A maiden was a good creature to look upon， full-breasted andstrong， with spring to her step and light in her eyes. But hertask was yet before her. The light in her eyes brightened， herstep quickened， she was now bold with the young men， nowtimid， and she gave them of her own unrest. And ever shegrew fairer and yet fairer to look upon， till some hunter， ableno longer to withhold himself， took her to his lodge to cookand toil for him and to become the mother of his children. Andwith the coming of her offspring her looks left her. Her limbsdragged and shuffled， her eyes dimmed and bleared， and onlythe little children found joy against the withered cheek of theold squaw by the fire. Her task was done. But a little while， onthe first pinch of famine or the first long trail， and she wouldbe left， even as he had been left， in the snow， with a little pileof wood. Such was the law.
He placed a stick carefully upon the fire and resumed hismeditations. It was the same everywhere， with all things.
The mosquitoes vanished with the first frost. The little treesquirrelcrawled away to die. When age settled upon the rabbitit became slow and heavy， and could no longer outfoot itsenemies. Even the big bald-face grew clumsy and blind andquarrelsome， in the end to be dragged down by a handful ofyelping huskies. He remembered how he had abandoned hisown father on an upper reach of the Klondike one winter， thewinter before the missionary came with his talk-books and hisbox of medicines. Many a time had Koskoosh smacked his lipsover the recollection of that box， though now his mouth refusedto moisten. The “painkiller” had been especially good. But themissionary was a bother after all， for he brought no meat intothe camp， and he ate heartily， and the hunters grumbled. Buthe chilled his lungs on the divide by the Mayo， and the dogsafterwards nosed the stones away and fought over his bones.
Koskoosh placed another stick on the fire and harked backdeeper into the past. There was the time of the Great Famine，when the old men crouched empty-bellied to the fire， and letfall from their lips dim traditions of the ancient day when theYukon ran wide open for three winters， and then lay frozenfor three summers. He had lost his mother in that famine. Inthe summer the salmon run had failed， and the tribe lookedforward to the winter and the coming of the caribou. Thenthe winter came， but with it there were no caribou. Never hadthe like been known， not even in the lives of the old men. Butthe caribou did not come， and it was the seventh year， andthe rabbits had not replenished， and the dogs were naught butbundles of bones. And through the long darkness the childrenwailed and died， and the women， and the old men； and not onein ten of the tribe lived to meet the sun when it came back inthe spring. That was a famine！
But he had seen times of plenty， too， when the meat spoiledon their hands， and the dogs were fat and worthless withovereating—times when they let the game go unkilled， andthe women were fertile， and the lodges were cluttered withsprawling men-children and women-children. Then it was themen became high-stomached， and revived ancient quarrels，and crossed the divides to the south to kill the Pellys， and tothe west that they might sit by the dead fires of the Tananas.
He remembered， when a boy， during a time of plenty， whenhe saw a moose pulled down by the wolves. Zing-ha lay withhim in the snow and watched—Zing-ha， who later became thecraftiest of hunters， and who， in the end， fell through an airholeon the Yukon. They found him， a month afterward， just ashe had crawled halfway out and frozen stiff to the ice.
But the moose. Zing-ha and he had gone out that day toplay at hunting after the manner of their fathers. On the bedof the creek they struck the fresh track of a moose， and with itthe tracks of many wolves. “An old one，” Zing-ha， who wasquicker at reading the sign， said—“an old one who cannotkeep up with the herd. The wolves have cut him out from hisbrothers， and they will never leave him.” And it was so. It wastheir way. By day and by night， never resting， snarling on hisheels， snapping at his nose， they would stay by him to the end.
How Zing-ha and he felt the blood-lust quicken！ The finishwould be a sight to see！
Eager-footed， they took the trail， and even he， Koskoosh，slow of sight and an unversed tracker， could have followedit blind， it was so wide. Hot were they on the heels of thechase， reading the grim tragedy， fresh-written， at every step.
