truly read.



III.

The hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on their snow-
shoes, as they made for the Wild Hawk Woods. It would seem as if
Malbrouck was testing Gregory's strength and stride, for the march that
day was a long and hard one. He was equal to the test, and even Big
Moccasin, the chief, grunted sound approval. But every day brought out
new capacities for endurance and larger resources; so that Malbrouck,
who had known the clash of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deeds
both dour and doughty, and who loved a man of might, regarded this youth
with increasing favour. By simple processes he drew from Gregory his
aims and ambitions, and found the real courage and power behind the front
of irony--the language of manhood and culture which was crusted by free
and easy idioms. Now and then they saw moose-tracks, but they were some
days out before they came to a moose-yard--a spot hoof-beaten by the
moose; his home, from which he strays, and to which he returns at times
like a repentant prodigal. Now the sport began. The dog-trains were put
out of view, and Big Moccasin and another Indian went off immediately to
explore the country round about. A few hours, and word was brought that
there was a small herd feeding not far away. Together they crept
stealthily within range of the cattle. Gregory Thorne's blood leaped as
he saw the noble quarry, with their wide-spread horns, sniffing the air,
in which they had detected something unusual. Their leader, a colossal
beast, stamped with his forefoot, and threw back his head with a snort.

"The first shot belongs to you, Mr. Thorne," said Malbrouck. "In the