This broad trail with many large tracks not far apart was made by one of Skookum's friends, a knight of many spears.

That bounding along was a marten.

See how he quartered that thicket like a hound, here he struck our odour trail.

Mark, how he paused and whiffed it; now away he goes; yes, straight to our trap.
"It's down; hurrah!" Rolf shouted, for there, dead under the log, was an exquisite marten, dark, almost black, with a great, broad, shining breast of gold.
They were going back now toward the beaver lake.

The next trap was sprung and empty; the next held the body of a red squirrel, a nuisance always and good only to rebait the trap he springs.