She bounded to the big tree and
scrambled up the trunk and out upon the first limb. There she
crouched, over the place where her kittens were hidden, yowling
and licking her wounds. There was blood upon her head and she
licked again and again a broken forefoot between her yowls of
rage and pain.
But Nan was more interested just then in the person who had flown
to her rescue so opportunely. He was not one of the men from the
camp, or anybody whom she had ever seen before.
He was not a big man, but was evidently very strong and active.
His dress was of the most nondescript character, consisting
mainly of a tattered fur cap, with a woolen muffler tied over his
ears; a patched and parti-colored coat belted at the waist with a
frayed rope. His legs disappeared into the wide tops of a pair
of boots evidently too big for him, with the feet bundled in
bagging so that he could walk on top of the snow, this in lieu
of regular snowshoes.
His back was toward Nan and he did not turn to face her as he
said:
"Be not afeared, leetle Man'zelle. Le bad chat is gone. We
shall now do famous-lee, eh? No be afeared more."
"No, no, sir," gasped Nan, trying to be brave. "Won't, won't
it come back?"
"Nev-air!" cried the man, with a flourish of the gun which was
a rusty-barreled old weapon, perhaps more dangerous at the butt
end than at its muzzle.
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