assumed indifference, and shrug of his shoulders as he started to walk
away, remarked:

"All right if you've made yer mind up, but you'll be sorry fer it."

Douglas turned fiercely upon him.

"What mean you, man? Be that a threat? Speak now!"

"I make no threats, but boys can't hunt, and he'll bring ye no fur.
Ye'll get nothin' fer yer pains. Ye'll be sorry fer it."

"Well," said Douglas as Micmac John walked away to join the others in
the kitchen, "I've promised th' lad, an' what I promises I does, an'
I'll stand by it."

Bob Gray, sitting at the tiller of his little punt, _The Rover_, was
very happy--happy because the world was so beautiful, happy because he
lived, and especially happy because of the great good fortune that had
come to him this day when Douglas Campbell granted his request to let
him hunt the Big Hill trail, with its two hundred good marten and fox
traps.

It had been a year of misfortune for the Grays. The previous winter
when Bob's father started out upon his trapping trail a wolverine
persistently and systematically followed him, destroying almost every
fox and marten that he had caught. All known methods to catch or kill
the animal were resorted to, but with the cunning that its prehistoric
ancestors had handed down to it, it avoided every pitfall. The fox is
a poor bungler compared with the wolverine. The result of all this was