The trail led into the very depths of the great forest, and to help them from getting lost they broke off the bushes here and there, thus “blazing” the trail as they proceeded. In the open spaces the wind had drifted the snow quite a little, but where the trail led the walking proved fairly easy. “The animal certainly traveled a good distance,” remarked Dave, after almost a mile had been covered. “We are coming to the end now,” answered Henry, whose keen eyes took in every detail of the trail. “How do you know that?” “Don’t you see how the dips increase? That shows the load was growing heavier. The steps are shorter too.” “Henry, it’s wonderful how you notice such things!” “Not at all. I only keep my eyes open, that’s all. Now we had better keep quiet, or we may scare the game away.” After that they proceeded a short distance further. Then they reached a clearing, where the heavy wind of the summer previous had cut down several of the tallest trees. “There must have been a whirlwind here,” whispered Dave. “Hush, the trail leads under that mass of piled-up trees,” returned Henry. “Got your gun ready?” “Yes.” Dave had hardly spoken when there came a snarl from under the mass of trees, and looking down both young hunters saw a pair of gleaming eyes glaring hatefully at them. “It’s a bear!” cried Dave. “No, a wolverine!” burst out Henry. “And an ugly one, too. Look out for yourself.” Henry was indeed right; it was a wolverine they had trailed to its lair—a ferocious beast, sometimes known as a glutton, because of its enormous appetite for meat. The wolverine was of unusual size, with a shaggy body of brownish-black. The muzzle was darker than the rest of the beast, and under the throat were several whitish spots. The upper lip hairs were long and coarse, and the fangs keener than those of a wolf. The wolverine had been feasting on the carcass of a fox, but the meal had evidently not sweetened his temper. Suddenly he turned and disappeared from view along the tree-branches. “He has gone,” said Dave. “Keep your eyes open!” shouted Henry. “He means fight! I know the kind!” A moment passed and the wolverine reappeared, this time on an upper limb of a fallen tree. He gave one low snarl and then sprang directly for Dave’s throat. Crack! It was Henry’s rifle that spoke up. The aim was a hasty one, and the wolverine was hit in the hind quarters. Dave slipped to one side, and the beast landed at his feet. Then Dave stepped back, to get a shot, but the beast whirled around in the snow and once more gained the shelter of his lair. The two young hunters lost no time in retreating, but Henry kept Dave from going too close to any bushes in the vicinity. “You can’t trust a wolverine,” he said. “Load up quick—and keep your eyes wide open. He may be at our backs next.”