neath his feet as he entered the white birch and alder thicket, but he forbore to shoot, since its flesh was not esteemed as food and the pelt was too soft for use at that season of the year. For that matter, there was little game worth the taking in May, and David had brought his gun with him more from force of habit than aught else. It was enough to be abroad on such a day, for the spring was waking the world and it seemed that he could almost see the tender young leaves of the white birches unfold. Birds chattered and sang as he skirted the marsh and approached the deeper forest beyond. A chestnut stump had been clawed but recently by a bear in search of the fat white worms that dwelt in the decaying wood, and David found the prints of the beast’s paws and followed them until they became lost in the swamp. Turning back, his ears detected the rustling of feet on the dead leaves a few rods distant, and he paused and peered through the greening forest. After a moment an Indian came into view, a rather thick-set, middle-aged savage with a round countenance. He wore the English clothes save that his feet were fitted to moccasins instead of shoes and had no doublet above a frayed
