All through the summer and early autumn Dave continued his fortnightly visits to the cabin in the clearing, and always Miranda treated him with the same cold, casual civility. She felt, or pretended to herself that she felt, grateful now to the blunt-fingered, wan woman over at Gabe White’s, who had rudely jostled her back to her senses when she was on the very edge of giving up her freedom and her personality to a man—a strong man, who would have absorbed her. She flung herself passionately once more into the fellowship of the furtive folk, the secrecy and wonder of the wood. As it was a human love which she was crushing out, and as she felt the need of humanity cravingly, though not understandingly, at her heart, she lavished upon If Dave had an ally in Kirstie, he had consistent antagonists in all the folk of the wood; for never before in all Miranda’s semi-occult experience had the folk of the wood come so near to her. Kroof was her almost ceaseless companion, more devoted, if possible, than ever, and certainly more quick in comprehension of Miranda’s English. And Kroof’s cub, a particularly fine and well-grown young Toward the end of that October Dave’s hunting took him to the rocky open ground where, in the previous June, he and Miranda had encountered the lynxes. He was looking for fresh meat for Kirstie, and game, that day, had kept aloof. Just as he recognized, with a kind of homesick ache of remembrance, the spot where he and Miranda had seemed, for a brief space, to be in perfect accord with each other,—how long ago and how unbelievable it appeared to him now!—his hunter’s eye caught a sight which brought the rifle to his shoulder. Just at the “A bit of bear steak,” thought Dave, “will be jest the thing for Kirstie. She’s gittin’ a mite tired o’ deer’s meat!” An unhurried aim, a sharp, slapping report, and the handsome cub sank forward upon his snout, and rolled over, shot through the brain. Dave strode up to him. He had died instantly—so instantly and painlessly that his half-open mouth was still full of berries and small, dark green leaves. Dave felt his soft and glossy dark coat. “Ye’re a fine young critter,” he muttered half regretfully. “It was kind o’ mean to cut ye off when ye was havin’ such a good time all to yerself.” But Dave was not one to nurse an idle sentimentality. Without delay he skinned the carcase, and cached the pelt carefully under a pile of heavy stones, intending to return for it the first day possible. He was going to the clearing now, and could He had been but a little while gone from the rocky open, where the red carcase lay hideously affronting the sunlight, when another bear emerged in leisurely fashion from the shadows. It was an animal of huge size and with rusty fur that was greying about the snout. She paused to look around her. On the instant her body stiffened, and then she went crashing through the blueberry bushes to where that dreadful thing lay bleeding. She walked around it twice, with her nose in the air, and again with her nose to the ground. Then she backed away from it slowly down the slope, her It was old Kroof; and Dave had killed her cub. She rushed on madly, a terrible avenger of blood; but so fast was Dave journeying that it was not much short of an hour before her instinct or some keen sense told her that he was close at hand. She was not blinded by her fury. Rather was she coolly and deliberately set upon a sufficing vengeance. She moderated her pace, and went softly; and soon she caught sight of her quarry some way ahead, striding swiftly down the brown-shadowed vistas. There was no other bear in all the forests so shrewd as Kroof; and she knew that for the hunter armed all her tremendous strength and fury were no match. She waited to catch him at a disadvantage. Her huge bulk kept the trail as noiselessly as a weasel or a mink. Young Dave, with all his woodcraft, all his alertness Kroof’s little eyes gleamed redly. Here was her opportunity. She crept forward, keeping the trunk of the hemlock between herself and her foe, till she reached the things which Dave had thrown down under the tree. She sniffed at the rolled-up package and turned it over with her paw. Then, with one short, grunting cough of rage and pain, she launched herself upon the murderer of her cub. That savage cry was Dave’s first hint of danger. He looked up quickly, his head and shoulders dripping. He recognized Kroof. There was no time for choice. The huge animal was just upon him; but in that instant he understood the whole tragedy. His heart sickened. There was a great beech tree just across the pool, almost within arm’s length. With one bound he reached it. With the next he caught a branch and swung himself up, just eluding the vengeful sweep of Kroof’s paw. Nimbly he mounted, seeking a branch which would lead him to another tree and so back to the ground and his rifle; and Kroof, after a moment’s pause, climbed after him. But Dave could not find what he sought. Few were the trees in the ancient wood whose topmost branches did not twine closely with their neighbour trees. But with a man’s natural aversion to bathing in water that is not enlivened and inspirited by the direct sunlight, Dave had chosen a spot where the trees were scattered and the blue of the sky looked Dave stood tense and moveless, awaiting her. His face was white, his mouth set. He knew that in all human probability his hour was come; yet what might be done, he would do. Far below, between him and the mingling of rock and moss which formed the ground (he looked down upon it, chequered with the late sunlight), was a stout hemlock branch. At the last moment he would drop; and the branch—he would clutch at it—might It chanced that Miranda, not far off, had heard the roar with which Kroof had rushed to the attack. The fury of it had brought her in haste to the spot, surprised and apprehensive. She recognized Dave’s rifle and hunting-shirt under the hemlock tree, and her heart melted in a horrible fear. Then she saw Dave high up in the beech tree, his bare shoulders gleaming through the russet leaves. She saw Kroof, now not three feet from her prey. She saw the hate in the beast’s eyes and open jaws. “Kroof!” she cried, in a tone of fierce command; and Kroof heeded her no more than if she had been the wind whispering. But Miranda’s face had suddenly set itself to stone. She snatched up the rifle. “Hold on!” she cried, and taking a careful, untrembling aim she pulled first one trigger, then the other, in such quick succession that the two reports came almost as one. Then she dropped the weapon, and stood staring wildly. The bear’s body heaved convulsively for a moment, then seemed to fall together on the branch, clutching at it. A second later and it rolled off, with a leisurely motion, and came plunging downward, soft, massive, enormous. It struck the ground with a sobbing thud. Miranda gave a low cry at the sound, turned away, and leaned against the trunk of the hemlock. Her face was toward the tree, and hidden in the bend of her arm. Dave knew now that all he had hoped for was his. Yet, after the first overwhelming, choking throb of exultation, his heart swelled with pity for the girl, with pity and immeasurable tenderness. He descended from his refuge, put on his hunting-shirt and belt, looked curiously at the empty rifle where it lay on the moss, and kicked the corded package of meat into a thicket. Then he went and stood close beside Miranda. After a moment or two he laid an arm about her shoulders and touched her with his large hand, lightly firm. “Ye wonderful Mirandy,” he said, “you’ve give me life over agin! I ain’t a-goin’ to thank ye, though, till I know what ye’re goin’ to do with me. My life’s been jest all yours since first I seen ye a woman grown. What’ll ye do with the life ye’ve saved, Mirandy?” He pressed her shoulder close against his heart, and leaned over, not quite daring to kiss the bronze-dark hair on which he breathed. The girl turned suddenly, with a sob, and caught hold of him, Dave waited till she was quieter. Then he said: “If I’ve changed your life, Mirandy, ye’ve changed mine a sight, too. I’ll hunt and trap no more, dear, an’ the beasts’ll hev no more trouble ’long o’ me. We’ll sell the clearin’, an’ go ’way down onto the Meramichi, where I can git a good job surveyin’ lumber. I’m right smart at that. An’ I reckon—oh, I love ye, an’ I need ye, an’ I reckon I can make ye happy, ye wonderful Mirandy.” The girl heard him through, then gently released herself from his arms. “You go an’ tell mother what I’ve done, Dave,” she said, in a steady voice, “and leave me here a little while with Kroof.” That evening, after Miranda had returned to the cabin, Kirstie and Dave PLYMOUTH |