Sandy Jim paused to shift his quid.
"Why didn't you trail him?" the boy asked.
"Couldn't. My old woman's took another sick spell. Got to hustle to town this mornin' an' git some o' them heart drops. Gabe's off seein' his gal, an' the boys are gone with the pack on a hunt over in Big Cypress where there ain't no chance o' runnin' into one o' them game wardens. But the Airdale's at the house, an' he trails a cat pretty good. You kin take him an' have that cat's hide in a couple o' hours. He can't go fur with that steel trap a'-hangin' on his forefoot."
Terror and agony such as he had never before known were driving Byng almost mad in the woods. He had traveled farther than Sandy Jim had thought possible. The trap gripping his left foreleg was not a very large one, and the big lynx, spurred on by a frenzy of pain and fear, was able to make fairly good headway on three legs, half-lifting, half-dragging the cold terrible unknown thing which clutched and paralyzed the fourth. But it was heart-breaking work and after an hour of it Byng was utterly exhausted.
He lay down, flanks heaving, eyes glaring, head lolling on his shoulders. Presently, when he had got his wind back, he bit savagely at the hard steel,
