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قراءة كتاب Hoof and Claw
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HOOF AND CLAW
BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF "KINGS IN EXILE," "NEIGHBORS UNKNOWN,"
"THE FEET OF THE FURTIVE," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1917
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1913, by The Illustrated Sunday Magazine and by The Cosmopolitan Magazine.
Copyright, 1914, by The Pictorial Review Company, by The Illustrated Sunday Magazine, by The National Sunday Magazine, by the Cosmopolitan Magazine, and by John Adams Thayer Corporation.
Copyright, 1914
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1914
Reprinted April, 1917.
CONTENTS
| PAGE | |
| The Bear That Thought He Was a Dog | 1 |
| The Trail of the Vanishing Herds | 26 |
| A Master of Supply | 49 |
| The White Wolf | 66 |
| Up a Tree | 90 |
| The Eyes in the Bush | 108 |
| The Runners of the High Peaks | 123 |
| The Pool | 145 |
| The Shadows and John Hatch | 160 |
| The Fisher in the Chutes | 186 |
| The Assault of Wings | 200 |
| The Cabin Door | 223 |
| A Basket of Fish | 243 |
| Brannigan's Mary | 259 |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
| "He Saw Jeff with One Lynx down, Slashing at Its Throat" | Frontispiece |
| FACING PAGE | |
| "For a Day He Wandered Disconsolately over and about the Ruins" | 14 |
| "The Shambles of the Plain" | 46 |
| "He Found the Wolverine Head Downward in His Choicest Cellar" | 62 |
| "The Gaunt, Tirelessly Patrolling Shape of His White Sentinel" | 78 |
| "His Pronged Antlers Ripped it Wide Open" | 100 |
| "And the Fiery Light in His Brain Went Out" | 116 |
| "He Took No Pains to Choose an Easy Path" | 128 |
The Bear that thought he was a Dog
The gaunt, black mother lifted her head from nuzzling happily at the velvet fur of her little one. The cub was but twenty-four hours old, and engrossed every emotion of her savage heart; but her ear had caught the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the mountain. They were confident, fearless footsteps, taking no care whatever to disguise themselves, so she knew at once that they were the steps of the only creature that presumed to go so noisily through the great silences. Her heart pounded with anxious suspicion. She gave the cub a reassuring lick, deftly set it aside with her great paws, and thrust her head forth cautiously from the door of the den.
She saw a man—a woodsman in brownish-grey homespuns and heavy leg-boots, and with a gun over his shoulder—slouching up along the faintly marked trail which led close past her doorway. Her own great tracks on the trail had been obliterated that morning by a soft and thawing fall of belated spring snow—"the robin snow," as it is called in New Brunswick—and the man, absorbed in picking his way by this unfamiliar route over the mountain, had no suspicion that he was in danger of trespassing. But the bear, with that tiny black form at the bottom of the den filling her whole horizon, could not conceive that the man's approach had any other purpose than to