It was well for the Irishman that the bear was peaceably inclined, else his search for the lost trail might have terminated then and there.  The brute, after freeing itself from its incubus, sprung off and made all haste into the woods, leaving Teddy gazing after it in stupefied amazement.  He rose to his feet, stared at the spot where it had last appeared and then drew a deep sigh, and sadly shook his head.

“I say nothing!  Be jabers! it’s meself that can’t do justice to the thame!”

Harvey Richter stood in his cabin-door, about five months after his great loss, gazing off toward the path which led to the Indian village, and which he had traveled so many, many times.  Sad and weary was his countenance, as he stood, at the close of the day, looking into the forest, as if he expected that it would speak and reveal what it knew of his beloved partner, who was somewhere concealed within its gloomy depths.  Ah, how many an hour had he looked, but in vain.  The forest refused to give back the lost, nor did it breathe one word of her, to ease the gloom which hung so heavily upon his soul.

A footfall caught his ear, and turning, he saw Teddy standing before him.  The face of the Irishman was as dejected as his own, and the widowed man knew there was scarce need of the question: 

“Have you heard anything, Teddy?”

“Nothing, sir, saving that nothing is to be learnt.”

“Not my will, but thine, oh God, be done!” exclaimed the missionary, reverently, and yet with a wailing sadness, that proved how unutterable was his woe.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE TRAIL OF DEATH.

  These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;
  Therefore, I pray you, stay not to discourse,
  But mount you presently.—­SHAKESPEARE.

The trapper, after separating from the Irishman, pursued his way through the woods with a slow tread, as if he were deliberating some matter with himself.  Occasionally he muttered and shook his head, in a manner that showed his conscience was getting the better of the debate, whatever it might be.  Finally he paused.

“Yas, sir; it’s a mean piece of business in me.  ’Cause I want to cotch a few beavers I must let this gal be, when she has been lost to her husband already for three months.  It’s ongenerous, and can’t be done!” he exclaimed, emphatically.  “What if I does lose a few peltries when they’re bringing such a good price down in St. Louey?  Can’t I afford to do it, when there’s a gal in the matter?”

He resumed his walk as slowly and thoughtfully as before, muttering to himself.

“If I go, I goes alone; least I don’t go with that Teddy, for he’d be sartin to lose my ha’r as sure as we got onto a trail.  There’s no calc’latin’ the blunders of such a man.  How he has saved his own scalp to this time is more nor I can tell, or himself neither, for that matter, I guess.  I’ve been on many a trail-hunt alone, and if I goes—­if I goes, why, in course I does!” he added, impetuously.