“Weewah, with tomahawk raised, was close upon its heels. Another stride and he would have buried the blade in the animal’s skull. But at that moment the lynx wheeled suddenly, dodging the blow aimed at its head, and sprang toward its pursuer. Its great claws as it struck at him cat fashion, scratched Weewah’s cheek, and cut two deep grooves in his shoulder. It was a blow that would have been disastrous had not the entangled club jerked the animal to one side.
“With a yell the little Indian sprang toward the crouching, snarling animal, thrusting out his right snow-shoe as he did so. Instantly the frame and lacings of the shoe were crushed in the savage jaws of the lynx. But at the same moment the tomahawk blade flashed through the air and buried itself deep in the thick skull.
“Without a sound the great fur-covered body relaxed, quivered, and then lay still with the teeth still buried in the snow-shoe frame only an inch from Weewah’s foot.
“The little Indian stood for a few moments looking at his victim. Then he reached down and tried to pry loose the fixed jaws. It was no easy task. For the muscles had set in the last convulsive death grip and it was only with the aid of his tomahawk blade that they could finally be relaxed.
“Weewah now lashed the forepaws to the dead animal’s lower jaw to prevent them from catching against things as he dragged the body over the snow. Then he unfastened the strap from the club, and taking the line over his shoulder started for home, scuffing along as best he could on his broken snow-shoe, towing the big cat after him.
“All that morning Weewah’s mother had scolded about the missing axe. Weewah was missing too, but she felt no solicitude about that. With the axe it was different: people who took away axes were not always particular about returning them, whereas boys always came back. It hadn’t occurred to her that the boy and the axe had gone away together.
“She had grumblingly gathered wood for the fire without the aid of her usual implement, and now was busily engaged in boiling roots and meat in a great pot, while her husband smoked his pipe, paying no attention to his spouse’s complaints. Some of the smaller children were playing noisy games, running in and out of the tepee, shouting and laughing like a pack of white school children.
“Presently one of Weewah’s younger sisters, squatted on a stump, raised a shrill cry, ‘Weewah, Weewah is coming!’
“The playing stopped at once, the children gathering in front of the tepee to gaze in mute astonishment at their older brother. Tired as he was from dragging the load, and leg weary from stumbling along with his broken snow-shoe, he now held his head erect and his chin high. Without a word he strode into the open flap of the tepee, dragging the dead lynx after him. In front of his father he stopped and dropped his burden; then he drew the blood-stained tomahawk from his belt and laid it beside the dead animal, and stood silently before his parent with folded arms.
“For several minutes the warrior smoked his pipe in silence. Then he gave a grunt of satisfaction, laid his pipe aside, and ran his hand deliberately over the body of the dead animal. He found no arrow holes. Next he turned the great head and examined the clean wound, and then the blood-stained blade of the tomahawk, and the tightened cord of buckskin about the neck.