After refreshment, Marasty, being a lazy man, decided to enter the trap
from in front, instead of first opening up the rear and entering from
that quarter, as he should have done. He got along all right until he
started to back out, when in some way he jarred the trigger, and, just
as he was all free of the ground-log save his right arm, down came the
ponderous drop-log with its additional weight of platform and stones.
It caught him just above the elbow, crushed his arm flat, and held him
a prisoner in excruciating pain. The poor wretch nearly swooned.
Later, he thought of his knife. He would try to cut the log in two and
thus free himself. He knew that, handicapped as he was, though he
worked feverishly and incessantly, the task would demand many hours of
furious toil.

After a while the wind arose and re-kindled his dying fire into life.
The sparks flew up and the flames ran over the dry moss toward him.
Now there was added the dread of being burnt alive. But he worked his
feet violently and succeeded in roughening the ground sufficiently to
turn the fire so, that it passed on either side of him, and though it
continued beyond the wooden trap, eventually died down.

Then he went on with his cutting, but night came on before he had dug
into the log more than a few inches. Growing faint, he rested awhile,
and later fell asleep. When he awoke, he discovered a full-grown black
bear sitting upon its haunches watching him. He shouted to drive the
beast away, but, strange to say, the noise did not frighten the bear,
for several times it got up and attempted to reach the syrup on the
trap. When the captive renewed his shouting and kicking, the bear
merely stepped back, sat down, and persisted in maintaining its
fearsome watch all night. Nevertheless, the half-breed was afraid to
stop shouting, so he kept it up at intervals all night long. When,