“And then that mis’rable catamount had to smell me. They’re awful bad when they’re hungry and smell blood. I thought I was a goner till your light showed. Who ever told you a catamount would run if you said boo?”

“Somebody who didn’t know as much as he thought he did, I guess.”

“I guess so too. They’ll run from a dog ’most every time—even a little yippin’ yappin’ tarrier—and mostly they’ll run from a man, but not always. If they’ve kilt somethin’ or are jest goin’ to kill somethin’, look out. And they’re ready to tear up a young ’un,[31] or a hurt woman, any time. If you shoot ’em you’ve got to kill ’em stone dead or they’ll rip you. Jonah Hay, he kilt one last winter—shot it four times and blew its jaw off and everything—and it lived long enough to git to him and claw his legs terrible. Its hide was longer than Jonah is himself, and Jonah stands six foot.”

[31]

He nodded again, absorbed in his work but marveling at her new friendliness. Now that she was talking, she chattered as easily as if to an old friend.

“And there was Sam Codd—he went to chop wood and run onto a little bobcat, nowheres near as big’s a catamount. The critter had kilt a rabbit, and it come at Sam, ready to jump right onto him. Sam, he backed more’n a quarter of a mile through the snow, holdin’ his axe ready to bust the critter, till he got to his cabin. Then he jumped in and got his gun. But by the time he come out the cat was gone back to the rabbit, and when he got there the rabbit was et and nothin’ left but blood and tracks.”

He desisted from his cleaning of the arm, which had remained as stoically steady as if it were not in the least tender. Tearing the edges of the big handkerchief, he bound it around the injury and carefully knotted the edge-strips. Then he turned to the coffee, which now was steaming. In a moment he put a cupful of the hot liquid in her hands and dumped the grounds from the pot.

“Only one good cupful to a pot, but it’s strong enough to knock you over,” he explained. “And I need the pot now for your ankle. After the tobacco[32] gets to drawing I’ll cook some grub and make more coffee——”

[32]

He paused suddenly, staring at one of the tobacco-tins he had picked up. Its blue revenue-paper seal was broken.

“Now when did I open that can?” he puzzled, turning up the lid. “I was sure these 

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