In March he was fast recovering. He could now take long walks; and one
bright day of snow he set off with his brother's Dog. His steps bent
hillward. The air was bright and bracing, he stepped with unexpected
vigour, and he made for far Glenyan, without at first meaning to go
there. But, drawn by the ancient attraction, he kept on. The secret
path looked not so secret, now the leaves were off; but the Glen
looked dearly familiar as he reached the wider stretch.

His eye fell on a large, peculiar track quite fresh in the snow. It
was five inches across, big enough for a Bear track, but there were no
signs of claws or toe pads. The steps were short and the tracks had
not sunken as they would for an animal as heavy as a Bear.

As one end of each showed the indications of toes, he could see what
way it went, and followed up the Glen. The dog sniffed at it uneasily,
but showed no disposition to go ahead. Yan tramped up past the ruins
of his shanty, now painfully visible since the leaves had fallen, and
his heart ached at the sight. The trail led up the valley, and crossed
the brook on a log, and Yan became convinced that he was on the track
of a large Lynx. Though a splendid barker, Grip, the dog, was known to
be a coward, and now he slunk behind the boy, sniffing at the great
track and absolutely refusing to go ahead.

Yan was fascinated by the long rows of footprints, and when he came
to a place where the creature had leaped ten or twelve feet without
visible cause, he felt satisfied that he had found a Lynx, and the
love of adventure prompted him to go on, although he had not even a
stick in his hand or a knife in his pocket. He picked up the best club
he could find--a dry branch two feet long and two inches through, and
followed. The dog was now unwilling to go at all; he hung back, and