The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1926-08-13
Chapter XIII
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The trap-line Of Pierre Eustach ran
thirty miles straight west of Lac
Balm. 1t was not as long line as
Pierrot's had been, but 1t was like a
main artery running through the heart
of rich fur country. 1t had belonged
to Pierre Eustach's father, and his
grandfather, and his great-grand-
father, and beyond that 1t reached,
Pierre averred, back to the very pulse
of the finest blood in France. The
books at McTaggart's post went back
only as far as the great-grandfather
end of it. the older evidence Of own
ership being at Churchill. 1t was the
finest game country between Reindeer
lake and the Barren Lands. 1t was in
December that BARGE came to 1t.
Again he was. travelling southwark
In a slow and wandering fashion. seek
ing food In the deep SHOWS. The Kis-
tisew Kestin, or Great Storm, had
come earlier than usual this winter,
and for week after 1t scarcely hoof
or claw was moving.
Every trapper from Hudson's bay
to the country of the Athabasca knew
that after the Big Storm the famished
fur animals would be seeking food,
and that traps and deadfalls properly
set and baited stood the biggest
chance of the year of being filled.
Some of them set out over their trap
lines on the sixth day; some on the
seventh, and others on the eighth. 1t
was on the seventh day that Bush Nc
Taggart started over Pierre Eustach's
line, which was now his own for the
season. It took him two days to I'M
cover the traps, dig the snow from
them, rebuild the fallen "trap-houses,
rearrange the bats. On the third day
he was back at Lac Balm.
1t was on this day that Baree came
to the cabin at the far end of McTag-
CARTS line. McTaggart's trail was
fresh in the snow about the cabin, and
the instant Baree shifted of 1t every
drop of blood In his body seemed to
leap suddenly with a strange excite
ment. It took perhaps half minute
for the scent that filled his nostrils
4 to associate itself with what had gone
before. and at the end of that half
minute there rumbled in Baree's chest
a deep and sullen growl. For many
minutes after that he stood like
black rock in the snow, watching the
cabin. Then slowly he began circling
about 1t, drawing nearer and nearer,
until at last he was shifting at the
threshold. No sound or smell of life
came from inside, but he could smell
the old smell of McTaggart. Then he
faced the wilderness-the direction in
which the trap-line ran back to Lac
Balm. He was trembling. His muscles
twitched. He whined. Pictures were
assembling more and more wildly In
his mind-the fight in the cabin, Ne
peese, the wild chase through the
snow to the chasm's edge-even the
memory of that age-Old struggle when
McTaggart had caught him In the
rabbit snare. In his whine there was
a great yearning, almost expectation.
Then it died slowly away. After all,
the scent in the snow was of thing
that he had hated and wanted to kill,
and not of anything that he had loved.
For an instant nature had impressed
on him the significance of associa-
tions-a brief space only, and then it
was gone. The whine died away, but
in its place came again that ominous
growl.
Slowly he followed the trail and
quarter of a mile from the cabin
struck the first trap on the line. Hun
Ger had caved In his sides until he was
like a starved wolf In the first trap
house McTaggartA had placed as bait
the hind-quarter of snowshoe rabbit.
Baree reached in cautiously. He had
learned many things on Pierrot's line:
he had learned what the snap of
trap meant; he had felt the cruel pain
of steel jaws; he knew better than the
shrewdest fox what a deadfall would
do when the trigger was sprung-and
Nepeese herself had taught him that
he was never to touch poison-bait SO
he closed his teeth gently In the rabbit
flesh and drew 1t forth as cleverly as
McTaggart himself could have done.
He visited Eve traps before dark, and
ate the five bats without springing
pan. Then he went on into a warm
balsam swamp and found himself a
bed for the night.
The next day saw the beginning of
the struggle that was to follow be-
tween the wits of man and beast. To
Baree the encroachment of Bush Nc
Taggart's trap-line was not war; it
was existence. 1t was to furnish him
food, as Pierrot's line had furnished
him food for many weeks. But he
sensed the fact that in this instance
he was law-breaker and had an enemy
to outwit. Had it been good hunting
weather he might have gone on, for
the unseen hand that was guiding his
wanderings was drawing him slowly
but surely back to the old beaver pond
and the Gray Loon. AS it was, with
the snow deep and soft under him