oiled and fur-wrapped Indian stoops down and looks along the dip.  Ah!  There he sees that which brings a glint to his small eyes.  No bear, M’sieu, nor yet the trap he had left, but a thrashed and broken space where the snow went flying in clouds and the bushes were torn from their roots, where the very tree-trunks bore marks of the conflict and a wide and terrible trail led wildly off to the deeper forest.

“He takes it up.

“All day he follows it.  At night he camps and sleeps by his fire in comfort.  By daybreak again he is swinging along on that trail.  Its word is plain to him.  At first it raged, that great shaggy creature, tall as an ox and slow, raged and fought and broke its teeth on the strange thing that bit to the bone with its relentless jaws, and tore along the white silence dragging its hindering ball, that, catching on bush and root, skinned down the flesh from the shining bone.  And presently the wild trail narrowed to undisturbed snow, with naught save two great footprints, one after the other.  With the cunning of a man, M’sieu, the tortured animal has gathered in its arms that chain and ball, and is walking upright.  For another day and night the trapper follows this trail of tragedy and at their end he comes upon it.

“Beside a boulder, where the snow is pushed away there lies a round heap of anguish, curled up, pinched nose flat on the snow and two ears laid lop to a vanquished head.  It is still breathing, though the dull eyes open not at sound of the trapper, bold in his safety, who lifts his gun and ends it all.

“A fine pelt,—­save that the right foreleg is somewhat spoiled.

“It lies there in that pile, M’sieu, and makes for wealth,—­but to me it is no heartening sight.  I have followed that trail to the deeper woods.”

The eyes of the woman were deep as wells, flickering with light, and the dark brows frowned down the slope.  She had drawn her hands tight around her knees, so tight that each knuckle stood out white from the surrounding tan.

The young man shut his open lips and drew in a breath that quivered.