“I’m glad he left me this,” he murmured, “to kind of remember him by!”
“The sneakin’ skunk!” growled Jabe. “If I’d had my way, it’d be the penitentiary for the both of ’em!”
That evening, when the whole story was told, the woodsmen were indignant, for a time, because the half-breeds had been let go; but at last they gave heed to Jabe’s representations, and acknowledged that the Boy’s plan had saved a “sight of 124 bother.” To guard against future difficulties, however, they took a big piece of smooth board, and painted the following sign, to be nailed up on a conspicuous tree beside the pond.
NOTICE
THIS IS BOY’S POND. NO TRAPPING HERE.
IF ANYBODY WANTS TO SAY, WHY NOT? LAWLER’S
CAMP WILL LET HIM KNOW.
The White-slashed Bull
HER back crushed beneath the massive weight of a “deadfall,” the mother moose lay slowly sobbing her life out on the sweet spring air. The villainous log, weighted cunningly with rocks, had caught her just above the withers, bearing her forward so that her forelegs were doubled under her, and her neck outstretched so that she could not lift her muzzle from the wet moss. Though her eyes were already glazing, and her nostrils full of a blown and blood-streaked froth, from time to time she would struggle desperately to raise her head, for she yearned to lick the sprawling, wobbling legs of the ungainly calf which stood close beside her, bewildered because she would not rise and suckle him.