Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 160: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘ he did not - vF ™ — Io wa . = +5 say so—one grumbled, shrugging his ba ! of all. “Sacré!” he shoulders. ** Dat’s too bad onli He could do nothing. He stood listening while he heard the wolves in thirsty pur- suit. They came nearer. Their voices grew louder. He heard them sight their prey in the starlight. He heard their wild ries of lust and eagerness. Then he heard the snarling as the pack closed in. He heard them tumble back, yelping and dis- maved. He heard them whining and mus- tering their courage again—heard them race on, and then heard another baying: heard another closing in, as hunger drove arrant cowardice to assault in which some must endure hurts and breaks. French Louey was jumping up and down. He was uttering short cries and making gesticulations. Fle was beside himself with Gallic excitement as he heard that terrific but losing fight for life coming nearer. The woods were in an uproar. The dark timber quaking with thunder from the heavy freeze that split frozen trunks, echoed to the squeals and mouthings of the pack. Then the man could hear the crash of breaking snow crust; he héard frozen branches as heavy brutes surged through the dead tops of fallen timber; he heard the heavy breathing, the explosive gasps as the two moose struggled against the swarming pack of agile, grabbing, blood- thirsted wolves. The moose came plunging nearer. The old bull whipped back the increasing pack for a minute, and suddenly, right fairly at hand, the cow broke cover. Then the bull staggered out, broadside, striking at the shadowy things swarming around. “ Hi-i' Hi-i!” French Louey screamed and cackled, and jumping high, reckless cf c@™msequences, he dashed the few yards along the hard path to his smoking little spring, to plunge into the mcke. He threw up his carbine, shooting as he glanced along the side of the short barrel. He saw with satisfaction the red flash of powder: he heard a loud snarl tur into a howl of frantic grief and agony. He threw he of the most tragic believe what was 4 frantic could not with: shrieking, triumphant, 0 prancing at them. a The pack vanished in the timber— that could go. Silence fell upom tn derness with a kind of crash. The hows yelps, the very whines disappeared. Fre Louey himself grew still. He heard and sighs on the ice of Blue Jay Bay. He caw the two black figures, one of which stood on wind-swept ice beside the other, as she lay sprawled where she had slipped. “ Huh!’ French Louey blinked at the two. “ Well, by Gar-r-r-r!” He returned to his cabin, softly closing the door. He stirred the fire, put on some chunks of wood, and shivered with cold that succeeded the perspiration of his rapid violence. In the morning, just after dawn, he slipped craftily out. He saw old Hang- Nose and the big cow, with crimson icicles down their breasts and legs, walking stiffly up into the swamp cover again. The bull turned a pair of small, darkly suspicious eyes in the direction of French Louey, who stopped short, water pail in hand. The two stared malignantly, stead- fastly, full of mutual defiance, snorting softly and even with challenge; then the moose walked with deliberation as suited the gait of his weary but safe mate with her burden. When they were in the woods the trapper filled his pail, set it in the snow, and then viewed the grisly wretches of the night hunt as they sprawled in the stained snow. a One—two—five—six!”? he counted, on his fingers, and raising his blackened hands fistwise at the victims of his natural aim- ing, he swore. ‘I teach you something, trying to rob me of my jerk next fall! I teach you. you bet! Damn gray sco n- dre's! Hi-i! Now I shook my wolf-gold z you. an’ put some more e ol ra hide, eh? Hi-i! By oumene F —— TaspsS