Part 13

"No," said Blue Wolf, decidedly; "each takes his own hurt to his Burrow--that is the way of the Pack; each to himself in the fight--one down is all on top. Besides, Comrade, your long legs are knocking together in weariness; the snow drinks much of your red blood."

"Come," called Mooswa, "the Man-scent turns the first point."

Blue Wolf, whining piteously, was rubbing his red-stained jowl up the neck of one of his dead Sons. He turned, balanced himself unsteadily, and tried to kick snow over their dead bodies. Bull-Moose, seeing this, lowered his head, gave three or four mighty scrapes with his wide horns, and piled great white mounds over Blue Wolf's dead children.

"Come away now," he commanded again; "the Hunt-men sight us--they are racing."

"They'll have a fair trail to follow for a little," answered Wolf; "then it will be dark, and we'll lose them. I go to the Pack for safety; had I known of the Dogs and this other Man I should have brought more than two Cub-wolves."

"I go to the Shack," said Mooswa, shortening his steps to keep pace with Wolf.

"To be killed by the Hunt-men?"

"I don't know; I go to The Boy."

As they climbed the bank, "Bang! pin-g-g-g!" sang a leaden messenger, fairly whistling through the crotches of Mooswa's horns.

"The Firestick!" he grunted; "sight of his dead Train-dogs has angered the Hunt-man. Slip off to your Pack now," he continued, as they trailed through the little clearing surrounding the Shack. "Get Umisk to fix up your foot as he did Black King's."

"And you?" queried Blue Wolf.

"I stop here!" the other answered, swaying as he stood in his tracks for a second.

"Come with me," pleaded Rof; "my Pack shall turn back the Hunters."

"Here they come--off to the Woods!" Mooswa answered, going himself to the Shack door and rattling his horns against the boards. The noise wakened Whisky-Jack, who had curled up for his night's sleep under the eave.

"Thieves!--Hello, Mooswa!" he piped, craning his neck around the corner, and seeing the big horned head.

Inside a faint querulous voice asked impatiently, "Is that you, Francois, or is it the angels with wood? If it is, throw it down the chimney, please--I'm too sick to get up."

Mooswa "whuffed," blowing the wind through his blood-coated nostrils with a sound The Boy knew, and scraped his horn up and down the door again. There was a muffled, slipping noise of some one crawling to the door. The bar dropped, Mooswa pushed it gently open, staggered in, and plumped down exhausted on the floor.

Carcajou had heaped the fire-place well with wood for the night--dry Tamarack to make it blaze, and green Poplar to make it last; the bright light shone on Mooswa's blood-matted body and revealed to Roderick his terrible condition.

"Mooswa, Mooswa!" he cried, dragging himself close and putting his arm around the big nose, "who has done this? You are wounded." Just then two men, with the blood-thirst of the chase hot in their hearts, glided to the door on snow-shoes. One had thrust forward a rifle, but his companion knocked it up with his arm. "What would you shoot?" he asked.

"I don't know," answered the other, his Winchester almost falling from shaking fingers, as he caught sight of a small boy-figure huddled against the animal's head. "Is it a banshee, Donald?" he continued, in a frightened, husky whisper.

"Is that you, Francois?" cried Rod, sitting up in his eagerness, as the voices came to him from the outer dusk.

"Great Powers!" exclaimed the man Donald, stepping through the door, "that's Factor McGregor's kid, Rod. I heard he was down here somewhere trapping with that Breed, Francois. What's the matter, Laddie?" the thick Scotch voice burred.

"Well, I'm hanged if I ever outspanned anything like this," said the other man; "it's like that thing we used to read, 'Babes in the Woods.'"

"Where's your mate--Francois?" asked Donald again. "And what's the matter with you--scurvy?"

"Francois," answered the Boy hesitatingly, for days of wound-fever had clouded his young brain,--"Francois? oh, yes, I remember--he went to The Landing long ago."

"And left a kid like that here alone!" cried Donald's companion.

"What's the matter with your leg--scurvy?" asked the leader again.

"My leg? yes, it's sore--awfully sore. Sometimes I dream that it's another person, and I talk to it."

"What's the matter with it?" the man reiterated huskily, pulling the roll of a fur cap down over his eyes to hide something, for the little, pale, pinched face, backed by a mass of yellow knotted hair, made him feel queer.

"My leg? oh, yes--yes, there was so much snow, and I slipped, and the axe cut it."

"Better get in the blankets, Laddie;" and standing his rifle against the wall Donald reached down with his strong arms to lift up Roderick.

The little fellow shrank away, and clasped the Moose's head closer. Mooswa's big ears were flipping back and forth nervously; he knew that something was being settled, and lay still, waiting.

"Come, Laddie," said the big man again, coaxingly, "don't be afraid; don't you remember me?--I worked for your daddy, old Factor McGregor, at Fort Resolution--Donald Bain is my name."

The small pinched face looked up at him. "I'm not afraid, but you'll hurt Mooswa; you've shot him now--see the blood. He's been taking care of me."

Donald Bain straightened himself up and looked at his comrade. His companion understood, and nodded encouragingly.

"No, Laddie, I'll give you the word of a Scotchman that we'll not harm him. God's truth! in the old land if one's enemy came hard pressed to the house for shelter it would be a blackguard that would injure him, or give him away. Get in the blankets, now, Laddie, and we'll take care of both you and the Moose."

The presence of friends, and a cup of hot tea which they brewed him, soothed The Boy, and he became quite rational.

"This is the queerest thing I ever saw in my life," said Donald Bain. "I've heard of a hunted fox, close run, taking refuge in a house, but this Moose staggering into the Shack is very extraordinary. Who kept the fire going and fed you, McGregor?" he asked.

"Oh, I prayed every night, and in the day too, and the Angels came and dropped wood down the chimney, and fish, and bacon."

Donald's companion tapped his forehead significantly, and, turning his face away, stalked over to the fire and poked it vigorously.

"Mooswa came every day," added The Boy. "He's the Moose Father used to have at the Fort--I didn't know him at first, and was afraid."

"Oh, ho-o-o!" exclaimed the big man, ending with a distinct whistle. "I remember him. He took to the bush when he was a two-year-old. That accounts for his coming to the Shack--he couldn't quite shake off the civilization he got. Here, Dave," he continued, addressing the other man, "get a pail of water, and give the wounded beast a drink."

"He's killed four of the best hounds ever came to the North-west," Dave remonstrated, looking at Mooswa.

"So would you, man, if you could, when they tried to pull you down. It was a fair fight, and not of his seeking either."

The Boy also pleaded for Mooswa.

"Now, we've got to get young McGregor to The Landing just as quick as we can," declared Donald Bain, as he examined The Boy's limb. "Look at the size of it--it'll be a case of blood-poisoning, I'm afeerd."

"How will you manage it?" queried Dave, sullenly. "This brute has killed our dogs--will you carry him on your shoulders?"

"That's so," mused Donald, taking off his cap, and scratching the thick grizzled hair; "I suppose we'll have to rig up a carryall, and pull him ourselves."

"You want to go to The Landing?" asked Roderick.

"We don't want to--" commenced Donald, but checked himself, and added, "yes, me and Dave must go up for more dogs, and some baccy," fabricating with chivalrous ingenuity, to reassure the sick boy. "We was thinking you'd better go along too; there's no dog-train, but me and Dave could track you up on a small jumper--does there happen to be one about?"

"I think Mooswa would drag the sleigh--he used to at the Fort," suggested Rod.

"By the Great Wallace!" exclaimed Bain, slapping his thigh, "that he will--if he's not grown too wild. Hitched to a sled, he could run clean away from a dog-train, in the old days."

"He's been harnessed right enough, some time or another," declared Dave. "Here are two white-haired spots on his back--that means saddle-galls. Gracious! he's as quiet as an old horse."

They put in a busy evening, the two men, bathing The Boy's leg, and with a sailor's needle they found in his outfit sealing up the torn wounds in Mooswa's neck. He never moved, just looked on stolidly. He knew they meant him no harm. Any animal can tell from the touch of a man's finger, or the look in his eye, whether it's war or kindness.

Whisky-Jack had been intensely interested in all this--the clatter and noise kept even his bird eyes open. "Wonderful doings!" he exclaimed; "the Boundaries are being turned into a regular Sun-dance--but I'm glad I saw it all. The Boy will be all right now--_Good old Mooswa!_" He flopped about drunkenly outside, for his eyes were not quite like Owl's, and the different lights bothered him.

Then he fired a word of encouragement at Mooswa. "Stick to The Boy, old Dainty-head-gear; you're Big Buck of the Boundaries--I'll tell Black King and all the fellows so. Stupid light this--fancy they'll get on without me now," and scrambling up to the eave he stuck his head under wing and went fast asleep.

In the morning a carryall was made, a rude harness constructed from shaganappi, Trap-chains, and straps, and before noon they were on their way to The Landing; Mooswa submitting to be hitched up with patient gentleness.

Whisky-Jack grinned when he saw the Moose decked out in these trappings. "Now you're a dandy, my fine fellow," he said, patronizingly. "We'll never see you again. Remember me to Francois when you see him, and tell him not to hurry back--Good-bye, good old Mooswa."

"I guess our Shack and things will be all right till we get back," said Donald. "At any rate, Factor McGregor's kid has first call, I reckon. I'd like to put a bullet through that Breed, though."

"What if the Moose bolts?" asked Dave. "Here's a tracking-line they used on their canoe,--suppose we take a hitch on his horns or his nose with it; we could stop him if he tried to get away."

"Yes," answered Donald, "and if we can't, if the worst comes to the worst, we can drop him with a bullet before any harm's done."

But they need not have bothered their heads about the line, for Mooswa knew just what was being done; he was taking his Boy to the land of good care. Like an old cart-horse, he plodded along. The snow was frost-hardened again, and the going was good.

In three days they arrived at The Landing. Francois was just ready to start with a new outfit the Factor had given him debt for. Then for days he had to hide from Donald Bain, for there was sheer murder in the big Scotchman's heart.

The day after their arrival Mooswa disappeared. When he got back to his comrades he found that Whisky-Jack had told them everything, and next to Black King he was the greatest hero in the Boundaries.

The Factor sent Roderick in to Edmonton with his own team, and nursing soon put him right.

When he told about the angels feeding him, and keeping his fire going, the people listened a little awe-stricken, for they saw that he believed it firmly. Also the two Hunters asserted that the fire was burning brightly when they came. Perhaps after all it was the angels.

* * * * * * * *

By John B. Grant

OUR COMMON BIRDS AND HOW TO KNOW THEM

BY JOHN B. GRANT. With 64 full-page plates. Oblong 12mo, $1.50 net.

PARTIAL LIST OF PLATES: HOOT OWL, BELTED KINGFISHER, WHIP-POOR-WILL, KINGBIRD, PHOEBE, BLUE JAY, BOBOLINK, MEADOWLARK, ORCHARD ORIOLE, PURPLE FINCH, RED CROSSBILL, SNOWFLAKE, SNOWBIRD, SONG SPARROW, CARDINAL, SUMMER REDBIRD, CEDARBIRD, MAGNOLIA WARBLER, BROWN THRUSH, WINTER WREN, WOOD THRUSH, ROBIN, and 42 Others.

The author of this attractive volume dwells upon some ninety specimens of our common birds, and between the remarkably lifelike illustrations and the straightforward, easily intelligible descriptions, no one need be at a loss for the name or habits of any bird an outdoor ramble reveals. A calendar of the times of arrival and departure of the various species in the latitude of New York enables the student to know what to look for at any given date, and the fine literary quality of the book adds a charm to its use quite dispelling any unpleasant "textbook" associations.

"The book is learned, but not too much so for common use, and, if carefully studied, it will introduce the student into that interesting world of bird life where a few favored mortals, such as the author, Bradford Torrey, Olive Thorne Miller and a small handful more, have won their way and brought back so much of delight. The book has more than sixty plates of the commoner American birds, with descriptions, and a very enjoyable and instructive introductory essay."--_The Congregationalist_.

"It gives plain, practical illustration regarding birds and how best to study them in their haunts and homes in the woods and fields. The plates adorn the pages and give value to the concise, clearly written text."--_Chicago Inter-Ocean_.

"With the fine illustrations and the simple and comprehensive text, there is no excuse for the lover of birds to remain in ignorance of all the information he needs to enable him to recognize at sight, and to name unerringly, any bird he is likely to see in his walks in wood and field,"--_Boston Saturday Gazette_.

By Ernest Seton-Thompson

WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN

Being the Personal Histories of Lobo the Wolf, Silverspot the Crow, Raggylug the Rabbit, Bingo my Dog, The Springfield Fox, The Pacing Mustang, Wully the Yaller Dog, and Redruff the Partridge. With 200 illustrations from drawings by the author. Fifty-first Thousand. Square 12mo, $2.00.

CRITICAL NOTICES

"It should be put with Kipling and Hans Christian Andersen as a classic."--_The Athenaeum_.

"Mr. Thompson is now drawing the best mammals of any American artist.. . . This is artistic fidelity to nature in high degree.... Nothing of equal simplicity could be more effective than these little marginal oddities and whimsies. The book is thoroughly good, both in purpose and execution."--_New York Evening Post_.

"This book is unique in conception and illustration.... One of the most valuable contributions to animal psychology and biography that has yet appeared. Mr. Seton-Thompson is not only a naturalist and an animal artist of very high attainments, but is master of a literary style that is at once graphic and fascinating.... The author of 'Wild Animals I Have Known' is a keen woodsman, as well as an accomplished artist and writer, and has given us a book that opens a new field to our vision."--_J. A. Allen in The American Naturalist_.

"In its mechanical make-up the book is a great success. The illustrations by the author are among the best of modern book-making."--_Boston Universalist Leader_.

"Nothing apart from 'The Jungle Book' has ever approached these tales in interest, and the 200 illustrations add greatly to their charm."--_New York World_.

"The originality and freshness of these stories is irresistible.... In everything he does, Mr. Thompson has a way peculiarly his own.... Even if naked and unadorned, the facts he tells us would be very interesting; but when we have the facts and the factors fairly dancing before us, clothed in all the quaint quips and droll persiflage of an accomplished humorist and born story-teller, they are--as I have said--irresistible."--_Mr. William T. Hornaday, Director N. Y. Zooelogical Park, in Recreation_.

By Ernest Seton-Thompson

THE TRAIL OF THE SANDHILL STAG

Written and illustrated with 60 drawings, by ERNEST SETON-THOMPSON. Square 12mo, $1.50.

CRITICAL NOTICES

"One of the most thoroughly attractive of the autumn books.... The story is almost too perfect a whole to lend itself readily to quotation.... A story to be read and re-read, finding fresh beauty at each reading, and a book well worth the owning.... It is impossible to write too highly of the illustrations. Pictures which really illustrate are all too rare, and the combination of author-artist is usually a fascinating one."--_New York Times_.

"It is difficult to determine which gives one the most pleasure in a book by Mr. Ernest Seton-Thompson--the author-artist's narrative or the artist-author's pictures. The two together certainly, as in the case of 'The Trail of the Sandhill Stag,' unite to produce a singularly harmonious result. Mr. Seton-Thompson can read the heart of the hunted animal as well as count the pulse-beats of the huntsman himself, and in this tale is condensed the whole tragic story of the chase. This double point of view is unique with this writer."--"Droch" in _Life_.

"Bliss Carman, speaking of 'The Trail of the Sandhill Stag,' says: 'I had fancied that no one could touch 'The Jungle Book' for a generation at least, but Mr. Thompson has done it. We must give him place among the young masters at once.' And we agree with Mr. Carman."--_The Bookman_.

"Nothing more beautiful in a dainty way has been brought out in Canada."--_Toronto World_.

"It gives us again glimpses of the life of animals that are astonishing for their delicacy of perception, and charming by the deftness of their literary form."--_New York Mail and Express_.

"A breezy little narrative of outdoor life.... The author has celebrated the steadfast hunt and its interesting end with art and emotion"--_New York Tribune_.

"Is a truly poetic bit of impressionistic prose."--_Chicago Tribune_.

By Frances Theodora Parsons (Mrs. Dana)

HOW TO KNOW THE FERNS

A Guide to the Names, Haunts, and Habits of our Native Ferns. By FRANCES THEODORA PARSONS (Mrs. Dana). With 144 full-page illustrations, and 6 full-page illustrations from photographs. Crown 8vo, $1.50 net.

"Since the publication, six years ago, of 'How to Know the Wild Flowers,' I have received such convincing testimony of the eagerness of nature-lovers of all ages and conditions to familiarize themselves with the inhabitants of our woods and fields, and so many assurances of the joy which such a familiarity affords, that I have prepared this companion volume on 'How to Know the Ferns.' It has been my experience that the world of delight which opens before us when we are admitted into some sort of intimacy with our companions other than human, is enlarged with each new society into which we win our way."--_From the Author's Preface_.

"Of the ferns, as the flowers, she writes as one who not only knows but loves them. The charm of her fern-book is as irresistible and pervading as is the charm of nature itself. This gifted and enthusiastic naturalist knows the ferns literally 'like a book,' and her book makes the first lesson of the novice in the lore of fern-life an easy and a delightful task."--_New York Mail and Express_.

"This is a notably thorough little volume. The text is not voluminous, and even with its many full-page illustrations the book is small; but brevity, as we are glad to see so many writers on nature learning, is the first of virtues in this field.... The author of 'How to Know the Ferns' has mastered her subject, and she treats of it with authority."--_New York Tribune_.

"The inspiration that entered into and made 'How to Know the Wild Flowers' so deservedly popular has not been lost in 'How to Know the Ferns.'"--_New York Times_.

ACCORDING TO SEASON

Talks about the Flowers in the Order of their Appearance in the Woods and Fields. 16mo, 75 cents.

"Whoever shall start out for a country walk with this little book will add greatly to present enjoyments, and will be continually acquiring a fund of useful and agreeable knowledge."--_Public Opinion_.

A SELECTION OF FIFTY PLATES

From "How to Know the Wild Flowers." Printed on Special Paper suitable for Coloring by Hand, The set, in a portfolio, $1.00 net.

Books for Lovers of Nature

On Flowers, Animals and Birds

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers

HOW TO KNOW THE WILD FLOWERS

By MRS. WILLIAM STARR DANA

With 48 Colored Plates and New Black and White Drawings, Enlarged, Rewritten and Entirely Reset

A Guide to the Names, Haunts, and Habits of our Native Wild Flowers. With 48 full-page colored plates by ELSIE LOUISE SHAW, and no full-page illustrations by MARION SATTERLEE. 60th Thousand. Crown 8vo, $2.00 net.

This new edition has been enlarged, revised, and entirely reset, the illustrations have been remade, and it has in addition 48 full-page colored plates from drawings by Miss ELSIE LOUISE SHAW, made especially for this edition. _The Nation_ says: "Every flower-lover who has spent weary hours puzzling over a botanical key in the efforts to name unknown plants, will welcome this satisfactory book, which stands ready to lead him to the desired knowledge by a royal road. The book is well fitted to the need of many who have no botanical knowledge and yet are interested in wild flowers."

"I am delighted with it.... It is so exactly the kind of work needed for outdoor folks who live in the country but know little of systematic botany, that it is a wonder no one has written it before."--_Hon. Theodore Roosevelt_.

"It is not often that a book so suggestive of pleasure, pure and simple, comes our way. So far as we recall books on flowers, it is the first that makes country walks an intelligent joy for those who know nothing of botany but who have eyes to see and minds to question."--_The New York Times_.

By H. E. Parkhurst

HOW TO NAME THE BIRDS

Illustrated. 16mo, leather, $1.00 net.

"Mr. Parkhurst has compiled a convenient pocket guide to the birds of the New England States, New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. He has greatly simplified the common system of bird classification for the beginner by omitting such details as are invisible at field-range, and by emphasizing such characteristics as color, size, and time of appearance."--_Review of Reviews_.

"He has given to his book every advantage essential to a plain, straight-forward account of honest observation."--_N. Y. Tribune_.

"The advantage of H. E. Parkhurst's 'How to Name the Birds' is not merely in its concise and careful descriptive matter, but in its form. It is the only book of the sort that one can put into the pocket of an ordinary coat and carry into the woods and fields when he is away on his country rambles."--_Brooklyn Eagle_.

SONG BIRDS AND WATER FOWL

Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50 net.

"This most entertainingly as well as carefully written volume has for one of its best values the attention it gives to that most untrampled, and yet peculiarly alluring domain of bird lore--the stream and the lake, the sea-beach and the wave. With this book Mr. Parkhurst must receive full confirmation as one of the most companionable and beguiling writers on birds."--_G. W. Cable_.

"It will be welcome to the many friends his former book made. The illustrations are the finest that have ever been printed in this country in black and white, with exception of another series by the same artist."--_The Nation_.

THE BIRDS' CALENDAR

Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50 net.

"A charming book. It contains a year's individual experience of study and observation, the birds for each month being enumerated and described, with comments on their characteristics and habits, and with very useful and beautifully printed illustrations."--_The Outlook_.

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers 153-157 Fifth Avenue, New York

By Harriet L. Keeler

OUR NATIVE TREES

AND HOW TO IDENTIFY THEM