“One glance at the trampled snow, the dead rabbit still lying where the lynx had dropped it, and the broad twisting trail leading further into the swamp, told him the story of what had taken place more completely than any white man could write it. And almost without pausing he began following this trail cautiously forward, his arrow still poised; for one never knows what a captive animal may do when driven to desperation.
“Suddenly the little Indian stopped, his eyes snapping as he drew the arrow to the head with every ounce of strength in his arms and back. There, crouching on an upper limb of a tree perhaps a foot in diameter, was the huge lynx, watching him with curling lips, crouching ready to spring.
“Weewah’s first impulse was to send the finishing shaft through the great body on the limb. It would be a great triumph for Weewah—the little Indian boy, too small yet to be a hunter—to drag into his father’s tepee early that morning a great forest cat killed with his own bow and arrow. But after all, would a really great hunter feel much pride in killing a captive lynx from a safe distance with an arrow?
“He knew very well that doing such a thing would not mark him as a great hunter. And he was determined that he should be called a great hunter before he was a day older.
“So he lowered his arrow, removed it from the string, and laid the bow down beside the tree. He loosened his own tomahawk, also, and laid that close at hand near the tree trunk. Then he seized the big axe of his mother that he had brought with him and began chopping at the trunk, making the chips fly rapidly under his skillful aim.
“At the first blow of the axe against the trunk the lynx had half risen, giving a fierce growl of rage. For a moment it hesitated, ready to spring on the boy. But that moment of hesitancy was decisive. And as the strokes of the axe continued uninterruptedly the great animal gradually settled down sulkily on the branch, cowed by its fruitless battle with the cord and stick.
“Meanwhile Weewah was swinging his axe to good purpose. Nor was he directing his blows in a haphazard manner. With practiced eye he had selected a clear spot where he wished the tree to fall, and now by cutting half way through the trunk on the side facing in that direction, and then cutting on exactly the opposite side a little higher up he knew that the tree would fall precisely as he wished.
“Presently the tree began to waver slightly. It was sufficient, however, to make the great cat on the bough crouch and whine with fright. A few more sharp blows of the axe made the top limbs tremble ominously. A puff of wind now would have toppled it over; but there was not a breath of air stirring. Another axe stroke or two and it would bring it to the ground.
“But before delivering the finishing strokes Weewah paused long enough to replace his snow-shoes which he had removed before he began chopping. He also picked up his tomahawk and thrust it half way into his belt, where he could seize it instantly. Then he took the axe and gave three vigorous, carefully directed finishing blows.
“And still the lynx did not leap. When the creature felt the limb quivering beneath it, it rose as if to jump; then, confused and uncertain, it crouched low again, clinging tightly to the branch as if for protection. Just before the limb reached the ground, however, it sprang far out into the snow, making violent leaps with the club whirling about it, and quickly becoming entangled.