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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Black Wolf Pack
+
+Author: Dan Beard
+
+Release Date: July 19, 2007 [EBook #22109]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK WOLF PACK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                            BLACK WOLF PACK
+
+                                  BY
+
+                              DAN BEARD
+
+                  NATIONAL SCOUT COMMISSIONER, B.S.A.
+
+
+                              ILLUSTRATED
+
+
+                        CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
+                               NEW YORK
+
+
+
+[Illustration: It was a shadowy figure yet it moved]
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
+CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY BOYS’ LIFE
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+_All rights reserved. No part of this book
+may be reproduced in any form without
+the permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons_
+
+
+
+                             DEDICATED TO
+
+                           BELMORE AND FRED
+             (BELMORE BROWNE)      (FREDERICK K. VREELAND)
+
+                     NO BETTER WILDERNESS MEN EVER
+                            WORE MOCCASINS
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+After numerous visits to a number of remote and unfrequented places in
+the Rocky Mountains, from Wyoming to Alberta, the writer was deeply
+impressed with the awesome mystery of the wilderness and the weird
+legends he heard around the camp fires, while the bigness of the things
+he saw was photographed on his brain so distinctly and permanently as to
+act as a compelling force causing him, aye, almost forcing him to write
+about it.
+
+When the spell came upon him, like the Ancient Mariner, he needs must
+tell the story, and thus the tale of the Black Wolf Pack was written
+with no thought, at the time, of publishing the narrative, but primarily
+for the real enjoyment the author derived from writing it, and also for
+the entertainment of the author’s family and intimate friends.
+
+The tale, however, pleased the members of the Editorial Board of the Boy
+Scouts of America, and Mr. Franklin K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian,
+asked permission to have it edited for the Scout Magazine, which request
+was cheerfully granted.
+
+The author hereby freely and cheerfully acknowledges the useful changes
+and practical suggestions injected into the story by his friend and
+associate, Mr. Irving Crump, Editor of Boys’ Life, in which magazine the
+Black Wolf Pack, in somewhat abbreviated form, first appeared.
+
+DAN BEARD.
+
+Flushing,
+June 1st, 1922.
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+It was a shadowy figure yet it moved          _Frontispiece_
+                                                 FACING PAGE
+The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt
+... and struck the bull                                   36
+
+More than once while I clung to the chance projection
+... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt             92
+
+“I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a
+nicety”                                                  192
+
+
+
+
+The Black Wolf Pack
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+It was a terrible shock to me (said the Scoutmaster as he fingered a
+beaded buckskin bag). Old Blink Broosmore was responsible. It was a
+malicious thing for him to do. He meant it to be mean, too,—wanted to
+hurt me,—to wound my feelings and make me ashamed. And all because he
+nursed a grudge against dad—I mean Mr. Crawford.
+
+It started because of that defective spark-plug in the engine of the
+roadster. Strange what a tiny thing such as a crack in a porcelain
+jacket around an old spark-plug can do in the way of changing the course
+of a fellow’s whole life.
+
+My last period in the afternoon at high school was a study period and I
+cut it because I had several things to do down town. I hurried home and
+took the roadster, and on my way out mother—I mean Mrs. Crawford—gave
+me an armful of books to return to the library and a list of errands she
+wanted me to do. While motoring down town I noticed that one cylinder
+was missing occasionally and I told myself I would change that
+spark-plug as soon as I got home.
+
+I made all the stops I had planned and even drove around to the church
+because I wanted to look in at the parish house where some of my scouts
+(I was the assistant scoutmaster of Troop 6, of Marlborough) were
+putting up decorations for the very first Fathers and Sons dinner ever
+given which we were to have on Washington’s birthday. That was in 1911.
+
+As I was leaving I looked at my new wrist watch and discovered that it
+was a quarter of five.
+
+“Just in time to catch dad and drive him home from the office,” I said
+to myself, for I knew that he left the office of his big paper-mill
+down at the docks at five o’clock.
+
+I jumped into the car and bowled along down Spring Street and the Front
+Street hill and arrived at the mill office at exactly five. Dad wasn’t
+in sight so I decided to turn around and wait for him at the curb. That
+is how the trouble started. I got part way around on the hill when that
+cylinder began missing a lot and next thing I knew the motor stalled and
+there was I with my car crosswise on the hill, blocking traffic—and
+traffic is heavy on Front Street hill about five o’clock, because all
+the mills are rushing their trucks down to the piers with the last loads
+of merchandise before the down-river boats leave, at six o’clock.
+
+In about two minutes I was holding up a line of trucks a block long and
+those drivers were saying a lot of things that were not very
+complimentary to me and not printed in Sunday-school papers. And old
+Blink Broosmore was right up at the head of the line with a truck load
+of cases from the box factory and the look on his face was about as ugly
+as a mud turtle’s. Then, to make matters worse, my starter wouldn’t work
+at the critical moment, and I had to get out to crank the engine. What a
+howl of indignation went up from those stalled truck drivers! I felt
+like a bad two-cent piece in a drawer full of five-dollar gold pieces.
+Guess my face was red behind my ears.
+
+And then old Blink made the unkindest remark of all—no, he didn’t make
+it to me; he just yelled it out to a couple of other truck-drivers.
+
+“That’s what happens with these make-believe dudes,” he shouted. “That’s
+the kid old Skin Flint Crawford took out of an orphan asylum. He’s a kid
+that old Crawford took up with because he was too mean t’ have t’ Lord
+bless him with one o’ his own. That’s straight, fellers. I was
+Crawford’s gardener when it happened an’—”
+
+Old Blink stopped and got red and then white, and I could see the other
+truck men looking uncomfortable. I looked up and there was Dad Crawford
+on the curb boring holes into Blink with those cold gray eyes of his and
+looking as white as marble. No one said a word. It seemed as if the
+whole street became hushed and silent. I got the car around to the curb
+somehow and dad got in and the line of trucks trundled by with every
+driver looking straight ahead and some of them grinning nervously and
+apparently feeling mighty uncomfortable.
+
+But that wasn’t a patch to the way I felt, and I could see by the lack
+of color and set expression of dad’s face and the way he stared straight
+ahead of him without saying a word that he was feeling very unhappy
+about it too. There was something behind it all—something that raised
+in my mind vague doubts and very unpleasant thoughts.
+
+Dad never spoke a word all the way home, and, needless to say, I did not
+either—I couldn’t; my whole world seemed to have been turned upside
+down in the space of half an hour. Was it true that I was not Donald
+Crawford? Was it possible that Alexander Crawford, this fine, big,
+broad-shouldered, kindly man beside me was not my real father? Was it a
+fact that that noble, generous, happy woman whom I called mamma was not
+my mother at all? Each of those questions took shape in my mind and each
+was like a stab in the heart, for Blink Broosmore had answered them all,
+and Alexander Crawford, though he must know how anxious I was to have
+Blink denied, did not speak to refute him.
+
+We rolled up the drive and dad stepped out, still silent, but he did
+smile wistfully at me as he closed the car door.
+
+“Put it away, Don, and hurry in for dinner,” he said and I felt certain
+I detected a break in his voice. I felt sorry—sorry for him and sorry
+for myself, and as I put the car in the garage, I had a hard time trying
+to see things clearly; my eyes would get blurred and a lump would get
+into my throat in spite of me.
+
+As I dressed for dinner I felt half dazed. I hardly realized what I was
+doing, and I had to stop and pull myself together before I started
+downstairs to the dining room, for I knew if I did not have myself well
+in hand I would blubber like a big chump.
+
+Mother and dad were waiting for me and I could see by mother’s sad
+expression and the troubled look in her eyes that dad had told her of
+the whole occurrence. And that only added to my unhappiness because I
+felt for a certainty that all that Blink Broosmore had shouted must be
+true.
+
+For the first time in my memory dad forgot to say grace, and none of us
+ate with any apparent relish and none of us tried to make conversation.
+It was a painful sort of a meal and I wanted to have it over with as
+soon as I could. It seemed hours before Nora cleared the table and
+served dad’s demi-tasse.
+
+I guess I then looked him full in the eyes for the first time since the
+occurrence on Front Street.
+
+“That was a very unkind thing for Blink Broosmore to do,” said dad, and
+I knew by the firmness and evenness of his voice that he had gained full
+control of his feelings.
+
+“Is—is—oh, did he tell the truth, dad?” I gulped helplessly and for
+the life of me I could not keep back the tears.
+
+“Unfortunately, Donald, there is just enough truth in it to make it
+hurt,” said dad and I could see mother wince as if she had been struck,
+and turn away her face.
+
+“They why—why? Oh! who am I?” I cried, for the whole thing had
+completely unnerved me.
+
+“Don dear, we do not know to a certainty,” said mother struggling with
+her emotions.
+
+“But now that you are partly aware of the situation, I think there is a
+way you can find out, at least as much as we know,” said dad, getting up
+and going into the library.
+
+Through the doorway I could see him fumbling at the safe that he kept
+there beside the desk. Presently he drew out a battered and dented red
+tin box and a bundle of papers. These he brought into the dining room
+and laid on the table. Then he drew up a chair, cleared his throat,
+rather loudly it seemed to me, and began.
+
+“Don, we always wanted a child, and why the Lord never blessed us with
+one of our own we do not know. Anyway, we wanted one so badly that we
+decided to adopt one. That was seventeen years ago, wasn’t it, mother?”
+
+Mother nodded.
+
+“Doctor Raymond, the physician at the county institution, knew our
+desires and, being an old friend of the family, he volunteered to find
+us a good healthy baby that we could adopt and call our own. Not a week
+later you appeared on the scene. Dr. Raymond told us that a wagon drawn
+by a raw-boned horse, and loaded with household goods, drew up to the
+orphanage and a tired and worn-out looking old lady got out with a lusty
+year old child in one arm and this box and these papers under the
+other.
+
+“At the office of the asylum she explained how she and her husband were
+moving from a Connecticut town to a little farm they had bought in
+Pennsylvania. Somewhere at a crossroad near Derby, Connecticut, they had
+found the baby and this box and bundle of papers in a basket under a
+bush with a card attached to the basket requesting that the finder adopt
+and take care of the baby.
+
+“Of course, they could not pass the infant by, but the woman explained
+that they were too poor and too old to adopt the child so they had gone
+miles out of their way to find an orphanage and leave the baby there,
+along with the box and papers.
+
+“When Dr. Raymond heard the story and saw you, for you were the baby, he
+got me on the telephone and told me all about you. And that night he
+brought you here, and you were such a chubby, bright, interesting little
+fellow that mother and I fell in love with you immediately and decided
+to adopt you, which we did according to law. So you are our legal
+child, Don, and all that, although we are not your real parents.”
+
+Somehow that made me feel a little happier. Dad and mother did have a
+claim on me at least. That was something.
+
+“It was not until after Dr. Raymond had left,” went on father, “that
+mother and I examined the box and papers that had come with you. Here
+they are.”
+
+Dad took up a worn and age-yellowed envelope addressed in a bold hand:
+
+    To the Finder
+
+Inside was the following brief message:
+
+    TO THE FINDER:—
+
+    The mother of this child, Donald Mullen, is dead. I, his father,
+    cannot give him the care he should have. Will you, the finder,
+    adopt him, care for him, and bring him up to be an honest,
+    trustworthy man, and win the eternal gratitude of his dead
+    mother and
+
+    DONALD MULLEN,
+    his father.
+
+“Then my name is—or was Mullen,” I exclaimed.
+
+“According to that,” said dad softly, “but when you became our son we
+kept your first name and discarded the family name of course.”
+
+“But—but what has become of my father, Donald Mullen?” I asked.
+
+“My boy, we have tried both for your sake and for our own to find out.
+We have followed up and searched every possible clue and—but wait, here
+are other papers of interest and after you have read them I will tell
+you all we have done to locate your real father and afterwards we will
+talk the whole situation over.” As dad was speaking he passed over the
+battered tin box. On the lid was inscribed the simple lines—
+
+    The contents of this box belong to the boy. If you are honest
+    you will see that it comes into his hands at the proper time. If
+    you are dishonest, then God help the boy and God help you!
+
+    D. MULLEN.
+
+It was some time before I could make up my mind to force the lid. When I
+did the first thing that my eyes fell upon was this buckskin bag of
+unmistakable Indian design, beautifully decorated with bead work and
+highly colored porcupine quills cunningly worked into a good luck
+design. As I picked up the bag I saw that it was sealed with wax and to
+it was attached a card on which was penned:
+
+    To my son:—
+
+    Here is all the wealth I possess. It isn’t much. The bag with
+    its contents was sent to me by my brother, Fay, who is out in
+    the Rockies. He gave it to me to pay my expenses out there to
+    join him. I am leaving it for you. It may help you over some
+    rocky places if it ever gets into your hands, and I trust the
+    good Lord that it does.
+
+    Lovingly,
+    YOUR FATHER.
+
+The bag gave forth the unmistakable clink of gold coins as I dropped it
+on the table.
+
+That message from my father, whom I had never seen, made my heart heavy
+and again that lump gathered in my throat, for I could feel the
+heartaches that the writing of that note must have caused him. I had not
+the courage to break the seal of the bag and examine its contents. I
+pushed it aside and took from the box another time-yellowed envelope
+addressed to
+
+    MY SON DONALD
+
+Inside I found the following:
+
+    Dear Boy:—
+
+    I cannot determine whether I am giving you a mean deal or
+    whether this is all for your good. Your mother, Barbara Parker
+    Mullen, is dead, God bless her! She has been dead now six
+    months. It seems to me like eternity. I have tried to take care
+    of you as she would have cared for you but I am afraid I have
+    lost heart, and my courage, and I am afraid my faith has slipped
+    from me. I fear that I am a broken-spirited failure. The passing
+    of your mother has taken everything from me. I am no longer fit
+    or able to care for you and I must pass you on to someone else
+    and trust your welfare to God. For neither your mother nor I
+    have any relatives left who are able to take care of you.
+
+    What will become of you I cannot guess. I can only hope for the
+    best. But by the time you are old enough to read and understand
+    this message you will, I hope, have forgiven me or praised me
+    for my effort to find you a home.
+
+    What will become of me I do not know. I have one brother left in
+    the world, Fay Mullen, and he is out in Piute Pass in the
+    Rockies grubbing for gold. I am going out to join him for I know
+    the only way I can forget my grief and get hold of myself once
+    more is to bury myself in the wilderness.
+
+    Fay has sent me a bag of double eagles to pay my expenses west.
+    That is all the money I have in the world. I am not going to use
+    it. I will work my way west and leave the gold for you. It is
+    the least and probably the last that I can do for you.
+
+    If, when you read this you have any desires to know who you
+    really are, I will leave you the following information:
+
+    Your mother, a wonderful woman, was Barbara Parker of
+    Litchfield, Connecticut, daughter of Judge Arnold Parker of
+    Litchfield, now deceased. I am Donald Mullen, the eldest of
+    three brothers; Fay Mullen is the next of age and Patrick
+    Mullen, the gunsmith of Maiden Lane, New York, is the youngest.
+    We were born in Byron Bridge, Ireland, and we three came to this
+    country after our parents died. You come of an honest,
+    worthwhile people on my side, and of the best American blood on
+    your mother’s, Donald, and I ask only that you live an honest,
+    honorable life and have faith in your country and your God, and
+    He will be with you to the end.
+
+    Good-bye, boy.
+
+    Lovingly,
+    YOUR FATHER.
+
+I read the letter aloud but I confess that my voice broke toward the end
+and I choked up until reading was difficult.
+
+For some time after I finished, we three sat in silence. The thoughts
+and mental pictures of that broken man parting with his baby son
+seventeen years before made me most unhappy.
+
+Dad broke the silence.
+
+“Well, now you are acquainted with the whole situation, what do you
+think?”
+
+“I scarcely know what to think,” said I. “It does not appear natural for
+a man to abandon his own son in the manner he did. It seems heartless
+and cruel. I cannot understand it; yet I wish I could see my poor
+father. I wonder if he is still alive. Certainly with the information at
+hand it should not be impossible for me to trace him or some relatives
+of my mother. Don’t you think so?”
+
+“That is what I thought, Don, for when you were three years old I began
+to wonder about your father’s whereabouts. I wanted to meet him and
+perhaps help him if I could. Do not think that your poor father was
+cruel, for it is evident that the man was suffering from a nervous
+breakdown and consequently more or less irresponsible; I think he acted
+wonderfully well under the circumstances. In order to help him I began a
+search and for ten years I have had detectives and private individuals
+following up every possible lead. Yet, with all my efforts, the search
+has amounted to nothing. Your father’s trail ended at a Spokane
+outfitting store. I could not locate anyone nearer to you than an old
+maiden great-aunt of your mother’s although I have had every clue
+investigated.
+
+“The only relative of your father’s that I could get any information
+about was his youngest brother, Patrick Mullen, your uncle and a famous
+gunsmith of Maiden Lane, New York. He is dead now but his reputation for
+making an exceptionally fine hand-forged gun lives on even to-day.
+Patrick Mullen died just before I began my search for your father, but
+in digging around for facts about him, I learned that he had made a
+limited number of very fine guns, on each of which he had stamped his
+full name, ‘Patrick Mullen.’ Other guns of an inferior quality that he
+made bore the simple stamp of ‘P. Mullen.’ The old man was very proud of
+each ‘Patrick Mullen’ that he turned out and like the true artist that
+he was he kept track of each one, sold them only to men he knew and when
+the owner died he bought the gun back himself so that he always knew its
+whereabouts.
+
+“In that way all of the 101 ‘Patrick Mullen’s’ he made came back to him,
+save one. There is one of the complete number still missing and no one
+seems to know where it is. This is more remarkable because the missing
+gun is a flint-lock rifle of the style of seventy years ago. That gun
+has always struck me as being a valuable clue in our search, because it
+is the only rifle ever made by the old gunsmith and I have a feeling
+that that missing ‘Patrick Mullen’ may have been given to your father by
+the brother, and that may account for the fact that among the papers of
+Patrick Mullen there is no record of its whereabouts; this is in a
+measure confirmed by the report that the man outfitting at Spokane had a
+long old-fashioned rifle, and collectors say there used to be an expert
+in antique arms by the name of Mullen.”
+
+The suggestion made me tremendously excited. Beyond a doubt in my mind
+that missing “Patrick Mullen” was my father’s gun. I imagined him
+parting with everything else save the unique gun his famous brother had
+made for him. Why he should wish for a flint-lock rifle was an
+unanswerable question, but someone wanted that sort of a gun or it would
+not have been made, and my father’s letters showed him to be a man of
+sentiment, and impractical, just the sort of fellow to use a flint-lock
+when he might just as well have had a modern breech-loading high-power
+rifle.
+
+“I believe you’ve hit it, dad. Hot dog!” I exclaimed. “Bet a cookie that
+that gun does belong to my father and if we can find it we will probably
+find him too—would not that be bully?”
+
+“I feel the same way too, Don. But finding that missing gun will be as
+difficult as finding your father. I have searched the country over for
+it and made a wonderful collection of flint-lock guns, as you see by
+looking at yonder gun-rack; I have had dozens of arms collectors and
+detectives looking for guns of that description, but no Patrick Mullen
+rifle has turned up anywhere. There have, of course, been many false
+clues and many queer rifles offered to me and I have put a great many
+thousands of dollars into the search, and my collection of flint-locks
+is the best in the land, Don. But so far nothing but failures seem to
+have rewarded my search—no, I’m wrong, there is one man out west—out
+in the little jerk-water town of Grave Stone, who insists that there is
+a wild man living in a lonely, almost inaccessible valley in the
+mountains, who shoots a gun which looks like the one for which I am
+searching. For a number of years this man of mystery, it seems, has been
+appearing and reappearing, according to Big Pete Darlinkel, my
+informant, but even Pete has never got in personal touch with this
+eccentric hermit. Neither have several detectives I have sent out there
+for that purpose. The detectives seem to be all right in towns or cities
+and are undoubtedly brave men, but something out there appears to
+frighten them and they lose interest the moment they cut the trail of
+the wild hunter. I begin to think this wild man is a myth, too.
+Strange, though, that just a week ago I received another letter from
+Pete Darlinkel. Wait, I’ll find it.”
+
+He returned from the library presently with a letter which he opened and
+passed over to me. It read:
+
+    DEAR MR. CRAWFORD:—
+
+    Maybe you hain’t interested no more but thet tha’ ole Dopped
+    ganger, the Wild Hunter, the spooky old critter, has been seen
+    agin. i wuz on the top of the painted Butte yesterday squinten
+    one i in the valley look’n for elk and look’n up with tother i
+    for Big horn on the mountain, when i staged the old duffer
+    snoop’en along in one of the parks an’ he had the same long hair
+    and long rifle he uster have. He sure is a ghost or else he’s a
+    nut or an old timer gone locoed. He sends the chills down my
+    backbone every time i sots my eyes on him.
+
+    Your obedients sarvent,
+    BIG PETE.
+
+There was something about that crude letter that stirred me deeply.
+
+Could this strange freak that Big Pete saw from the top of the painted
+Butte possess that Patrick Mullen rifle? If so did he know anything
+about the whereabouts of my father? It is not uncommon for people
+suffering from a mental breakdown to flee to the country or wilderness
+and there live the life of a recluse, and from my father’s last letter
+it was evident that he had had a nervous breakdown from anxiety and
+brooding over the loss of my mother, to whom he evidently was devotedly
+attached. It might, therefore, be possible that this strange, wild man
+himself was my father, an unpleasant possibility. At any rate, I felt
+that I could not rest, at least until I discovered to a certainty the
+name of the maker of the long rifle said to be carried by the wild
+hunter and I told dad just how I felt about it.
+
+“I knew you would feel that way, son,” said he. “I have often wanted to
+go west for the very same purpose and I knew that when I told you
+everything you would want to go too. I intended to lay all the facts
+before you when you were twenty-one but now that Blink Broosmore has
+taken it upon himself to inform you and his truck-driving friends of the
+mystery surrounding your real parentage, I guess it is best you know all
+there is to be known about the situation. The rest I’ll leave to you. In
+fact, it would please me a great deal if you would run down this last
+vague clue to see if your father really is still alive. Go, Donald, and
+God bless you, and take that bag of gold with you, unopened, for it may
+now stand your father in good stead, and if you do find him, bring him
+here and I promise you he will never want for a thing, nor will you, my
+son, for you are still my boy whatever your real parentage may be.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The stage pulled up in front of a typical western saloon, post office
+and general store. There was the usual crowd of prospectors, gamblers,
+cow punchers and trappers assembled to meet the incoming stage. When I
+scrambled off the top of the old-fashioned coach, and before I had time
+to shake the alkali dust from my clothes, or moisten my dry and cracked
+lips, a typical western bully approached me roaring the verses of a song
+with which he evidently intended to terrify me,
+
+    “He blowed into Lanigan swinging a gun
+    A new one,
+    A blue one,
+    A colt’s forty-one,
+    An’ swearing
+    Declaring
+    Red Rivers ’ud run
+    Down Alkali Valley,
+    An’ oceans of gore
+    ’ud wash sudden death
+    On the sage brush shore,
+    An’ he shot a big hole—”
+
+He got no further with the song. Another man stepped out from the crowd,
+a very tall, powerful man who would have attracted attention in any garb
+in any place by his distinguished appearance, who with little ceremony
+rudely brushed the roughneck to one side, and my instinct told me the
+handsome stranger could be no other than Big Pete Darlinkel.
+
+My! my! what a man he was! Looked as if he just stepped out of one of
+Fred Remington’s pictures, or Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, or slipped
+from between the leaves of a volume of Captain Mayne Reid’s “Scalp
+Hunters”—Big Pete was evidently a hold-over from another age. He would
+have fitted perfectly and with nicety in a picture of Davy Crockett’s
+men down in old Texas. He seemed, however, perfectly at home in this
+border town, and I noted that the most hard-boiled and toughest men in
+the crowd treated him with marked respect and deference.
+
+Pete was a wilderness fop and a dandy, and evidently was as careful of
+his clothes as a West Point cadet. In dress he affected the
+old-fashioned picturesque garb of the mountains. His appearance filled
+me with wonder and admiration; he stood six feet two or three inches in
+his moccasins, straight as an arrow and lithe as a cat.
+
+His costume consisted of a tunic of dressed deer skin, smoked to the
+softness of the finest flannels. He wore it belted in at the waist, but
+open at the breast and throat where it fell back like a sailor’s collar
+into a short cape covering the shoulders. Underneath was the undershirt
+of dressed fawn skin; his leggins and moccasins were of the same
+material as his hunting shirt, and on his head he wore a fox skin cap;
+the fox’s head adorned with glass eyes ornamented the front and the tail
+hung like a drooping plume over the left shoulder.
+
+Big Pete Darlinkel was a blonde, and his golden hair hung in sunny curls
+upon his massive shoulders; a light mustache, soft yellow beard, with a
+pair of the deepest, clearest, most innocent baby-like blue eyes, all
+made a face such as an angel might have after years of exposure to sun
+and wind.
+
+Not only are Big Pete’s revolvers gold mounted, but the shaft of his
+keen-edged knife is rich with figures, rings, and stars filed from gold
+coins and set in the horn. The very stock of his long, single-barreled
+rifle is inlaid like an Arab’s gun, and, as for his buckskin hunting
+suit, it is a mass of embroidery and colored quills from his beaded
+moccasins to the fringed cape of his shirt.
+
+Big Pete was a dandy, fond of color, fond of display; yet in spite of
+all this he wore absolutely nothing for decoration alone, but every
+article of use about his person was ornamented to an oriental degree.
+Gaudy and rich as his costume was when viewed in detail, as a whole it
+harmonized not only with Pete, his hair, his complexion, his weapons,
+but with whatever natural objects surrounded him.
+
+Big Pete also seemed to know me instinctively and approached with a
+graceful and swinging step; holding out his hand he greeted me in a low,
+soft, well-modulated voice with, “Howdy, kid; yes, I’m Big Pete and
+allow you are the tenderfoot dude from New York what wants to shoot big
+game, an’ reckon you’d like to meet the wild mountain man? Well, he’s a
+queer one, I tell you. He’s got us all buffaloed out this-a-way, most of
+us don’t care to meet him close up and we give him wide range when we
+cut his trail.”
+
+That was Big Pete’s greeting. Of course, I had not told him of my real
+interest in this mysterious man of the mountains, only suggesting that I
+would like to do some big game shooting and see the spooky hunter.
+
+“Well,” I answered, “I would like to get a record elk head to take home
+to dad. As for the mountain wildman, I wish you’d tell me more about
+him, he is awfully interesting.”
+
+“Tell you more? Well, sho, I reckon I can tell you more than most people
+round these parts for he makes my game park his stampin’ grounds every
+onct in a while, an’ let me tell you he hunts some peculiar, he do, he’s
+half man and half wolf—but shucks, I won’t spoil the show, you will see
+how he hunts for yourself if you stay here long. Glory be, but he’s got
+me some bashful and shy. But mosey along and I’ll hist yore stuff on
+this here cayuse while you let them tha’ dogs out of their chicken coop
+boxes. You can cache your dude duds in the Emporium general store over
+yonder next to Squinty Quinn’s saloon, an’ then we’re off for the hills.
+I’ll yarn about this Wild Hunter while we hit the trail.”
+
+An hour spent in Grave Stone gave me an opportunity to wash myself and
+change my clothes for some that would be more substantial for
+out-of-door wear, start several letters east telling of my safe arrival,
+buy the things I had overlooked, store my surplus clothes with the
+postmaster at the general store, and repack my kit for pony travel.
+Then, after watching Big Pete skilfully throw the diamond hitch, we were
+off for the hills and our first camp. I hoped that I was on my way to
+find my real father and unravel the mystery that surrounded my strange
+babyhood. But I little guessed what adventures I was to have or the
+strange things I was to see before my quest was ended.
+
+We traveled fast all the remaining portion of the afternoon and toward
+evening we made camp and for the first time in my life I slept under the
+sky. At the end of the fifth day we reached the secret and narrow
+opening of a big valley or “park” in the midst of a wild tumble of
+mountains. Big Pete said we would pitch our tent in the park.
+
+“Tha’s plenty of signs ’round too an’ if we loosen t’ dogs p’raps we kin
+stir up a mountain lion or collar some fresh meat t’ start camp with,”
+said he as he slid off his horse and took the leashes off the dogs.
+
+It took us but a short time to arrange our camp, then Big Pete followed
+by the frisking dogs slipped silently into the woods. He was gone
+scarcely a quarter of an hour when he reappeared again without the dogs,
+motioned for me to get my gun and follow him.
+
+“Tha’s elk signs all bout,” he said, “an’ the muts broke away on a fresh
+trail. Now you an’ me’ll climb through that draw yonder and hide out on
+the runway till they drive an elk in gun shot. Come along.”
+
+I followed eagerly and presently we had climbed through a thickly grown
+poplar grove and found a suitable hiding place among the small poplars.
+We had the wind right and a clear view of most of the open park. Big
+Pete stooped down and motioned for me to do likewise.
+
+I quietly crouched beside him and waited—waited until my legs were
+cramped, waited until the dampness from the moss struck through the
+heavy soles of my tenderfoot shoes and chilled my feet; waited until my
+arm was so numb that it felt like a piece of lead—then, in spite of the
+danger of incurring Big Pete’s displeasure and in spite of my dread of
+being thought a dude tenderfoot, I changed my position, rubbed life into
+my arm and assumed an easier pose.
+
+In front of us was a small lake, deep, dark and unruffled. All around
+the edge was a natural wharf formed from the gigantic trunks of trees
+which had fallen for ages into the lake and been washed by wind and
+waves and forced by winter ice into such regular order and position
+along the shore that their arrangement looked like the work of men. Back
+of this wharf and all about was the wilderness of silent wood; a
+wilderness enclosed by a wall of mountains, whose lofty heads were
+uplifted far above the soft white clouds that floated in the blue sky
+overhead and were mirrored in the lake below. An eagle, on apparently
+immovable wings, soared over the lake in spiral course. As I watched the
+bird its wings seemed suddenly endowed with life. At the same instant my
+guide gave a low grunt of warning.
+
+“What is it?” I asked in a whisper, for there was a strange expression
+in my companion’s eyes.
+
+“It’s—it’s him, so help me!—Keep yer ears open and yer meat-trap
+shut!” growled Pete.
+
+I did so. The trained ear of the hunter had detected the sound of
+crackling twigs and swishing branches made by some animals in rapid
+motion.
+
+“Ah!” I exclaimed, “the dogs. You startled me; I thought it was
+Indians.”
+
+“I wish it was nothing wuss,” muttered my guide, as he examined his
+weapons with a critical eye and loosened the cartridges for his
+revolvers in his belt to make sure that they would be easy to pluck out.
+
+“Those hain’t our dogs, mister,” he remarked after he had examined his
+whole arsenal.
+
+As I again fixed my attention on the noise, in place of the resonant
+voice of the hounds, I heard nothing but the crackling of branches, with
+an occasional half-suppressed wolf-like yelp.
+
+Big Pete turned pale and muttered, “It’s them for sartin; it’s them
+agin! And I hain’t been drinkin’, nuther!”
+
+Big Pete Darlinkel remained crouching in exactly the same pose he had
+first assumed, but his face looked sallow and worn. I marveled. Was this
+big westerner really awed by the situation we were facing? What disaster
+impended?
+
+My guide’s eyes were fixed upon an opening in the woods and I knew that
+something would soon bound from that spot. I could hear the crashing of
+brush and half-suppressed wolf-like yelps, followed by a pause, then a
+rushing noise, and out leaped as beautiful a bull elk as I had ever
+seen—in fact the first I had ever seen at close range in his native
+wilderness. I had only time to take note of his muscular neck, clean cut
+limbs, his grand branching antlers, and—not my dogs but a pack of
+_immense black wolves_ at his heels before I instinctively brought my
+gun to my shoulder. But before I could draw a bead Big Pete struck it,
+knocking the muzzle up.
+
+“Hist!” he exclaimed, pointing to the bird.
+
+The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt and skilfully avoiding
+the branching antlers, struck the bull, driving one talon into the neck
+and the other into the back, flapping its huge wings as it tore with its
+beak at the body of the elk like a trained “_bear coote_.”
+
+I was thunderstruck. The evident partnership of the wolves and bird
+needed explanation and it was not long in coming. A shrill whistle
+pierced the air, the black wolves immediately ceased to worry the elk,
+the eagle soared overhead, and for an instant the elk stood confused,
+then leaped high in the air and fell dead. The next moment I heard the
+crack of a rifle and saw a puff of blue smoke across the lake.
+
+“That’s no ghost,” I said, when partly recovered from my astonishment.
+
+“Wait,” said Pete laconically.
+
+[Illustration: The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and
+struck the bull]
+
+Not long afterward there was a movement among the wolves and,
+noiselessly as a panther the figure of a man lithe and youthful in every
+movement slipped to the side of the dead elk. He made no noise, uttered
+no word to the fierce black animals that sat with their red tongues
+hanging from their panting jaws, but without a moment’s hesitation
+whipped out a knife and with a dexterity and skill that brought the
+color to Big Pete’s face, proceeded to take the coat off the wapiti,
+while the great eagle perched upon the branching antlers. The skin was
+removed and with equal dexterity all the best parts of the meat were
+skilfully detached and packed in the green hide, after which, removing a
+large slice of red flesh, the strange hunter held up one finger. One of
+the wolves gravely walked up to him, received the morsel, gulped it down
+and retired. Each in turn was fed, then the great bird flopped on his
+shoulder and was fed from his hand, and before I could realize what had
+happened the man, the wolves and the eagle had disappeared, leaving
+nothing but the dismembered carcass of the elk to remind us of the
+strange episode.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+To say that the whole spectacle that I had just witnessed startled me
+would be stating it mildly indeed. The strange appearance of this big,
+powerful, smooth shaven man in a buckskin hunting costume with a retinue
+of black wolves and a trained eagle, the mysterious manner of his
+hunting and his coming and going, aroused in me great interest and
+curiosity and I could realize the effect it evidently had upon Big
+Pete’s superstitious mind in spite of the fact that the big fellow was
+accustomed to facing almost any sort of danger. As for me, I could not
+myself prevent the creeping chills from running down my spine whenever I
+thought of the wild man.
+
+Could it be possible that this strange, half-wild man of the mountains,
+this killer, this master of a wolf pack, could be in any way connected
+with my father? I wondered, and as I wondered I found that a vague fear
+of this mad man who despite his reputed age seemed as youthful and as
+agile as a man in his thirties, was gripping me. Perhaps the strangeness
+of the wilderness park added to my awe, for certainly one could expect
+almost anything supernatural to happen in the twilight of the forest of
+giant trees, whose interlacing branches overhead shut out the light of
+heaven.
+
+Recovering somewhat from my astonishment and surprise, I realized that
+what I had witnessed, strange though it appeared, was not a supernatural
+occurrence. I knew that it was a real gun I had heard, real smoke I had
+seen, real man, real bird, real elk, and real wolves.
+
+“But, Pete,” I exclaimed, as a sudden thought struck me, “what’s become
+of our dogs?”
+
+“Better ask them black fiends up the mountains. I reckon you won’t see
+them tha’ hounds of yours agin.”
+
+And I never did, but having hunted the wolf with cowboys and having been
+a witness to their extraordinary biting power, I knew the fate that must
+necessarily befall a couple of ordinary hounds when overtaken by half a
+dozen full-grown wolves. On such occasions we do not spend much time in
+grief over a loss of any kind, “it taint according to mountain law,”
+Pete would say.
+
+“Reckon we had better swipe some of that elk before the coyotes get at
+it,” growled Pete. “The wild mountainman knows the good parts, but an
+elk is an elk, and one wild man, even if he is a giant, can’t carry off
+all the good meat, not by a long shot.”
+
+“He may come back,” I suggested.
+
+“Not he,” said Pete. “He’s too stuck up for that. When he wants more,
+them tha’ black demons and that voodoo bird of his’n will get ’em for
+him, and he’s a hanging his long legs off’ner a rock some whar smoking a
+long cigar.”
+
+“Dod rot him,” growled Pete. “Why couldn’t he leave a piece of hide to
+carry the meat in and the stomach to cook it in? That’s the fust time I
+ever stayed long ’nough to see him collar his meat, though they say he
+do eat the game raw, but I reckon that’s a lie, leastwise he didn’t do’t
+this time.”
+
+With a good square meal of the locoed hunter’s elk under our belts and a
+rousing camp fire before which to toast our shins, both the big
+westerner and I felt a little more natural and comfortable, but our
+conversation turned again to this wild hunter of the mountains.
+
+I could see that the mysterious old man with his wolf pack and eagle
+aroused almost every possible form of superstition in Big Pete and I
+confess that I was not free from some of it myself. The guide was
+certain that the man was either a ghost or a reincarnated devil, and he
+displayed no uncertain signs of awe.
+
+“I tell you,” said Pete, “he’s a devil. He’s over a hundred years old,
+for my dad says he seed him, an’ an Injun before dad’s time told him
+about him. They are all skeered t’ death o’ him. An’ I don’t blame ’em.
+He’s a shore enough hant and them tha’ houn’s o’ his’n is devils in wolf
+skins. Jumping Gehoosaphats, ef they shed ever cut my trail I reckon I’d
+just lay right down an’ die,” and Big Pete actually shuddered at the
+possibility.
+
+“Why, young feller,” he went on, “that ol’ man shoots gold bullets out
+o’ a real Patrick Mullen gun.”
+
+“A Mullen gun, Pete?” I cried, “how do you know, man; speak for goodness
+sake!”
+
+“I don’t know it’s a Patrick Mullen and guess it tain’t one ’cause a
+Patrick Mullen rifle would cost a thousand or more. But the old Injun,
+Beaver Tail, says, someone told his father and his father told him that
+et is a Patrick Mullen gun an’ is a special make inlaid with gold and
+silver, an’ all ornamented up, an’ built for an ol’ muzzle-loadin’
+flint-lock. Now Mullen never made no flint-lock rifles that I hear’n
+tell of, his specialty be shotguns an’ if he made this rifle I’m
+ganderplucked if I cud tell how this spook got it.”
+
+“Unless the wild Hunter might be a relative of old Patrick Mullen,” I
+said, thinking aloud, and gasping at the thought, for the description of
+the rifle somehow impressed me again with the possibility that this wild
+man of the mountains might himself be Donald Mullen, and _my own
+father!_
+
+“Why do you say that, kid?” asked Big Pete with a queer look in his
+eyes.
+
+“Oh, I don’t know, I was just wondering to myself. But what makes you
+think he’s a supernatural being, and, Pete, does this wild loony hunter
+look at all like me?”
+
+“Super what? Say when did you swallow a dictionary?—Oh, you mean what
+makes me think he’s a devil. No, he don’t favor you none,” he added with
+a grin, “he’s a _handsome_ devil, although he’s done terrified every
+white man, an’ Injun, in these parts half t’ death, so most of ’ems
+afeared to come back here at all. Men have gone in the park jest to get
+this wild man’s scalp, but they’ve done come back scared yaller an’ they
+ain’t opened their trap much about him since nuther. They do say he
+spits fire an’ chaws his meat offen the bone an’ then cracks the bones
+like a dog an’ swallers it all. They do say, too, that he roars like
+forty devils with their tails cut off when he gits mad an’ some say as
+when he wants t’ git som wha’ in a hurry he jest grabs aholt o’ the feet
+o’ tha’ there thunder bird and she flies off with him and draps him
+anywha’ he asks her to—Nope, I hain’t seen none of these things myself
+but others say they has, an’ believe me, I’m plumb cautious when
+travelin’ these parts alone. Howsomever, he hain’t yet skeered me ’nough
+to make my ha’r come out by the roots,” said Pete with a yawn. “There,
+kick that back log over so’s the fire can lick at t’other side; now
+let’s turn in.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Big Pete and I spent several weeks in our charming little camp at the
+lower end of the park, for my guide decided that despite the recent
+presence of the wild hunter, here would be a good place to get a shot at
+some black-tail deer. In fact we saw signs of those animals all about
+and my guide was only looking for fresh indication to start out on our
+last hunt before we made our way deeper into the wilderness.
+
+On the third day of our stay I was returning to camp with my shotgun
+over my shoulder and a brace of sage grouse in my hand, when I came upon
+Big Pete in a swail about a mile from camp. He was bending low and
+examining fresh signs when he saw me.
+
+“Howdy, kid, here’s some doin’s. Shall we foller him?”
+
+“Of course, Pete; what are we here for, the mountain air?” I answered.
+
+“No,” answered Pete, in his deep, low voice, “we’re here for game,” and
+off he started, but slowly and with great caution. I felt impatient, but
+restrained myself, saying nothing and continued to follow my big guide
+who now moved with the most painstaking care. Not a twig broke beneath
+his moccasins as with panther-like step and crouching form he led me
+through a lot of young trees over a rocky place until we struck a small
+spring with a soft muddy margin. Here Pete came to a sudden halt. I
+asked him why he did not go on, and he pointed to a ledge of rock that
+ran up the mountain side diagonally with a flat, natural roadbed on top,
+graded like a stage road but unlike a traveled road, ending in a bunch
+of underwood and brush about a hundred yards ahead.
+
+Above the ledge of the rocks was a steep declivity of loose shale
+sprinkled over with large and small boulders of radically different
+formations, and in no manner resembling the friable, uncertain bed upon
+which they rested.
+
+These boulders undoubtedly showed the result of the grinding and
+polishing of an ancient, slow-moving glacier, but some other force had
+deposited them in the present position.
+
+“He’s in tha’,” whispered Pete.
+
+“Who, the wild mountain man?” I asked.
+
+“No,” answered my guide, “th’ grizzly.”
+
+“The what?” I almost shouted.
+
+“Th’ grizzly,” answered Pete; “what do you think we’ve been following?”
+
+“Black-tailed deer,” I said softly, with my eyes glued on the thicket.
+
+“Well, tenderfoot, here’s the trail of that tha’ _deer_, and he hain’t
+been gone by here mor’n nor a week ago, nuther.”
+
+I looked and there in the soft mud was the print of a foot, a
+human-looking foot, but for the evenness in the length of the toes and
+the sharpness and length of the toe nails. Yes, there was another
+difference, and that was the size. It was the footprint of a savage
+Hercules, the track of an enormous grizzly bear, and the soft mud that
+had dripped from the big foot was still undried on the leaves and grass
+when Pete pointed it out to me.
+
+“Well, Pete, don’t forget your promise that I am to have first shot at
+all big game,” I whispered with my best effort at coolness, but my heart
+was thumping against my ribs at a terrific rate.
+
+“But—why, bless you old man!” I whispered excitedly as I looked at my
+gun, “I am armed only with a shotgun.”
+
+“Tha’s all right,” replied the big trapper complacently; then, with a
+quick motion, he whipped out his keen-edged knife and snatching one of
+my cartridges he severed the shell neatly between the two wads which
+separated the powder and shot; that is, a wad in each piece of the
+cartridge was exposed by the cut.
+
+Guided by the faint longitudinal seam where the edges of the colored
+paper join on the shell, Big Pete carefully fitted the two parts of the
+cartridge together exactly as they were before being cut apart. Breaking
+my gun, he slipped the mutilated ammunition into the unchoked barrel.
+
+“Tha’,” he grunted, “tha’s better than a bullet at short range, an’ll
+tar a hole in old Ephraim big enough to put your arm through.”
+
+He cut two more in the same manner, saying, “Be darned kerful not to get
+excited and put them in your choke barl, or tha’ may be trouble.”
+
+Hunting a grizzly with a shotgun and bird shot was not my idea of safe
+sport, but I was too much of a moral coward to acknowledge to Pete that
+I was frightened. Pete examined his gun, ran his finger over the
+cartridges in his belt, and went through all the familiar motions which
+to him were unconscious but always foretold danger ahead.
+
+“You drap on your prayer hinges behind that tha’ nigger head,” said
+Pete, “and you will have a dead shot at the brute, an’ I’ll go up and
+roll a stone down the mountain side and follow it as fast as I kin, so
+as to be ready to help you if you need it; but you ought to drap him at
+first shot at short range. Yer must drap him, yer must or I allow tha’ll
+be a right smart of a scrap here, and don’t yer forget it!”
+
+“This is no Christmas turkey shooting, young feller, so look sharp,” and
+with a noiseless tread Pete vanished in the wood, while I with beating
+heart and bulging eyes watched the thicket at the end of the ledge. I
+had not long to wait before I heard a blood-curdling yell and then
+crash! crash! crash! came a big boulder tearing down the mountain side.
+It reached a point just over the thicket, struck a small pine tree,
+broke the tree and leaped high into the air, then crashed into the
+middle of the brush.
+
+Following with giant leaps came Big Pete Darlinkel down the rocky
+declivity, but I only looked that way for one instant, then my eyes were
+again fixed on the thicket, and in my excitement I arose to a standing
+position. There was but a momentary silence after the fall of the
+boulder before I heard the rustling of sticks and leaves, saw the top of
+the bushes sway as some heavy body moved beneath, then there appeared a
+head, and what a head it was! Bigger than all outdoors! I aimed my gun,
+but my body swayed and the end of my shotgun described a large circle in
+the air. I knew that my position was serious, but my nerves played me
+false.
+
+I had never before faced a grizzly. I heard Big Pete’s voice calling to
+me to drop behind the rock, but I only stood there with a dogged
+stupidity, trying to aim my gun at a mark which seemed to me as big
+almost as a barn-door.
+
+I heard Pete give a sudden cry then there was a rattle of stones and
+dirt on the ledge in front of the mountain of brownish hair that was
+advancing in sort of side leaps or bounds like a big ball.
+
+The bear came to a sudden stop, and to my horror I saw the form of my
+friend shoot over the edge of the overhanging rock right in the path of
+the grizzly. It all flashed through my mind in a moment. Pete in his
+haste to reach me had lost control of himself and slid with the rolling
+stones and dirt over the mountain side, a fall of at least twenty-five
+feet!
+
+Instantly my nerve returned and I rushed madly up the incline to rescue
+my companion. I bounded between the branches of some stout saplings,
+they parted as my body struck them but sprung together again before my
+leg had cleared the V-shaped opening.
+
+My foot was imprisoned and I fell with a heavy thud on my face. For an
+instant I was dazed, but even in my dazed state I was fully conscious of
+Pete’s impending peril, and I kicked and struggled blindly to free
+myself. My gun had been flung from my hand in my fall and was out of my
+reach. Then to my horror I heard the howl the wolf gives when game is in
+sight, and even half blind as I was I saw dark, dog-like forms sweep by
+me; I heard the scream of an eagle; I heard a snarling and yelping, the
+sounds of a struggle—I ceased to kick, wiped the blood from my eyes and
+looked ahead.
+
+There lay Big Pete Darlinkel, dead or unconscious, and within ten feet
+of him stood the giant bear surrounded by a vicious pack of gaunt
+red-mouthed wolves. The bear made a rush and a shadow passed over the
+ground; I heard the sound of a large body rushing swiftly through the
+air, and an immense eagle struck the bear like a thunderbolt; at the
+same instant the wolves attacked him from all sides; then there was a
+whistle keen and clear; the wolves retreated; the bird again soared
+aloft; the bear made several passes in the air in search of the bird,
+fell forward again on all fours, rose on its hind legs and killed a wolf
+with one sweep of its great paw.
+
+The bear now made a dash at the giant leader of the pack, only to fall
+forward, dead, with its ugly nose across Big Pete’s chest.
+
+Then I remembered hearing the crack of a rifle, and knew that the Wild
+Mountain Man had saved our lives. I tried to rise but found my ankle so
+badly sprained that I could not stand on it.
+
+Suddenly a low voice with a hint of an Irish accent said, “Sit down,
+stranger, while I look to your mate,” and I saw the tall lithe figure of
+a man clothed in buckskin bending over Pete.
+
+“Only stunned, friend,” said he, and I heard no more. The blow on my
+head, combined with the pain from my ankle was too much for me, and now
+that the danger was over it was a good time to faint, and I took
+advantage of it.
+
+How long I remained unconscious I do not know, but when my eyes opened
+again it was night; through the interlacing boughs overhead the stars
+were shining brightly, my head was neatly bandaged and so was my foot
+and ankle. I could hear our horses cropping grass near by. I raised my
+head and there lay Pete; he was alive I knew by his snores that issued
+from his nose, and we were in our own camp; but—what are those animals
+by our camp fire? Wolves! gaunt, shaggy wolves!
+
+I hastily arose to a sitting posture, but my alarm subsided when in the
+dim light of the fire I could trace the outline of another man’s figure,
+and on a stick close to the stranger’s head roosted a giant bird.
+
+Could it be that this wild man of the mountain—possibly my own
+father—was camping with us?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+“Moseyed, by gum! I’ll be tarnally tarnashuned if that terri-fa-ca-cious
+spook hain’t pulled out!” was the exclamation that awakened me the
+morning after our adventure with the bear.
+
+Lazily opening my eyes I gazed a moment at the sun just peeping over the
+mountain, then closed them again; but when I attempted to change my
+position a sharp pain in my ankle thoroughly awakened me. Still I lay
+quiet because it was some time before I could collect my scattered
+senses and separate in my mind the real incident and the dream
+phantasms.
+
+The pain in my ankle, the swelled and irritated condition of my nose
+plainly proved to me that there was no dream about my injuries, but I
+discovered that my head and leg were neatly bandaged with strips of fine
+linen. I sat for a while busily collecting the incidents of the past
+twenty-four hours, arranging them in my mind in their proper order and
+place. I cut out the dream portion from the realities with very little
+trouble until I reached the part where I had awakened in the night and
+had seen the wolves, the eagle and the Wild Hunter. I could not be sure
+whether that was a dream or reality. Had I seen this strange old man
+with his eagle and his wolf pack beside our camp fire or had I dreamed
+it? Had this hobgoblin man, who might be my own father, rescued me from
+death at the claws of the grizzly and bound my wounds for me, or was
+that but a dream too? Had not Big Pete saved me perhaps and cared for me
+afterward?
+
+“Pete, old fellow,” I said presently, rising to my elbow, “who brought
+me to camp? Who killed that bear? Who saved our lives?”
+
+“The Wild Hunter,” replied Pete gravely. “He bathed my head with some
+sort of good smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a dead
+buffaler, toted me to camp; he ’lowed that I was all sort of shuk up and
+a little hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched you in on his
+shoulders just as if you was a dead antelope, fixed you up with bandages
+torn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave you a drink which you
+didn’t seem to appreciate, but just swallowed like you were asleep, then
+he laid you out. I had my eye peeled on him but he said nary a word, an’
+when we wuz both all comfortable he pulled out a long cigar, sot down by
+the fire and was smoking tha’ with his bird and his wolves around him
+when I went to sleep.
+
+“He cut his bullets out, as he allus does,” muttered Pete a little while
+later.
+
+“Who cut what bullets?” I asked.
+
+“Whomsoever cud I mean but th’ Wild Hunter, and wha’s tha’ been any
+bullets lately but in th’ b’ar?” queried my companion.
+
+“Yes, of course,” I admitted, “but why do you suppose he cut out the
+bullets?”
+
+“Wal, I reckon tha’ might be right scarce and he haster be kinder
+sparing with them. I calculate you’d like to have a hatful of them
+balls, leastwise most folks would; cause the Wild Hunter don’t use no
+common low-flung lead for his bullets, no-sir-ree bob-horsefly! Tain’t
+good ’nuff for a high-cock-alorum like him—_he shoots balls of virgin
+gold!_”
+
+But I was more interested in what had become of this strange man than in
+the sort of projectiles rumor said that he used in his gun and so
+dismissed the subject with a request for further information about our
+rescuer.
+
+“This morning when I opened my peepers,” Pete continued, “I t’ought
+maybe the Wild Hunter had only gone off on a tramp; but he’s done clared
+out for good, and tuk his wolves and bird with him. I’m some glad he
+took th’ wolves, I don’t sorter like the look of their mean eyes; they
+do say that he is a wolf himself and the head of the pack.”
+
+“What’s that, Pete? Steady, old man, now let’s go slow.”
+
+“All right; tha’s wha’ I mean ter do. ’Cause it hain’t a varmint natur’
+to help men folks, and he done helped us, and no mistake, and left us
+the bulk of the b’ar too,—only took the claws, teeth and tenderloin or
+two for himself and pack; that is, if he be a wolf. But we will settle
+that if your foot will let you walk a bit.”
+
+“How far?” I asked.
+
+“Only over yan way to the first piece of wet ground, and the trail leads
+down to tha’ spring tha’, and tha’ is quite a right smart bit of muddy
+swail beyont.”
+
+“All right, I’ll try it,” I exclaimed. But I could not touch my foot on
+the ground, and it was not until my guide had made me a crutch of a
+forked branch, padded with a piece of fur, that I was able to go limping
+along after Big Pete.
+
+We followed the trail left by the Wild Hunter to the spring. The trail
+after that was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes; and when we reached
+the muddy spot the print of the moccasined feet and the dog-like tracks
+of the wolves were distinctly visible.
+
+But look at Big Pete!
+
+As motionless as a statue, with a solemn face he stoops with a rigid
+figure pointing to the trail! I hastened to his side and saw that the
+moccasin prints ceased in the middle of an open, bare, muddy place and
+beyond were nothing but the dog-like tracks of the wolves.
+
+I looked up and all around; there were no overhanging branches that a
+man could swing himself upon, no stones that he could leap upon—nothing
+but the straggling bunches of ferns; but here in this open spot the Wild
+Hunter vanished.
+
+We walked back in silence, for I had nothing to say, and Pete did not
+volunteer any further information.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+To have one’s nose all but broken, both eyes blackened and a twisted
+ankle is a sad misfortune wherever it occurs, but when such a thing
+happens to a fellow many weary miles from the nearest human habitation
+and in a howling wilderness it might be considered anything but
+pleasant. Yet, strange as it may appear, among the most pleasant and
+precious memories I have stored away in my mind, only to be tapped upon
+special occasions, is the memory of the glorious days spent nursing my
+bruises and lolling around that far-away camp. Sometimes I listened to
+the quaint yarns of my unique and interesting guide or idly watched the
+changing colors and effects which the sun and the atmosphere produced on
+the snow-capped mountains of Darlinkel’s Park. I made friends with our
+little neighbors the rock-chuck, whose home was in the base of the cliff
+back of the spring, and became intimate with the golden chipmunk and its
+pretty little black and white cousin, the four-striped chipmunk, both of
+which were common and remarkably tame about camp.
+
+Back of the camp in the dark shade of the evergreens there was a bark
+mound composed entirely of the fragments of the conifera cones, which
+Pete said was the squirrel’s dining room. This mound contained at least
+four good cart-loads of fragments and all of it was the work of the
+impudent little blunt-nosed red squirrels, which were plentiful in the
+woods.
+
+How long it took these small rodents to heap such a mass of material
+together I was unable to calculate, but the mound was as large as some
+of the shell heaps made by the ancient oyster-eating men and left by
+them along our coast from Florida to Maine.
+
+The numerous magpies seemed to be conscious of my admiration of their
+beautiful piebald plumage and to take every opportunity to show off its
+iridescent hues to the best advantage in the sunlight.
+
+Pete evidently thought I was a chap of very low taste, with a great lack
+of discrimination in the choice of my friends among the forest folk, and
+he could see no reason for my intimacy with “all th’ outlaws and most
+rascally varmints of the park.”
+
+Truth compels me to admit that the pranks of some of my little friends
+were often mischievous and annoying, but they were also humorous and
+entertaining and I laughed when the “tallow-head” jay swooped down and
+snatched a tid-bit from Pete’s plate just as he was about to eat it, and
+when the irate trapper threw his plate at the camp robber it was a
+charming sight to see a number of birds flutter down to feast upon the
+scattered food.
+
+The loud-mouthed, self-asserting fly-catcher in the cottonwood tree
+learned to know my whistle, and whenever I attempted to mimic him he
+would send back a ringing answer. The charming little lazulii buntings
+were tamer than the irritating dirty English sparrows at home.
+
+It was interesting to notice how quickly all our little wild neighbors
+learned to know that the sound produced by banging on a tin plate meant
+dough-god and other good things at our camp, and as they came rustling
+among the grasses or fluttering from bush and trees they showed more
+fear of each other than they did of Pete and me.
+
+When the myriads of bright stars would twinkle in the blue black sky or
+the great round-faced moon climb over the mountain tops to see what was
+doing in the park, the birds and chipmunks were quiet, but then the big
+pack-rats, with squirrel-like tails, would troop out from their secret
+caves and invade the camp.
+
+In the gray dawn, while sleeping in a tent, I often awakened to hear
+something scamper up its steep side and then laughed to see the shadow
+of a comical little body toboggan down the canvas. Our pocket-knives,
+compasses and all other small objects were never safe unless securely
+packed away out of reach of these nocturnal marauders.
+
+Our conversations around the camp fire evenings were highly interesting
+too, for Big Pete was a fluent talker with a wealth of stories of the
+Great West at his tongue’s end. Indeed, the story of his family and
+their migration west was one that fascinated me. His father had been a
+trapper in the old days; he had done his share of roaming the mountains,
+prospecting and making his strikes, small and large, fighting Indians
+and living the strenuous life of the border pioneer. He had found the
+woman he afterward married unconscious under an overturned wagon of an
+emigrant train that had been raided by the Indians, and after nursing
+her back to health in his mining shack, had married her. With money he
+had worked from the “diggin’s” he had acquired, by grants from the
+government, the beautiful and expansive mountain park where he had
+planned to develop a ranch. He never went very far with his project,
+however, for a raiding party of Indians caught him alone in the
+mountains and his wife found his body pinned to the ground with arrows.
+The shock of his tragedy killed Big Pete’s mother soon after, and the
+young Peter Darlinkel, then three years old, went to a nearby settlement
+to be brought up by an uncle and a squaw aunt. Pete became prospector,
+scout, trapper and hunter, using this beautiful park that became his as
+a result of the passing of his father, as a private game preserve, so to
+speak. That is, it was private except for the intrusion of the Wild
+Hunter and his black wolf pack.
+
+In a fragmentary way Big Pete told me this story and other interesting
+tales of this wild western country, but mostly our conversation turned
+to this old man of the mountains who was such a mystery to everyone,
+even to Big Pete, but who, despite the lugubrious reputation, had
+proved a kindly gentleman and a good friend to me.
+
+There were no visible signs of a change in the weather which had been
+clear for weeks, and the sky was otherwise clear blue save where the
+white mares’ tails swept across the heavens. But when we sat down to
+supper that evening I could hear the rumbling of distant thunder. I knew
+it was thunder for, although the fall of avalanches makes the same
+noise, avalanches choose the noon time to fall when the sun is hottest
+and the snows softest. Soon I could see the heads of some dark clouds
+peering at us over the mountains and before dark the clouds crept over
+the mountain tops and overcast our sky.
+
+It rained all that night in a fitful manner and came to a stop about
+four A. M. The wind went down and the air seemed to have lost its
+vivacity and life; it was a dead atmosphere; we arose from our blankets
+feeling tired and listless.
+
+While we were eating our breakfast dark clouds again suddenly obscured
+the heavens and before we had finished the meal big drops of rain set
+the camp fire spluttering and drove us to the shelter of our tent; then
+it rained! Lord help us! the water came down in such torrents that on
+account of the spray we could not see thirty feet; then came hailstones
+as large as hen’s eggs. There was some lightning and thunder, but either
+the splashing of the water drowned the rumbling or the electric fluid
+was so far distant that the reports were not loud when they reached us.
+Suddenly there was a ripping noise, followed by a sort of subdued roar
+which stampeded our horses from their shelter under a projecting rock
+and made the earth shudder.
+
+“Earthquake!” I exclaimed.
+
+“Wuss,” said Pete, “hit’s a landslide.”
+
+Instantly a thought went through my brain like a hot bullet and made me
+shudder.
+
+“Pete,” I shouted.
+
+“I’m right hyer, tenderfut, you needn’t holler so loud,” he answered,
+and calmly filled his pipe.
+
+I flung myself impulsively on my companion, grasped his big brawny
+shoulders, and with my face close to his I whispered, “Pete, I believe
+the slide occurred at the gate.”
+
+“Well, hit did sound that-a-way,” admitted Pete composedly.
+
+“Pete,” I continued, “that butte has caved in on our trail!”
+
+“Wull, tenderfut, we ain’t hurt, be we? Tha’s plenty of game here fur
+the tak’n of it and plenty of water, as fine as ever spouted from old
+Moses’ rock, right at hand. If the Mesa’s cut our trail we can live well
+here for a hundred years and not have to chew wolf mutton neither. I
+don’t reckon I can go to York with you just yet,” drawled my comrade in
+a most provokingly imperturbable manner, as he slowly freed himself from
+my grasp and made for the camp fire, which being to a great extent
+sheltered by an overhanging rock, was still smouldering in spite of the
+drenching rain. Raking the ashes until he found a red glowing coal, Pete
+deftly picked it up and by juggling it from one hand to the other, he
+conducted the live ember to his pipe-bowl, then he puffed away as calmly
+as if there was nothing in this world to trouble him.
+
+“If the gate be shut,” he resumed, “it will keep out prospectors, tramps
+and Injuns.” With that he went to smoking his red-willow[1] bark again.
+
+  [Footnote 1: The trappers and Indians made Kil-i-ki-nic, or
+  Kinnikinick, by mixing tobacco with the inside bark of red
+  willow, which is the common name for the red osier of the
+  dogwood family. EDITOR.]
+
+But I could not view the situation so complacently, and when the rain
+had ceased as suddenly as it began, with some difficulty I caught my
+horse and made my way to the gate, to discover that my worst fears were
+realized; a large section of the cliff had split off the Mesa and slid
+down into the narrow gateway completely filling the space and leaving a
+wall of over one hundred feet of sheer precipice for us to climb before
+we could escape from our Eden-like prison.
+
+Again a wave of superstitious dread swept over me as I viewed the
+tightly closed exit, a dread that perhaps after all there was more to
+Big Pete’s superstitions about the Wild Hunter than I dared to admit,
+else why should that cliff which had stood for thousands of years take
+this opportunity to split off and choke up the ancient trail?
+
+The longer I questioned myself, the less was my ability to answer. I sat
+on a stone and for some time was lost in thought. When at length I
+looked up it was to see Big Pete with folded arms silently gazing at the
+barricaded exit and the muddy pool of water extending for some distance
+back of the gateway into the park.
+
+“Well, tenderfut, you was dead right in your judication. The gate air
+shut sure ’nuff. Our horses ain’t likely to take the back trail and
+leave us, that’s sartin.”
+
+“Oh, Pete,” I exclaimed, “how will we ever get out? Must we spend the
+remainder of our lives here?”
+
+“It do look as if we’d stop hyer a right smart bit,” he admitted, “maybe
+till this hyer holler between the mountains all fills with water agin
+like it was onct before, I reckon. Don’t you think that we’d better get
+busy and build a Noah’s Ark?”
+
+“Pete, you’d joke if the world came to an end. But seriously I think we
+might move our camp back to the far end of your park.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+One day after we had selected our new camp, I took my rod along and
+wandered into the wonderful forest of ancient trees. There I seated
+myself on a log to think over my experience. Somehow my own trials and
+ambitions seemed small, trivial and not worth while when I looked upon
+those grand trees standing silently on guard as they were standing when
+Columbus was busy smashing a hard-boiled egg to make it stand on end.
+Yes, naturalists tell us some of these same trees were standing before
+the New Testament was written and then as now their branches concealed
+their lofty tops and formed a screen through which the powerful rays of
+the noon-day sun are filtered, refined and subdued to a dreamy twilight
+below, a twilight in which the soft green mosses and lace-like ferns
+thrive into luxuriant growth.
+
+It was so still and quiet in that forest that the silence seemed to hurt
+my ears and I found myself listening to see if I could not hear the deep
+dark blue blossoms of the fringed gentians whispering scandals about the
+flaming Indian paint brushes that flourished in the opening in the woods
+where the sun’s ray could reach and warm the dark earth. As I listened I
+could not help but speculate a great deal as to the possibilities of the
+odd old man of this forest being in some way connected with my father’s
+history, but the story of the wolf-man as given to me by my big
+companion was so varied and so mixed with the superstitions of the
+Indians and trappers who had come in contact with him, or had seen him
+and his weird wolf pack roaming the mountains, that I could not in any
+way take it as the basis for a solution of the problem.
+
+Indeed, the more Big Pete told me the less I believed that this strange
+and probably mad man could be my father. In truth, the only real clue
+or even faint reason I had for believing that he owned the missing
+“Patrick Mullen” was because this gun at a distance seemed to correspond
+with the description of the Mullen’s gun. It was a faint clue indeed and
+sometimes seemed not worth investigation. Yet when I began to doubt the
+possibility an unexplained impulse or force kept urging me on to believe
+that if I but persisted and found an opportunity to examine this gun it
+would prove to be the one I sought, and if I had a chance to talk to
+this strange Wild Hunter much of the mystery that surrounded my own
+babyhood would be cleared up, so I found myself earnestly longing for a
+real interview with this mysterious creature.
+
+The more I thought of it the more I was inclined to believe that I was
+on the right track, until at last convinced that this was so, I cried
+aloud, “I have found him!”
+
+“Who! Who!” queried a startled owl, as it peered down at me from its
+hiding place in the dense foliage of a cedar far above.
+
+“Never mind who, you old rascal,” I laughingly replied, and picking up
+my fishing-rod I parted the underbrush to start on my way through the
+wood for some trout, but suddenly halted when I found myself staring
+into the face of a huge timber wolf. The beast’s lips were drawn back
+displaying its gleaming fangs, its back hair was as erect as the cropped
+mane of a pony, its mongolian eyes shone green through their narrow
+slits and its whole attitude seemed to say, “Well, now that you have
+found me, what do you propose to do?”
+
+Now, boys, do not make any mistake about me, I am not a hero and never
+posed as one; in truth my timidity at times amounts to cowardice, a fact
+which I usually keep to myself, but I never was afraid of wolves until I
+so unexpectedly met this one. It is needless to say that I have no hair
+on my back, it is as bare as that of any other fellow’s, nevertheless,
+on this occasion I could distinctly feel my bristles rise from the nape
+of my neck to the end of my spine, just the same as those on the
+oblique-eyed, shaggy monster whose snapping teeth were so near my face.
+
+Everybody is familiar with the fact that people who have had limbs
+amputated often complain of pains or itching in the missing members. My
+missing back hair, the hair which my ancestors lost by the slow process
+of evolution, the hair which grew on the back of the “missing link,”
+stood on end at the sight of this wolf. However, this fear was but
+momentary and when my courage returned I lifted my rod case in a
+threatening manner, and the wolf slunk away as noiselessly as a shadow,
+and like a shadow faded out of sight in the dim twilight of the ancient
+forest. When I reached the open land beyond the forest another surprise
+awaited me.
+
+Surely this is heaven, I thought as I waded knee-deep among the
+beautiful flowers of the prairie, starting the sharp pin-tailed grouse,
+prairie chickens and sage grouse from their retreats and sending the
+meadow-larks skimming away over flowering billows. Reaching an
+elevation where I could peer beyond the crests of one of the “ground
+swells” which furrowed the sea of nodding blossoms, I saw through the
+stems of the plants, a part of the prairie at first concealed from view,
+and there appeared to be numerous irregular boulders of dark brown stone
+scattered around among the vegetation, and the boulders were moving!
+
+Careful scrutiny, however, proved them to be not stones but live
+buffalo. Big Pete had often told me that these animals lived unmolested
+by him in the park; but when I realized that I was looking at between
+three and four hundred real buffalo my heart gave a great jump of joy. I
+tried to view them so as to take in their details, but the apparently
+shapeless masses of dark reddish brown wool appeared to have none,
+unless indeed the comical fur trousers with frayed bottoms on their
+front legs might be called detail.
+
+Even the faces of the beasts were so concealed by masks of knotted wool
+that at first I could distinguish neither eyes, noses, horns or ears;
+but in spite of their ragged trousers and their masked faces, the bison
+are sublime in their mighty strength and ponderous proportions, and as
+this was the first wild herd I had ever seen and one of the very few, if
+not the only one, then extant, I viewed them with the keenest interest.
+
+But the scattered bunches of antelope, which I now noticed were dotting
+the plains around the buffalo, appealed to my love of the beautiful.
+Knowing that in other localities these charming little creatures are
+rapidly being slaughtered and steadily decreasing in numbers and that
+all attempts to breed them in captivity have so far failed, they at once
+absorbed my attention to the exclusion of their larger neighbors.
+
+When we moved our camp to the far side of the lake, Big Pete told me
+that I could find plenty of trout streams beyond the timber belt, and he
+also informed me that I could there see the walls of the park and
+satisfy myself that there was but one trail leading into the preserve.
+
+I do not now recall the sort of walls that were pictured in my mind or
+know what I really expected to see enclosing Darlinkel’s Park, but I do
+know that when I suddenly emerged from the dark forests into the sunlit
+prairie, the scene which greeted my vision was not the one painted by my
+imagination.
+
+Before me stretched an open plain surrounded by mountains arising
+abruptly from a bed of many colored flowers; they were the same ranges
+whose snow-covered peaks formed a feature of the landscape at the lake
+and at our first camp.
+
+Here, however, their appearance was different, as different as the dark
+forest from the open sunlit prairie. The scene at first did not seem
+real, it had a sort of a drop-curtain effect that was as familiar to me
+as the row of footlights and gilded boxes, but never did I expect to see
+those delicate tints, that blue atmosphere, the fresco colored rocks and
+all the theatrical properties of a drop-curtain duplicated in nature,
+yet here it was before me, not a detail wanting, even the impossible
+mammoth bed of gaudy flowers at the foot of the mountain was here and
+the numerous cascades had not been forgotten. Well, it does seem
+wonderful to me that unknown theatrical daubers should know so much more
+of nature than the public for whom they paint.
+
+But, nature is a bolder artist than even the daring scenic painters; in
+front of me was a prairie of flowers, acres and acres of waving,
+undulating masses of color; thousands of Arizona wyetha (wild
+sunflowers) mingled with the brilliant tips of the fire-weed and clumps
+of odorous and delicately colored horsemint. There were other flowers
+unfamiliar to me and hundreds of big blossoms of what I took to be a
+member of the primrose family. It was in this garden that the buffalo
+and antelope were grazing.
+
+An old buck antelope saw me and I instantly dropped to the ground and
+was concealed by the flowering vegetation. I wanted to see the home
+life of these animals, but was disappointed because of the attention I
+had attracted. When first discovered the does were browsing with heads
+down and the kids were playing tag with one another, every once in a
+while spreading the white hair on their rumps and then lowering the
+“white flag” again, they apparently used it as a Morse signal system of
+their own. But now they were all alert and facing me; the bucks had seen
+something and that something had suddenly disappeared. This must be
+investigated, so they circled round hesitatingly; the apparition might
+be a foe but still they _must_ satisfy their curiosity and discover what
+it was of which they had had a moment’s glimpse and thus they approached
+nearer and ever nearer to my place of concealment.
+
+Soon, however, I became aware of the fact that the antelope had
+unaccountably lost all thought of me and were deeply interested in
+something else which from their actions I concluded to be recognized as
+an enemy. It was now apparent that if Big Pete did not hunt the
+prong-horns someone or something else _did_ hunt them.
+
+As a bunch broke away from the scattered groups and came in my
+direction, making great leaps over the prairie, I detected the cause of
+their panic in the form of a huge eagle which was keeping pace with and
+flying over the fleeing prong-horns.
+
+The bird was not more than a dozen feet above the animals’ backs and in
+vain did the poor creatures try to distance their pursuer. At length
+they scattered, each one taking a course of his own. Then the bird did a
+strange thing. It singled out the largest buck and persistently
+following him, it came directly towards me and passed within ten feet of
+my ambush, the broad wings of the antelope’s relentless foe casting a
+dark shadow over the straining muscles of the beautiful animal’s back. I
+was tempted to drive the bird away or shoot at it with my revolver, but
+the thought that I had seen that bird before restrained me and the fact
+that it pursued a strong, healthy buck instead of selecting a weaker and
+more easy prey convinced me that this eagle had been trained to the hunt
+and was not a wild[2] bird, for the immutable law that “labor follows
+the line of least resistance” holds good with all wild creatures. It was
+not long before I had to use my field glasses to follow the chase and
+then I discovered that the poor prong-horn was showing signs of fatigue.
+It had made a grave error in dashing up an incline and the eagle from
+his position above knew that the time had come to strike and, like a
+thunderbolt, it fell, striking its hooked talons in the graceful neck of
+the terror-stricken antelope.
+
+  [Footnote 2: The late Howard Eaton of Wolf, Wyoming, watched an
+  eagle hunt down a prong-horned buck.—EDITOR.]
+
+Hoping to get a nearer view of the last tragedy, I hastened towards the
+spot and before I was aware of my position, found myself close to the
+herd of buffalo. I then saw that these beasts being unaccustomed to
+man, did not fear him, but on the contrary meant to show fight. As I
+came to a sudden halt the old bulls began to paw the earth, throwing the
+dirt up over their backs and bellowing with a low vibrating roar that
+was terror-inspiring. Then they dropped to their knees, rolled on their
+backs, got up, shook themselves, licked their noses, “rolled up their
+tails” into stiff curves, put down their heads and came at me. The cows
+with their hair standing on end like angry elks and bellowing loudly
+were not behind their lords in aggressiveness and the comical little
+calves came bouncing along after their dame.
+
+Was I frightened? That depends upon one’s definition of the word. I was
+not panic-stricken, but to say that I was not _excited_ when I saw those
+animated masses of dark brown wool come roaring and thundering at me
+would be to make boast that no one who has had a similar experience
+would believe.
+
+Fortunately, not far behind me was the hollow or gully already
+mentioned and I bolted over the edge of it. As soon as the bank
+concealed my person I ran as I never ran before taking a course at right
+angles to my original one and leeward of the herd, and at last, out of
+breath, I rolled over in the weeds and lay there panting and straining
+my ears to hear the snorting beasts.
+
+My chest felt dry, hot and oppressed from forced and labored breathing,
+and had the buffalo discovered me I do not think I could have run
+another step. But the big brutes halted at the edge of the bank and
+seeing no one in sight walked around pawing and throwing up great clouds
+of dust and in their rage apparently daring me to come forth. Like a
+small boy when he hears a challenge from a gang of toughs, I decided
+that I did not want to fight and lay as quiet as possible among the
+sunflowers until I had regained my breath. When the buffalo wandered
+back to their original pasture land I, like a coyote, slunk away and
+consoled myself with the thought that although I had had my run for my
+money, at least, I had seen the death of the antelope even if I did miss
+again seeing the Wild Hunter “collar his game,” as Big Pete would have
+called the act of securing it. Besides this I had a real exciting
+adventure with good red-blooded American animals and learned the lesson
+that large horned beasts which have not been taught to fear man are
+exceedingly dangerous to man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Rising abruptly from the prairie was a frowning precipice a thousand or
+more feet high and above and beyond the top of this cliff, the
+mountains.
+
+When Big Pete told me that his park was “walled in” he told me the
+mildest sort of truth; the prairie is the bottom of a wide canyon, in
+fact everything seems to indicate that the whole park had settled,
+sunk—“taken a drop” of a thousand or more feet; forming what miners
+would call a fault.
+
+From the glaciers up among the clouds numerous streams of melted ice
+came dashing down the sides of the mountain range, fanciful cascades
+leaping without fear from most stupendous heights spreading out in long
+horse-tail falls over the face of the cliff, doing everything but
+looking real. At the foot of each of the falls there was a pool of deep
+water, in one or two instances the pools were smooth basins hollowed out
+of solid rock in which the water was as transparent as air and but for
+the millions of air bubbles caused by the falling water every inch of
+bottom could be plainly seen by an observer at the brink of the pool.
+
+The trout in these basins were almost as colorless as the water itself
+(the light color of the fish is due to their chameleon-like power of
+modifying their hue to imitate their surroundings)—this mimicry is so
+perfect that after looking into one of these stone basins, the rounded
+smooth sides of which offered no shade or nook where a trout might hide,
+I was ready to declare the waters uninhabited but no sooner had my brown
+hackel or professor settled lightly on the surface of the pool than out
+from among the air bubbles a fish appeared and seized the fly.
+
+My sprained ankle was now so much improved that upon discovering a
+diagonal fracture in the face of the cliff, which looked as if offering
+a foot hold, and feeling reckless, I determined to make the effort to
+scale the wall at this point.
+
+If the giant “fault” is of comparatively recent occurrence, geologically
+speaking, it seemed reasonable that there would be trout in the streams
+above the cliff and the memory of the fact that Pete had reported that
+both Rocky Mountain sheep and goats were up there decided me to attempt
+to scale the wall by the fracture. It was a long, hard climb and more
+than once while I clung to the chance projections or dug my fingers into
+small cracks and looked down upon the backs of some golden eagle sailing
+in spirals below me, I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt, but when
+the top was reached and I saw signs of sheep and had a peep at a white
+object I took to be a goat, I felt repaid for my arduous climb.
+
+The elevated prairie or table-land on which I found myself corresponded
+in every important particular with the park below; there were the same
+natural divisions of prairie and forests, the same erratic boulders, but
+on account of the difference in elevation there was a corresponding
+difference in plant life, and most interesting of all to me, there were
+the trout streams. The tablelands above the park were comparatively
+level in places where the stream ran almost as quietly as a meadow
+brook, but these level stretches were interrupted at short distance by
+foaming rapids, jagged rocks and roaring falls.
+
+My angler’s instinct told me that the biggest fish lurked in the deep
+pools, to reach which it was necessary to creep and worm myself over the
+open flats of sharp stones and patches of heather, but once on the
+vantage ground the swish of a trout rod sounded there for the first time
+since the dawn of Creation.
+
+[Illustration: More than once while I clung to the chance projection
+... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt]
+
+There was an audible splash at my first cast. My, how that reel did
+sing! Before I realized it, my fish had reached rapid water and taken
+out a dangerous amount of line; still I dared not check him too severely
+among the sharp rocks and swift waters, so I ran along the bank,
+stumbling over stones, but managing to avail myself of every opportunity
+to wind in the line until I had the satisfaction of seeing enough line
+on my reel to prepare me for possible sudden dashes and emergencies.
+
+Ah! that was a glorious fight, and when at last I was able to steer my
+tired fish into shallow water I saw there were three of them, one lusty
+trout on each of my three flies. I had no landing net so I gently slid
+the almost exhausted fish onto a gravel bar and as I did so I
+experienced one of those delightful thrills which comes to a fellow’s
+lot but once or twice in a life-time. But it was not because I had
+captured three at a strike, for I have done that before and since, but I
+thrilled because they were not only a new and strange kind of trout, but
+they were of the color and sheen of newly minted gold. Never before had
+any man seen such trout.
+
+I have since been informed that I had blundered on to water inhabited by
+the rarest of all game fish, the so-called golden trout, which has since
+been discovered and which scientists declare to be pre-glacier fish left
+by some accident of nature to exist in a new world in which all their
+original contemporaries have long been extinct.
+
+Think of it! Fish which had never seen an artificial fly nor had any
+family traditions of experiences with them. It is little wonder that
+they would jump at a brown hackle, a professor or even a gaudy salmon
+fly. Why they would jump at a chicken feather! They were ready and eager
+to bite at any sort of bunco game I saw fit to play upon them. They were
+veritable hayseeds of the trout family, but when they felt the hook in
+their lips, the wisest trout in the world could not show a craftier nor
+half as plucky a fight. They would leap from the water like
+small-mouthed bass and by shaking their heads, try to throw off the
+hateful hook.
+
+The constant vigorous exercise of leaping water-falls and forging up
+boiling rapids had developed these sturdy mountaineer trout into
+prodigies of strength and endurance. Even now my nerves tingle to the
+tips of my toes as in fancy I hear my reel hum or see the tip of my five
+ounce split bamboo bend so as to almost form a circle.
+
+I fished that stream with hands trembling with excitement and had filled
+my creel with the rare fish before I began to notice other objects of
+interest. Suddenly I became aware of the presence of two birds hovering
+over and diving under the cold water. They were evidently feeding on
+some aquatic creature which my duller senses could not discern.
+
+Although they were the first of the kind that I had ever seen alive, I
+at once recognized the feathered visitors to be water ouzels. The birds
+preceded me on my way along the water course towards camp, and were
+never quiet a minute. They would hop on a rock in mid-stream and bob up
+and down in a most solemn but comical manner for a moment before
+plunging fearlessly into the cold white spray of the falls or the swift
+dashing current, where they would disappear below the surface only to
+reappear once more on another rock to bob again.
+
+A ducking did not trouble the ouzels, for as they came out of the water
+the liquid rolled in crystal drops from their feathers and their plumage
+was as dry as if it had never been submerged. The wilder and swifter the
+cold glacier water ran the more the birds seemed to enjoy it.
+
+The nearer I approached the edge of the precipitous walls, enclosing the
+valley comprising Big Pete’s park, the rougher grew the trail, and as I
+was picking my way I paused to gaze at the distant purple peaks and
+watch the sun set in that lonely land as if I was witnessing it for the
+first time. As my eyes roamed over the stupendous distance and unnamed
+mountains I felt my own puny insignificance, as who has not when
+confronted with the vastness of nature.
+
+I turned from my view of the sunset to retrace my steps to the valley,
+and peeping over the top of a large boulder, saw seated upon an
+inaccessible crag directly in front of me, a gigantic figure of a man
+clad in a hunter’s garb, and he was smoking a long cigar!
+
+When I thought of Big Pete’s description of how the Wild Hunter was wont
+to sit with his long legs dangling from some rock while he smoked one of
+those unprocurable cigars, and when I realized that the figure before me
+was fully sixty feet tall, I must confess to experiencing a queer
+sensation.
+
+It was a shadowy figure yet it moved, arose, held out one hand, and a
+bird as large as the fabled roc alighted on the wrist of the
+outstretched hand.
+
+A slight breeze sprang up, the white mists from the valley rolled up the
+mountainside and drifted away and the man and bird disappeared from
+view.
+
+It was long after dark when I reached camp and was greeted by my friend
+and guide with “Gol durn your pictur tenderfut, if it hain’t tuk you
+longer to get a pesky mess of yaller fish than it orter to kill a bar.”
+
+“Little wonder,” thought I, “that the Wild Hunter used golden bullets in
+a land where even the fish’s scales seemed to be of the same precious
+metal”; but I said nothing as I sat down to clean my “yaller trout.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+It was always interesting to me when I could get Pete’s theories and his
+brand of philosophy on almost any subject and it was my intention that
+night at supper to lead up to the apparition I had seen on the cliffs
+that day. With a substantial supper tucked away I was in a better frame
+of mind to realize that the illusion I had seen was not uncommon in
+mountain districts. I recalled that I had read of, and seen pictures of,
+a particular illusion of this nature that is often present in the Hartz
+Mountains in Germany and I knew full well that the setting sun, the mist
+and the atmospheric condition had all contributed to throwing a greatly
+enlarged shadow of the real Wild Hunter onto the screen made by the mist
+very much as today a motion picture increases the size of the small film
+image when it is thrown on the movie screen.
+
+I intended to get Big Pete’s idea on the subject but I never did for I
+was not adroit enough to steer the conversation in that direction, for
+Big Pete seized my first statement and made it a subject for a veritable
+lecture.
+
+“There was a smashing lot of those trout up there, Pete. Bet I could
+have brought home all I could have carried if I had been a game hog,” I
+said, as I stirred the fire with a stick and set the coffee pot nearer
+the flames to warm a second cup.
+
+“You see, tenderfut, it’s like this,” he said, “when a man goes out to
+kill a deer for the fun of blood-spilling or to get th’ poor critter’s
+head to hang in his shack, he’s nothing more than a wolf or butcher;
+hain’t half as good a man as the one who never shot a deer, but goes
+back home and lies about it. The liar hain’t harmed nothin’ with his
+lies. His fairy stories don’t hurt game an’ they be interesting to the
+tenderfuts in the States. The real sportsman is the pot-hunter. Yes,
+that’s jist what I mean, a pot-hunter—he’s out ’cause the camp kettle
+is empty, and it’s up agin him to fill it or starve. Now then, this
+fellow is not after blood; nor trophies, nor is he hunting for the
+market. It’s self-preservation with him, that’s what it is. He’s an
+animal along with the rest of ’em and he knows he’s got jest as much a
+right to live as tha’ have and no more! He’s hustling for his living
+along with the bunch, forcing it from savage nature, and I tell you boy,
+there is no greater physical pleasure in life than holding old Mother
+Nature up and just saying to her, ‘You’ve got a living for me, ole’ gal,
+and I’m going to get it.’
+
+“Such talk pleases the old lady, makes her your friend ’cause she likes
+your spunk, and because of it she’ll give you the wind of a grey wolf,
+the step of the panther, the strength of the buffalo and the courage of
+a lion. She is always generous with her favorites. Ah! lad, she kin make
+your blood dance in your veins, make fire flash from your eyes and give
+you the steady nerve necessary to face a she-grizzly when she is
+fightin’ for her cubs.”
+
+“Why? ’cause you see, you are a grizzly yourself when the camp kettle is
+empty!” And Big Pete relapsed into silence, turned his attention to his
+tin platter, examining it carefully, and then with a piece of dough-god,
+carefully wiped the platter clean and contentedly munched the savory
+bit.
+
+The reason, that being locked into Big Pete’s park in the mountains
+struck me as being very serious, was because I realized that although
+the park was extensive it was completely surrounded by a practically
+unsurmountable barrier of rugged cliffs and mountains negotiable, as far
+as I knew, not even by the sure-footed mountain sheep and goats which we
+could occasionally see on the cliffs from the valley floor, but never
+saw in the park itself. I questioned Big Pete and found that he did not
+know of a trail up the cliffs.
+
+“Though,” he said, “there must be some sort of a one for that tha’ Wild
+Hunter gits in an’ out and brings his wolf pack along too. He knows a
+trail all right an’ ef he knows it why it’s up to us to find it, too.”
+
+“Maybe we can trail him,” I suggested.
+
+“Trail him! Me? With that wolf pack clingin’ to his heels? Not while I’m
+alive!”
+
+That was the last that was said about trailing the Wild Hunter for some
+time to come, but meanwhile we built a more or less open faced permanent
+camp and Big Pete initiated me into mysteries of real woodcraft, for it
+was up to us now to live on the land, so to speak.
+
+Although hard usage had made havoc with my tailormade clothes, neither
+time nor the elements seemed to affect the personal appearance of my big
+companion; his buckskin suit was apparently as clean and fresh as it was
+on the day I first met him. There was no magic in this. Big Pete knew
+how to clamber all day through a windfall without leaving the greater
+part of his clothes on the branches, a feat few hunters and no
+tenderfoot have yet been able to accomplish.
+
+As I have already said, Pete was a dude, but he was what might be called
+a self-perpetuating dude, who never ran to seed no matter how long he
+might be separated from the city tailor shops, for Pete was his own
+tailor, barber and valet, and the wilderness supplied the material for
+his costume.
+
+In the camp he was as busy as an old housewife, and occupied his leisure
+time mending, stitching and darning. Many a morning my own toilet
+consisted of a face wash at the spring, but my guide seldom failed to
+spend as much time prinking as if he expected distinguished visitors!
+
+Instead of “Tenderfoot,” Big Pete now called me “Le-loo,” which I
+understand is Chinook for wolf and I took so much pride in my promotion
+that I would not have changed clothes with the Prince of Wales; I
+gloried in my wild, unkempt appearance!
+
+Nevertheless, Big Pete announced that he was the Hy-as-ty-ee (big boss)
+and he forthwith declared that my costume was unsuitable for the
+approaching cold weather. There was no disputing that Big Pete was
+Hy-as-ty-ee and I agreed to wear whatever clothes he should make for me,
+and can say with no fear of dispute that if that ancient chump, Robinson
+Crusoe, had had a Big Pete for a partner in place of a man Friday, he
+would have never made himself his outlandish goatskin clothes and a
+clumsy umbrella.
+
+From a cache in the rocks Pete brought forth a miscellaneous lot of
+trappers’ stores, bone needles made from the splints of deer’s legs,
+elk’s teeth with holes bored through them, and odds and ends of all
+kinds.
+
+Among his stuff was a supply of salt-petre and alum, and this was
+evidently the material for which he was searching for he at once
+preceeded to make a mixture of two parts salt-petre to one of alum and
+applied the pulverized compound to the fleshy side of the skins, then
+doubling the raw side of the hides together he rolled them closely and
+placed the hides in a cool place where they were allowed to remain for
+several days; when at length unrolled, the skins were still moist.
+
+“Just right, by Gosh,” he exclaimed, as he took a dull knife and
+carefully removed all particles of fat or flesh which here and there
+adhered to the hide. After this was done to his satisfaction we both
+took hold and rubbed, and mauled and worked the skins with our hands
+until the hides were as soft and as pliable as flannel. Thus was the
+material for my winter clothing prepared.
+
+It took four whole deer-skins to furnish stuff for my buckskin shirt
+with the beautiful long fringes at the seams; but the whole garment was
+cut, sewed and finished in a day’s time. It was sewed with thread made
+of sinew.
+
+When it came to making the coat and trousers Big Pete spent a long time
+in solemn thought before he was ready to begin work on these garments;
+at length he looked up with a broad smile and cried:
+
+“See here, Le-loo, I have taken a fancy to them ’ere tenderfut pants o’
+your’n. Off with ’em now an’ I’ll jist cut out the new ones from the old
+uns.” In vain I pleaded with him to make my trousers like his own; he
+would not listen to me, he insisted upon having my ragged but stylish
+knickerbockers to use as a pattern.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Big Pete was an expert backwoods tailor, shoemaker and shirtmaker, but
+these were but few of his accomplishments, not his trade; he was first,
+last and aways a hunter and scout. No matter what occupation seemed to
+engage his attention for the time it never interfered with his ability
+to hear, see or smell.
+
+It was while I was going around camp minus my lower garments that I saw
+Pete suddenly throw up his head and suspiciously sniff the air, at the
+same time sharply scanning the windward side of our camp. Living so long
+with this strange man made me familiar with his actions and quick to
+detect anything unusual and I now knew that something of interest had
+happened. To the windward and close by us was a mound thickly covered
+with bullberry bushes and underbrush, and so far as could be seen there
+was nothing suspicious in the appearance of the thicket. Fixing my eyes
+on Big Pete, I saw a peculiar expression spread over his face which
+seemed to be half of mirth and half of wonderment, and I immediately
+knew that his wonderful nose had warned him of the presence of something
+to the windward.
+
+Slowly and quietly he laid aside my almost finished breeches and
+silently stole away. It was only a few minutes before he returned with a
+very solemn face.
+
+“Doggone my corn shucked bones, Le-loo, we’ve had a visitor but it got
+away mighty slick and quick. I hain’t determint yit whether it wa’ man
+er beast er both, er jist a thing wha’ might change into ’tother. We’ll
+hafter investigate later. Here git these duds on.”
+
+When I put on my new elk-hide knickerbockers with cuffs of dressed
+buckskin laced around my calves, and my beautiful soft buckskin shirt
+tucked in at the waist I began to feel like a real Nimrod, but after I
+added my “Moo-loch-Capo,” the shooting jacket with elk-teeth buttons,
+pulled a pair of shank moccasins over my feet and donned a cap made of
+lynx skin, I was as happy as a child with its Christmas stocking. It was
+a really wonderful suit of clothing; the hair of the elk hide was on the
+outside, and not only made the coat and breeches warmer, but helped to
+shed the rain. The buttons of the elk-teeth were fastened on with thongs
+run through holes in their centers, and my coat could be laced up after
+the fashion of a military overcoat. The elk’s teeth served as frogs and
+loops of rawhide answered for the braid that is used on military coats.
+
+My shank moccasins were made by first making a cut around each of the
+hind legs of an elk, at a sufficient distance above the heels to leave
+hide enough for boot legs and making another cut far enough below the
+heels to make room for one’s feet. The fresh skins when peeled off
+looked like rude stockings with holes at the toes. The skins were
+turned wrong side out, and the open toes closed by bringing the lower
+part, or sole, up over the opening and sewing it there after the manner
+of a tip to the modern shoe. When this novel foot-gear was dry enough
+for the purpose, Big Pete ornamented the legs with quaint colored
+designs made with split porcupine quills colored with dyes which Pete
+himself had manufactured of roots and barks.
+
+Dressed in my unique and picturesque costume I stood upright while Pete
+surveyed me with the pride and satisfaction of one who had done a fine
+piece of work. I had now little fear of being called a tenderfoot and
+when I viewed my reflection in the spring I felt quite proud of my
+appearance.
+
+“Come along now old scout,” said Pete viewing me with the pride of an
+artist, “come along and let me test you on a real trail. I want to see
+what my teaching has done for you.”
+
+Pete led me through the underbrush to a point among the rocks.
+
+“Tha’. A trail begins right under yore nose; let’s see what you make of
+it,” he said crisply.
+
+Down on all fours I crept over the ground and, to my surprise and joy, I
+found that I could here and there detect a turned leaf the twist of
+which indicated the direction taken by the party who made the trail. I
+noticed that the bits of wood, pine cones and sticks scattered around
+were darker on the parts next to the ground, and it only required simple
+reasoning for me to conclude that when the dark side was uppermost the
+object had been recently disturbed and rolled over.
+
+It was a day of great discoveries. I found that what is true of the
+sticks is equally true of the pebbles and a displaced fragment of stone
+immediately caught my eyes. With the tenacity of a bloodhound I stuck to
+my task until I suddenly found myself at the base of the park wall, at
+the foot of the diagonal fracture in the face of the cliff where I had
+climbed when I discovered the golden trout. As I have said, the
+fracture led diagonally up the towering face of the beetling precipice.
+
+For fear that I might have made some mistake I carefully retraced my
+steps backward toward the bullberry bushes near the camp. On the back
+trail I came upon some distinct and obvious footprints in a dusty place,
+but so deeply interested was I in hidden signs, the slight but tell-tale
+disturbances of leaf and soil, that I once passed these plainly marked
+tracks with only a glance and would have done so the second time had not
+their marked peculiarities accidentally caught my attention.
+
+When examining the trail of this mysterious camp visitor I suddenly
+realized that in place of moccasin footprints I was following bear
+tracks, my heart ceased to beat for a moment or two before I could pull
+myself together and smother the prehensile footed superstitious old
+savage in me with the practical philosophy of the up-to-date man of
+today.
+
+Taking a short cut I ran back to the foot of the pass and there, on
+hands and knees, ascended for a hundred feet or more—the bear steps led
+up the pass, and yet at the beginning of the trail the feet wore
+moccasins. This I knew because at one place the foot-mark showed plainly
+in the gray alkali dust which had accumulated upon a projecting stone a
+few feet below the ledge. Obviously whoever the visitor was, he had
+entered and left by this pass. Returning to camp I sat down on a log
+lost in thought. My reverie was at last broken by the voice of my guide
+quietly remarking. “Well, Le-loo, what’s your judication?”
+
+“Pete,” I said, “that bear walks on its hind-legs; there is not the sign
+of a forefoot anywhere along the trail. Now this could not be caused by
+the hind feet obliterating the tracks of the front feet, because in many
+places the pass is so steep that the forefeet in reaching out for
+support would make tracks not overlapped by the hind ones.”
+
+“That’s true, Le-loo; sartin true. If you live to be a hundred years
+you’ll make as good a trailer as the great Greaser trailer of New
+Mexico, Dolores Sanchez, or my old friend Bill Hassler, who could follow
+a six-month-old trail,” replied my guide. “But,” he continued, “maybe
+witch-bears do walk on their hind legs same as people.”
+
+“Witch be blamed!” I cried impatiently; “this is no four-legged witch
+nor bear either. That was a man and when he thought he would be followed
+he put on moccasins made from bears’ paws to leave a disguised trail.
+And moreover I believe that man is none other than the Wild Hunter
+without his wolf pack. And that pass is the pathway he takes in and out
+of this park. I’m going to trail him whether you want to or not. Goodbye
+Pete, I’ll come back for you,” and picking up my gun and other necessary
+traps, I prepared to start immediately upon my journey, for I felt that
+to follow this trail would not only get us out of our park prison but
+would lead me to the abode of the Wild Hunter, where perhaps I could
+talk with him and learn some of the things I was so eager to know about
+my parents.
+
+Big Pete looked at me solemnly for a while, ran over the cartridges in
+his belt and went through all those familiar unconscious motions which
+betokened danger ahead, and said, “Le-loo, you are a quare critter;
+you’re not afraid of all the werwolves, medicine ba’rs and ghosts in
+this world or the next, but tarnally afeared of live varmints like
+grizzly bars—one would think you had no religion, but, gosh all
+hemlock! If you can face a bear-man or a werwolf, even though all the
+Hy-as Ecutocks of the mountains show fight, I’ll be cornfed if I don’t
+stand by ye! Barring the Wild Hunter, I don’t know as I ever ran agin a
+Ecutock yit; that is if he be a Ecutock. Maybe he’s a Econe? Yes, I
+reckon that’s what he is,” continued Pete reflectively.
+
+“Maybe he is a pine cone,” I laughed. Then added, “Whatever he is, he
+knows the way out of this park of yours and I am going to follow him,” I
+emphatically answered.
+
+“That’s howsomever!” exclaimed my guide approvingly; “but,” he
+continued, “the mountains are kivered with snow, while it is still
+summer down here, so I reckon ’twould be the proper wrinkle for us to
+pull our things together, have a good feed and a good sleep before we
+start. White men start off hot-headed and I kinder like their grit, but
+Injuns stop and sot by the fire an’ smoke an’ think afore they start on
+a raid an’ I kinder think they be wiser in this than we ’uns, so let’s
+do as the Injuns would do. We can cache most of our stuff and turn the
+horses loose. Bighorn’s mutton is powerful good, but tarnally shy and
+hung mighty high, an’ billygoat is doggoned strong ’nless you know how
+to cook ’em. Yes, we’ll eat an sleep fust an’ then his for the land
+where the Bighorn pasture, the woolywhite goats sleep on the rocks, the
+whistling marmot blows his danger signal an’ the pretty white ptarmigan
+hides hisself in the snow-banks, the home of the Ecutocks.
+
+“What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?” I asked.
+
+“An Injun devil, I reckon you’d call it; it’s bad medicine,” he answered
+soberly, and continuing in his former strain, he exclaimed:
+
+“Whar critters like goats, sheeps and rock-chucks kin live, you bet your
+Hy-as muck-a-muck we kin live too!”
+
+That night I rolled up into my blanket, filled with strange
+presentiments. Again the question came up: What is the source of the
+influence that this madman of the mountains, this wild hunter, this
+leader of the black wolf pack, had on me to impel me to trail him over
+the mountains? Was it mental telepathy? Could he really be my father?
+Somehow I felt convinced that soon I would be face to face with the
+riddle, soon I would know the facts and the truth about my parents. It
+seemed unthinkable that all these weeks of wilderness travel had been
+for naught and that the Wild Hunter was nothing but a strange, eccentric
+old fellow living alone in the mountains and of no interest to me
+whatsoever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+We made our start at daylight, loaded with all the necessities for a
+climb over the mountains. The rest of our supplies and equipment we
+cached, and Big Pete turned our horses loose assuring me that in the
+spring he would come back and rope them.
+
+The lower trail of the pass was quite well defined and we made famous
+progress, but the higher we climbed the more difficult the going became
+and more than once we were forced to pause on a ledge to rest and regain
+our breath.
+
+On one ledge I got my first really close view of a bighorn sheep, and I
+became so excited that nothing would do but I must stalk him, despite
+Big Pete’s assurance that the wily old ram would not let me get within
+gun shot of him in such an exposed area.
+
+I crawled, and wriggled, and twisted over rock and boulders for what to
+me seemed miles, but always the sheep kept just out of accurate shooting
+distance ahead of me. It was an exasperating chase, but one cannot live
+in the mountains for any length of time without paying more or less
+attention to geology; the mountaineer soon learns that stratified rock,
+that is rock arranged like layer cake, resting in a horizontal position
+on its natural bed, makes travel over its top comparatively easy, but
+when by the subsidence or upheaval of the earth’s crust huge masses of
+stone have been tilted up edgewise, it is an entirely different
+proposition.
+
+In this latter case the erosion, or the wearing away, caused by
+trickling water, frost and snow, sharpens the edge of the rock, as a
+grindstone does the edge of an ax, and traveling along one of these
+ridges presents almost the same difficulties that travel along the edge
+of an upturned ax would do to a microscopic man.
+
+But when a sportsman, for the first time in his life, has succeeded in
+creeping within range of a grand bighorn ram, and his bullet, speeding
+true, has badly wounded the game, hardships are forgotten, and if, on
+account of the miraculous vitality of the mountain sheep, there is
+danger of losing the quarry, all the inborn instinct of the predaceous
+beast in man’s nature is aroused, and danger is a consideration not to
+be taken in account.
+
+A hawk in pursuit of a barnyard fowl will follow it into the open door
+of the farmhouse; the hound in pursuit of the fox cares not for the
+approaching locomotive—being possessed by the instinct to kill—nothing
+is of importance to them but the capture of the game in sight. A man
+following a buck is governed by a like singleness of purpose.
+
+For this reason I was scrambling along the knife-like edge of the ridge,
+with death in the steep treacherous slide rock on one side, death in the
+steep green glacier ice on the other side, and torture and wounds under
+my feet.
+
+But the fever of the chase had possession of me. I had tasted blood and
+felt the fierce joy of the puma and the wild intoxication of a hunting
+wolf!
+
+The cruel wounds inflicted by the sharp stones under my feet were
+unnoticed. Away ahead of me was a moving object; it could use but three
+legs, but that was one leg more than I had, and the ram had distanced
+me. After an age of time I reached the rugged, broader footing of the
+mountain side, and creeping up behind some sheltering rocks again fired
+at the fleeing ram. With the impact of the bullet the sheep fell
+headlong down a cliff to a projecting rock thirty feet below, where it
+lay apparently dead. A moment later it again arose, seemingly as able as
+ever, and ran along the face of the beetling rock where my eyes, aided
+by powerful field glasses, could perceive no foothold; then it gave a
+magnificent leap to a ledge on the opposite side of the narrow canyon
+and fell dead, out of my reach.
+
+Spent with my long, rough run, I naturally selected the most
+comfortable seat in which to rest; this chanced to be a cushion of
+heather-like plants along the side of a fragment of rock which
+effectually concealed my body from view from the other side of the
+chasm. Here, on the verge of that impassable canyon, I sat panting and
+looking at the poor dead creature upon the opposite side; its right
+front leg was shattered at the shoulder, a bullet had pierced its lungs.
+Yet, with two fatal wounds and a useless leg, the plucky creature had
+scaled the face of a cliff which one would think a squirrel would find
+impossible to traverse and made leaps which might well be considered
+improbable for a perfectly sound animal. The ram was dead and food for
+the ravens, and a reaction had taken place in my mind; I felt like a
+bloody murderer, and hung my head with a sense of guilt.
+
+Presently, becoming conscious of that peculiar guttural noise, used by
+Big Pete when desiring caution, and looking up I was amazed to see a
+splendid Indian youth climb down the face of the opposite cliff, throw
+his arms around the dead ram’s neck and burst into deep but subdued
+lamentation. For the first time I now saw that what I had mistaken for a
+blood stain on the bighorn’s neck was a red collar.
+
+Cautiously producing my field glasses I examined the collar and
+discovered it to be made of stained porcupine quills cleverly worked on
+a buckskin band. The field glasses also told me that the boy’s shirt was
+trimmed with the same material, while a duplicate of the sheep’s collar
+formed a band which encircled his head, confining the long black hair
+and preventing it from falling over his face, but leaving it free to
+hang down his back to a point below the waist line.
+
+So absorbed was I in this unique spectacle that I carelessly allowed my
+elbow to dislodge a loose fragment of stone which went clattering down
+the face of the precipice. This proved to be almost fatal carelessness,
+for, with a movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake, the lad
+placed an arrow to the string of a bow and sent the barbed shaft with
+such force, promptitude and precision that it went through my fur cap,
+the arrow entangling a bunch of my hair, taking it along with it.
+
+“Squat lower, Le-loo; arrows has been the death of many a man afore
+you,” whispered Big Pete in my ear, but even as he spoke another arrow
+sang over our crouching bodies, shaving the protecting rock so closely
+that their plumed tips brushed the dust on our backs.
+
+“Waugh! Good shootin’, by gum! I never seed it beat; if he onct sots
+them black eyes on our hulking carcasses he’ll get us yit,” muttered my
+guide, enthusiastically. “He’s mighty slender, quick and purty—but so
+also be a rattlesnake!” he exclaimed, as another arrow slit the sleeve
+of his wamus as cleanly as if it were cut with a knife.
+
+“For God’s sake, stop!” I shouted, in real alarm. The boy paused, but
+with an arrow still drawn to its head. His eyes flashing, head erect,
+one moccasined foot on the ram’s body, the other braced against the
+cliff; his short fawn-colored skin shirt clung to his lithe body, and
+the fringed edges hung over the dreadful black chasm in front of him. It
+was a picture to take away one’s breath. “Put down your weapon, and we
+will stand with our hands up,” I cried. Slowly the bow was lowered and
+as slowly Big Pete and I arose, holding our empty hands aloft. “Now,
+young fellow, tell us your pleasure.”
+
+There are a few gray hairs showing at my temples which first made their
+appearance while I was crouching behind that stone on the edge of the
+chasm.
+
+To my polite inquiry asking his pleasure, the wild boy made no reply but
+glanced at us with the utmost contempt when Big Pete went through some
+gestures in Indian sign language. The lad mutely pointed to the dead
+sheep, the sight of which seemed to enrage him again, for insensibly his
+fingers tightened on the bow and the wood began to curve after a manner
+which sent me ducking behind the sheltering stone again; but Big Pete
+only folded his arms across his broad chest and looked the boy straight
+in the eyes.
+
+Never will I forget that picture, the cold, bleak, snow-covered
+mountains towering above them, the black abyss of Sheol between them;
+neither would hesitate to take life, neither possessed a fear of death;
+but with every muscle alert and every nerve alive these two wild things
+stood facing each other, mutually observing a truce because of—what?
+Because, in spite of the fighting instinct or, maybe, because of it they
+both secretly admired each other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+The black chasm which separated us from the trail of the wild hunter was
+not as formidable a barrier as the unfathomable abyss which separates
+the reader from what he thinks he would have done had he been in my
+place, and what really would have been his plan of action.
+
+There were a lot of burning questions which I had privately made up in
+my mind to propound to the Wild Hunter, or the even wilder medicine
+bear, upon the occasion of our next meeting. But when the lad was
+standing before me, with bended bow and flashing eyes, the burning
+importance of those questions did not appeal to me as forcibly as did
+the urgent necessity of sheltering my body behind the friendly stone. To
+be truthful, it must be admitted that the proposed inquiries were, for
+the time, entirely forgotten, and I even breathed a sigh of relief when
+the boy suddenly clambered up the face of the cliff, turned, gave us a
+fierce look of defiance, made some quick energetic gestures with his
+hand and disappeared.
+
+He scaled that precipitous rock with the rapidity and self-confidence of
+a gray squirrel running up the trunk of a hickory tree, squirrel-like,
+taking advantage of every crack, cranny and projection that could be
+grasped by fingers or moccasin-covered toes.
+
+Not until the Indian had disappeared down a dry coulee did I venture
+from the shelter of the protecting rock, or realize that my carefully
+planned interview must be indefinitely postponed.
+
+With his arms folded across his chest, his blond hair sweeping his
+shoulders, his blue eyes fixed upon a rocky rib of the mountain behind
+which the boy had disappeared, Big Pete still stood like a statue. But
+gradually the statuesque pose resolved itself into a more commonplace
+posture, and the muscles of the face relaxed until the familiar twinkle
+hovered around the corners of his eyes. “What did he say when he made
+those motions, Pete?”
+
+“Waugh! he said he was not afraid of any whitefaced coyote like us.” And
+bringing forth his pipe, Pete filled it from the beaded tobacco pouch
+which hung on his breast, and by means of a horn of punk, a flint and
+steel, he soon had the pipe aglow and was puffing away as calmly as if
+nothing unusual had occurred. Presently he exclaimed, “Gol durn his
+daguerrotype, what good did it do him to throw that sheep down the
+gulch? Reckon Le-loo and me could find a better grave for mutton chops
+than that canyon bottom. The mountains didn’t need the sheep an’ we did.
+But, I reckon it was his own sheep you killed, ’cause it had a porcupine
+collar same pattern as the trimmings of his shirt.”
+
+Turning his great blue eyes full upon me, he suddenly shot this inquiry,
+“Be he bar, ecutock or werwolf?”
+
+“He is the finest adjusted, easiest running, most exquisitely balanced,
+highest geared bit of human machinery I ever saw,” I answered
+enthusiastically.
+
+“Wall, maybe ye are right, Le-loo, an’ maybe ye hain’t; which is
+catamount to saying, maybe it is a man and maybe it tain’t.”
+
+“Steady, Pete, old fellow, let us go slow; now tell me at what you’re
+driving?” I pleaded.
+
+“It looks to me this hea’-a-way,” he explained. “I’ve seed his trail
+onct or twice, an’ I’ve seed him onct, but I never yet seed his trail
+and the Wild Hunter’s trail at the same time and place. ’Pears to me
+that a man who, when it’s convenient, kin make a wolf of hisself, might
+likewise make a boy of hisself whenever he felt that way. Never heared
+tell on enny real laid who cud climb like a squtton and shoot a bow
+better nor a Robin Hood or Injun, and that’s howsomever!”
+
+“Well, it does look ‘howsomever,’ and no mistake,” I admitted, “and what
+makes it worse, our dinner is at the bottom of this infernal gulch.
+Come, let us be moving; the breeze from the snowfields chills me. Let us
+hit his trail now while it is fresh.”
+
+This was a simple proposition to make, but a difficult one to carry into
+execution; for to all appearances that trail began upon the other side
+of the chasm, and there was no bridge in sight by which we could cross.
+Big Pete carefully put a cork-stopper in his pipe, extinguishing the
+fire without wasting the unconsumed contents; he then carefully put his
+briarwood away and began to uncoil a lariat from around his middle. As
+he loosened the braided rawhide from his waist his gaze was roaming over
+the opposite rocks. Presently he fixed his attention upon a pinnacle
+which reared its cube-like form above the top of the opposite side of
+the chasm; the latter was of itself much higher than the brink upon
+which we stood. Swinging the loop around his head he sent it whistling
+across the chasm, where it settled and encircled the projecting stone,
+the honda striking the face of the cliff with a sullen thud. The rope
+tightened, but when we both threw our weight on our end of the lariat to
+try it, the cube-like pinnacle moved on its base.
+
+“I oughter knowed better than to try to lasso a piece of slide rock,”
+said Pete in disgusted tones, as he cast the end of the braided rawhide
+loose and watched it for a moment dangling down the opposite side of the
+canyon.
+
+“Now, Le-loo, we must get over this hole or lose the best lariat in the
+Rocky Mountains. We kin look for that boy’s trail on this side, for even
+if he be an Ecutock, I’ll bet my crooker bone ’gainst a lock of his hair
+that he can’t jump th’ hole, an’ I’ll wager my left ear that he’s got a
+trail an’ a bridge somewhar—’nless he turns bird and flops over things
+like this,” he added, with a troubled look.
+
+“Pete,” said I, “never mind the bird business. I’ll admit that there is
+a lot of explanation due us before we can rightly judge on the events of
+the past few weeks; still I think it may all be explained in a rational
+manner; but what if it cannot? We have but one trip to make through this
+world, and the more we see the more we will know at the end of the
+journey. I am as curious as a prong-horned antelope when there is a
+mystery, so put your nose to the ground, my good friend, and find the
+spot where this Mr. Werwolf, witch, or bear flies the canyon, and maybe,
+like the husband of ‘The Witch of Fife,’ we may find the ‘black crook
+shell,’ and with its aid fly out of this ’lum.”
+
+“I believe your judication is sound, Le-loo; stay where you be an’ if he
+hain’t a witch I’ll bet my front tooth agin the string of his moccasin
+that I’ll find the bridge, and I’ll swear by my grandmother’s hind leg
+that that little imp will pay for our sheep yit.”
+
+As Pete finished these remarks there was a sudden and astonishing change
+in his appearance. His head fell forward, his shoulders drooped, his
+back bowed and his knee bent. It was no longer the upright statuesque
+Pete the Mountaineer, but Peter the Trailer, all of whose faculties were
+concentrated upon the ground. With a swinging gait the human bloodhound
+traveled swiftly and silently along the edge of the crevasse, noting
+every bunch of moss, fragment of stone, drift of snow or bit of moist
+earth, reading the shorthand notes of Nature with facility which far
+excelled the ability of my own stenographer to read her own notes when
+the latter are a few hours old. But a short time had elapsed before I
+heard a shout, and, hurrying to the place where my big friend was
+seated, I inquired, “Any luck?”
+
+“Tha’s as you may call it. Here is wha’ tha’ boy jumped,” he replied,
+pointing to some marks on the stone which were imperceptible to me, “an’
+tha’s wha’ he landed,” he continued, pointing to a slight ledge upon the
+face of the opposite cliff at least twenty feet distant. “He’s a jumper,
+an’ no mistake—guess I might as well have my front tooth pulled, fur
+I’ve lost my bet,” soliloquized the trailer, as he sat on the edge of
+the cliff, with his legs hanging over the frightful chasm.
+
+The ledge indicated by Big Pete as the landing place of the phenomenal
+jumper might possibly have offered a foothold for a bighorn or goat, but
+I could not believe that any human being could jump twenty feet to a
+crumbling trifle of a ledge on the face of a precipice, and not only
+retain a foothold there, but run up the face of the rock like a fly on a
+window-pane. Yet I could see that something had worn the ledge at the
+point indicated and when I stood a little distance away from the trail I
+could plainly note a difference in color marking the course of the trail
+where it led over the flinty rocks to the jumping place.
+
+“Wull, Le-loo! What’s your opinion of the Ecutock now? Do he use wings
+or ride a barleycorn broom?” asked Pete, with a triumphant smile.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Apparently there was no possible way by which we might hope to cross the
+canyon, and I threw myself prone upon the top of the stony brink of the
+chasm and peered down the awful abyss at the silver thread, shining in
+the gloom of the shadows, which marked the course of a stream, and
+wondered what the Boy Scouts of Troop 6 of Marlborough would do under
+the circumstances.
+
+I studied the face of the opposite cliff in a vain search for some hint
+to the solution of the problem before us, looking up and down from side
+to side as far as allowed by the range of my vision. At length my
+attention wandered to the perpendicular face of the cliff, on the top of
+which my body was sprawled; there was an upright crack in the face of
+the stone wall, and as I examined the fracture I saw that a piece of
+wood had lodged in the crack; a piece of wood in a crevice in a rock is
+not so unusual an occurrence as to excite remark; but when it occurred
+to me that we were then far above the timber line, my interest and
+curiosity were at once aroused.
+
+The end of the stick was within a short distance from my hand, and
+reaching down I grasped the wood and brought forth, not a short club or
+stick, as I thought to be concealed there, but a very long pole. The
+result of my investigations was so unexpected that I came dangerously
+near allowing the thing to slide through my fingers and fall to the
+bottom of the canyon. It was a neatly-smoothed, slender piece of
+lodge-pole pine which was brought to view, and it had a crooked root
+nicely spliced to one end and bound tightly in place with rawhide
+thongs. Big Pete was wholly absorbed in the trail, the study of which he
+had resumed, and when I looked up he was down on all fours, minutely
+studying the ground. Presently he cried, “Le-loo, tha’ pesky lad ha’
+been over wha’ you be after sompen and he took it back tha’ again afore
+he made his jump! If you’re any good you’ll find what the lad was
+after.”
+
+“He was after his barleycorn broomstick,” I replied, proudly, “and here
+it is, although I must confess it is a pretty long one for a fellow of
+his size, and it looks more like a giant Bo-Peep’s crook than a witch’s
+broom.”
+
+Big Pete eagerly snatched the pole from my hands and examined it
+carefully. At length he said, “This hyer is the end used for the handle;
+one can see by the finger marks, an’ this crook is used to scrape stone
+with, one kin see, with half an eye, by the way the end is sandpapered
+off. Over tha’ air some marks on the stone which look almighty like as
+if they’d been made by the end of this yer hook slipping down the face
+of the rock.
+
+“Now, I wonder wha’ cud be up tha’ on the top of the rock that the boy
+wanted,” mused Big Pete, and for a moment or so he stood in silent
+thought; at length he exclaimed, “Why, bless my corn-shucking soul, if I
+don’t believe he’s got a lariat staked out tha’ an’ crosses this ditch
+same as we-uns aimed to do!” With that he began raking and scraping the
+top of the opposite rock with the shepherd’s crook, and presently there
+came tumbling and twisting like a snake down the face of the cliff, a
+long braided rawhide rope with a loop at the bottom end.
+
+“Waugh, Le-loo! tha’s no witchcraft ’bout this ’cep the magic of
+common-sense; but we hain’t through with him yit!” By this time Pete had
+the end of the rawhide rope in his hands and was testing the strength of
+its anchorage upon the opposite cliff. The point where it was fastened
+projected some distance over the ledge, where the supposed landing-place
+was located, thus making it possible for one to swing at the end of the
+rope from our side without danger of coming into too violent contact
+with the opposite cliff.
+
+As soon as my big friend was satisfied that the rope was safe he
+grasped it with his two hands, and with one foot in the loop and the
+other free to use as a fender, he sailed across the abyss and landed
+safely upon the crumbling ledge opposite.
+
+Holding fast to the rawhide rope with his hands and bracing his feet
+against the rock, Pete could walk up the face of the cliff by going
+hand-over-hand up the cable at the same time. He had almost reached the
+top when I was horror-stricken to see a small hand and brown arm reach
+over the precipice; but it was neither the grace nor the beauty of this
+shapely bit of anatomy which sent the blood surging to my heart, but the
+fact that the cold gray glint of a long-bladed knife caught my eyes and
+fascinated me with the fabled “charm” of a serpent. The power of speech
+forsook me, but with great effort I succeeded in giving utterance to the
+inarticulate noise people gurgle when confronted in their sleep by a
+shapeless horror. Big Pete heard the noise, but he was not unnerved
+when he saw the knife, neither did he show any nightmare symptoms,
+although he was dangling over the terrible abyss with a full knowledge
+that it needed but a touch of the keen blade of that knife to sever the
+straining lariat and dash him, a mangled mass, on the rocks below. The
+danger was too real to give Pete the nightmare; there was nothing spooky
+to him in the glittering knife blade, and only ghosts and the
+supernatural could give Big Pete the nightmare. Calmly he looked at the
+hand grasping the power of death with its strong tapering fingers.
+Suddenly and in a firm, commanding voice he gave the order, “Drap tha’
+knife!”
+
+Ever since I had been in the company of this masterful forest companion
+I had obeyed his commands as a matter of course, and so was not
+surprised to see the fingers instantly relax their grasp and the knife
+go gyrating to the mysterious depths. In a few moments Big Pete was up
+and over the edge of the rock and hidden from my view.
+
+Seizing the long-handled shepherd’s crook, I caught the dangling end of
+the lariat, and was soon scrambling up the face of the cliff, leaving a
+trail which the veriest novice would not fail to notice and sending
+showers of the crumbling stones down the path taken by the knife; it was
+several minutes before I had clambered over the face of the projecting
+crag and was safe across the black chasm which lay athwart our trail.
+
+If the Wild Hunter was indeed my father, he certainly was a woodcrafter
+and scout to bring pride to a fellow’s heart, for I doubted not that the
+Indian boy was his retainer because the porcupine quill decorations on
+his buckskin shirt had the same peculiar pattern as that on the wamus of
+the Wild Hunter himself as well as on the collar of the pet sheep I had
+killed, and also on the buckskin bag of gold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Only those persons who have made solitary trips over snow-capped
+mountain ridges can appreciate the overwhelming feeling of solitude that
+I felt on looking about me. To whatever point of view I turned my eyes
+were greeted with a tumbled sea composed of stupendous petrified
+billows.
+
+The occasional fields of snow were the white froth of the stony waves
+and the turquoise colored glacial lakes between the crags rather added
+to the effect of an angry ocean than detracted from it.
+
+On a closer examination, some of the rocks appeared to be rough bits of
+unfinished worlds still retaining the form they had when poured from the
+mighty blast furnaces of the Creator. It was God’s workshop strewn with
+huge fragments, still bearing the marks of His mallet and chisel; yet
+these cold barren wastes were the pasture lands of the shaggy-coated
+white goats and the lithe-limbed bighorned sheep.
+
+Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced the air and with a jump I
+instinctively looked for a vision of the Wild Hunter, but a moment later
+realized that the sound I heard was but the warning cry of a whistling
+marmot. Again the silence was broken, this time by a low rumbling sound
+which increased in volume until it roared like a broadside from an old
+forty-four-gun man-of-war, each crag and peak taking up the sound and
+hurling it against its neighbor, until the reverberating noise seemed to
+come from all points of the compass.
+
+Away in the distance I could see a white stream pouring from the
+precipitous edge of an elevated glacier; this seeming mountain torrent I
+knew was not water, but ice, thousands of tons of which having cracked
+and broken from the edge of the glacier, were now being dashed over the
+hard face of the rock into minute fragments.
+
+The white stream could be seen to decrease perceptibly in size, from a
+broad sheet to a wide band, a narrow ribbon, a line, a hair and then
+disappear altogether. While the distant mountains were still growling,
+mumbling and playing shuttlecock with the echoes a timid chief hare went
+hopping across a green half-acre of grass at the damp edge of a melting
+snow patch in my path. Overhead a golden eagle sailed with a small
+mammal in its talons; strange reddish-colored bumblebees busied
+themselves in a bunch of flowers growing in a crevice in the rocks at my
+feet.
+
+But my eye could discern no larger creatures in this Alpine pasture
+land; not only could I see no sheep or goats, but not a sign of my
+friend. He had vanished from the face of the picture as completely as if
+the master artist had erased him with one mighty sweep of his paint
+brush.
+
+When I viewed the lonely landscape with no human being in sight, I
+confess to experiencing a creepy sensation and a strong inclination to
+flee, but I knew not in what direction to run. I was in a rough
+basin-shaped depression among the mountain peaks, and I sat on a large
+rock with my back to a black chasm. From my elevated position I could
+see a long distance. Strange fancies creep into one’s head on such
+occasions and play havoc with previous well-founded beliefs. To me, poor
+fool of a tenderfoot, Big Pete had melted into the thinnest of thin air,
+such as is only found in high altitudes, and somehow I wondered whether
+the Wild Hunter had had anything to do with it.
+
+How could I tell that I myself was not invisible?
+
+I hauled myself up short there for I realized that such folly was not
+good to have tumbling around in my brain. I figuratively pulled myself
+back to earth, and to steady my nerves reached into my pack and brought
+out several hard bits of bannock that I had stored there. I was
+dreadfully hungry and I munched these with enthusiasm, meanwhile
+keeping a sharp eye out for Big Pete, and between times making the
+acquaintance of the little chief hare who, as he scuttled about among
+the rocks, looked me over curiously.
+
+A short distance to my left was a huge obsidian cliff, the glassy walls
+of which rose in a precipice to a considerable height. On account of its
+peculiar formation, this crag of natural glass had several times
+attracted my attention, and on any other occasion I would have been
+curious enough to give it closer inspection. Once, as I turned my head
+in that direction, I thought I heard a wild laugh and later concluded
+that it was only imagination on my part, but now, as I again faced the
+cliff, I unmistakably heard a shout and was considerably relieved to see
+silhouetted against the sky the figure of Big Pete.
+
+“Hello, Le-loo,” he shouted. “Through chasin’ that ’ere spook Indian kid
+be you? It’s about time. Gosh-all-hemlocks! I been breakin’ my neck
+tryin’ to keep up with you, doggone yore hide,” shouted the big guide as
+he started to climb down toward me.
+
+“Hello, Pete! You bet I’m through and I’m blamed near all in. Where are
+we, do you know?” I called to him.
+
+“Top o’ the world, my boy. Top o’ the world, that’s whar we be,” he said
+with a grin.
+
+I had seen no game since I had lost the bighorn, and the sunball was now
+hung low in the heavens. It appeared to me that there was every prospect
+for a supperless night, too. But Big Pete evidently had no such idea,
+and he “’lowed” that he would “mosey” ’round a bit and kill some
+varmints for grub.
+
+There seemed to be plenty of mountain lion signs, and I was surprised
+that they should frequent such high altitudes, but Pete told me that
+they were up here after marmots, and were all sleek and fat on that
+diet. I would not have been surprised if my wild comrade had proposed a
+feast on these cats. But it was not long before Pete’s revolvers could
+be heard barking and in a short time he returned with two braces of
+white ptarmigan, each with its head shattered by a pistol ball, and I
+confess these birds were more to my liking than cat meat. Up there ’mid
+the snow fields the ptarmigan apparently kept their winter plumage all
+year round, and their natural camouflage made them utterly invisible to
+me, but to Pete, a white ptarmigan on a white snowfield seemed to be as
+easy to detect as if the same bird had been perched on a heap of coal. I
+had not seen one of these grouse since we had been in the mountains and
+was not aware of their presence until my companion returned with the
+four dead birds.
+
+Without wasting time, Pete began to prepare them for cooking. He soon
+built a fire of some sticks which he gleaned from one or two twisted and
+gnarled evergreens that had wandered above timber line and cooked the
+birds over the embers. He gave a brace to me, and sitting on a boulder
+with our feet hanging over the edge we ate our evening meal without salt
+or pepper, and then each of us curled up like a grey wolf under the
+shelter of a stone and slept as safely as if we were in our bed rolls
+down in the genial atmosphere of the park in place of being in the
+bitingly cold air of the bleak mountain tops.
+
+I, at least, slept soundly, and, thanks to the clothes Pete had so
+kindly made for me, I do not remember feeling cold. When I awoke again
+it was daylight and I could scarcely believe that I had been asleep more
+than five minutes since my friend bade me good-night. Big Pete was up
+before me, of course, and when I opened my eyes I found him cooking
+breakfast and making tea in a tin cup over those economical fires he so
+loved to build even when we were in the park where there was fuel enough
+for a roaring bonfire. It’s queer how difficult it is to make water boil
+on a mountain top.
+
+“Well, now fer the witch-b’ar track agin,” said Big Pete, wiping his
+mouth.
+
+“Witch-bear!” I exclaimed. “Oh—yes—you don’t mean to tell me you kept
+following the track of that two-legged bear this far, Pete?” I
+exclaimed, suddenly recalling that we had started out following a
+mysterious moccasin trail that had later turned into bear tracks.
+
+“Sartin’ sure. Didn’t you figger out that that tha’ b’ar war the Injun
+or tha’ Wild Hunter who put on moccasins made o’ b’ar feet when he
+thought we’d foller him?” asked Pete.
+
+“Yes, I did, but I forgot—maybe that ram was the Wild Hunter
+himself—blame it. Nothing will astonish me in this country.”
+
+“Yes, you fergot everything, even yore head when you started to foller
+that tha’ ram yesterday. But I didn’t. I jest kept peggin’ away at them
+tha’ rumswattel b’ar tracks and I followed ’em right up to yonder cliff.
+They go on from tha’, but I left ’em last night to come over by you.
+Come on, we’ll pick ’em up agin.” And off he started.
+
+It was soon evident that it was an exceedingly active bear which we were
+following for it could climb over green glacier ice like a Swiss guide
+and over rocks like a goat. It led us a wild, wild chase over crevasses,
+friable and treacherous stones covered with “verglass,” over dangerous
+couloirs and all the other things talked of in the Alps but forgotten in
+the Rockies, to high elevations, where frozen snow combed over the
+beetling crags, and the avalanches roared and thundered down the rocks,
+dashing the fragments of stone over the lower ice fields. We were not
+roped together like mountain climbers in the Swiss or Tyrolean Alps; we
+got the real thrills by using our own hands and feet without ice pick,
+staff or hobnailed shoes.
+
+But Big Pete never hesitated and I followed him without a word, and when
+the trail led along the edge of a dizzy height I could look at the
+middle of Big Pete’s broad back and then my head would not swim. It
+required quick and good judgment to tell just how much of a slant made a
+loose stone unsafe to step upon. It was exciting and exhilarating work,
+and the violent exercise kept me so warm that I carried most of my
+clothes in a bundle on my back. Presently our path led us into a goat
+trail, one of those century old paths made by shaggy white Alpine
+animals, and used by them as regular highways. There were plenty of
+fresh goat signs, and the broad path led us over a saddle mountain to
+the verge of a cliff, beyond which it seemed impossible for anything but
+birds to pursue the trail. Here we sat down to rest and to make a cup of
+tea over a tiny fire, although wood was plentiful at this place, it
+being in the timber line.
+
+Below us lay a valley, into which numerous small glaciers emptied their
+everlasting supply of ice and blocks of stone, and horse-tail falls
+poured from the melting snow fields. It might have presented enchanting
+prospects to an iceman or a bighorn, or a Rocky Mountain goat, but for
+two tired men it was a gloomy, dangerous and desolate place and I felt
+certain that even a witch-bear would not choose such a dangerous place
+as a camping ground. We had finished our tea and I was feeling somewhat
+refreshed when I noticed a peculiar stinging sensation about my face; I
+felt as if I had been attacked by some peculiar form of insect. But
+there were none in sight.
+
+Pete, at this time, was some distance away prospecting the “lay of the
+land.” I saw him suddenly pull the cape of his wamus over his face, and
+reasoned that he also had been attacked by these invisible insects.
+
+To my surprise, the big fellow seemed very much alarmed, and every time
+I shouted to him it greatly excited him. As he was hurrying to me as
+rapidly as possible, I desisted from further inquiry. When Big Pete
+reached my side he pulled a handkerchief from around my neck and put it
+over my mouth, making signs which I did not comprehend. At last he put
+his muffled mouth to my ear and shouted through the cape of his wamus.
+“Shut yer meat-trap or you’re food for the coyotes. It is the WHITE
+DEATH!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Clothes and stage trappings can neither add nor detract from our respect
+for death. He is the same grim old gentleman, be his mouldy bones naked,
+or clothed in robes of the most gaudy or brilliant hues. A blue death, a
+red death or a yellow death is just as grizzly and awe-inspiring as one
+of any shade of gray. Even a black death excites no emotions not touched
+by the first name, for it is the dread messenger himself whom we respect
+and not his fanciful robes of office.
+
+As far as I am personally concerned, I confess that Big Pete’s painful
+suggestion about the coyotes had more to do with keeping my mouth shut
+than any terror inspired by the lily-like purity of the garments of the
+white death; what made my bones ache was the thought of the wolves
+gnawing them.
+
+Overhead the sun shone with an unusual brilliancy, and the atmosphere
+had that peculiar crystalline transparency which kills space and brings
+distant objects close to one’s feet. Where then was the terrible white
+messenger? Why must my head be muffled like a mummy? Why must I keep my
+mouth shut, while the curiosity mill within me was working overtime
+grinding out questions I should dearly love to ask?
+
+Again and again I looked around me to see where this ghostly white
+terror might lurk, and now, as I gazed at the mountains, I was surprised
+and annoyed to discover that the distant peaks were gradually
+disappearing, being blotted out of the landscape before my eyes; a
+ghost-like mantle was creeping over and enshrouding the mountains.
+
+Like Big Pete, the witch-bear, the ptarmigan and the stinging insects,
+the mountains themselves had joined in the weird game and were donning
+their fernseed caps of invisibility. Now the air around and about me
+seemed to be filled with powdered dust of mica that glinted, sparkled
+and scintillated in the sunshine. The breeze which was tossing about the
+bright atoms loosened the handkerchief which swathed my nose and mouth,
+and I was seized with a violent fit of coughing.
+
+It was no gentle hand which Big Pete laid on my shoulder before he again
+bound the handkerchief around my face and motioned for me to follow him.
+
+Evidently my guide had been making good use of his time while I was
+engaged in idle speculation, for he led me to a point about fifty yards
+from the goat trail where there was a possible place to descend the
+cliff to a ledge fifty feet below. By this time I had become enough of a
+mountaineer to follow my guide over trails which a few weeks previous
+would have seemed to me impossible to traverse, and after a hasty and
+daring descent we reached the ledge, where I discovered the black mouth
+of a cavern; into this hole Pete thrust me and led me back some twenty
+yards into the darkness, ordered me to disrobe to the waist, then he
+began a most vigorous and irritating slapping and rubbing of my chest;
+so insistent and persevering was he that I really thought my skin would
+be peeled from shoulders to waist. At last he desisted and ordered me to
+put on all my clothes.
+
+“Are you mad, Pete? Has the rarefied air of the mountains upset your
+brain? If not, will you kindly tell me what on earth all this means and
+why we are hiding in this gloomy hole?” I asked as soon as I got the
+breath back in my body.
+
+“Le-loo, you be a baby, and need a keeper to prevent you from committing
+susancide several times a day. Tenderfoot? Well, I should say so. No one
+but a short-horn from the East would keep his mouth open gulping in the
+frozen fog, filling his warm lungs with quarts of fine ice. I reckon it
+would be healthier to breathe pounded glass, fur it hain’t sharper nor
+half as cold. Why, Le-loo, tha’ be a dose of fever and lung inflammation
+in every mouthful of this frozen fog.”
+
+He held my face between his two strong hands so that the faint light
+that filtered through the murky darkness from the cavern’s mouth dimly
+illuminated my countenance, and as he watched the streams of
+perspiration falling in drops from the end of my nose his frown relaxed
+and a broad grin spread over his handsome features.
+
+“You’re all right this time,” he added “I calculate that I’ve melted all
+the ice in your bellows, so just creep up tha’ and sweat a bit more to
+make it slick and sartin that we’ve beat the White Death this trip.” I
+did as he said, not because I wanted to sweat but because habit made me
+obey the commands of my guide.
+
+Evidently this cavern had been in constant use by some sort of animals
+as a sort of stable for many, many years, and I have had sweeter
+couches, but by this time my rough life had transformed me into
+something of a wild animal myself, and it was not long before I was
+comfortably dozing. During the time that I slept I was dimly conscious
+of being surrounded by a crowd of people; as the absurdity of this
+forced itself through my sleep-befuddled brain and I opened wide my
+eyes, what I saw made me open my eyes still wider.
+
+I was about to start to my feet when I felt Big Pete’s restraining hand
+on my shoulder, and not until then did I realize that the cave was
+crowded with the shaggy white Rocky Mountain goats, and not weird,
+white-bearded old men. Few persons can truly say that they have been
+within arm’s length of a flock of these timid and almost unapproachable
+animals; but we had invaded their secret place of refuge, and they had
+not, as yet, taken alarm at our presence in their castle. It may be that
+the frozen fog had driven the goats to the cavern for shelter, and it is
+possible that never having been hunted by man, these animals feared the
+White Death more than they did human beings, and did not realize the
+dangerous character of their present visitors; whatever the cause of
+their temerity, the fact remains that men and goats slept that night in
+the cavern together.
+
+I did not awake next morning until after the departure of the goats and
+opened my eyes to find myself alone in the cavern.
+
+Having all my clothes on, no time was wasted at my toilet, but I made my
+way directly to the doorway and was gratified to discover that Big Pete
+was roasting some kid chops over the hot embers of a fire.
+
+After breakfasting on the remains of the kid, Big Pete arose and scanned
+the sky, the horizon and the mountain tops, and turning to me said,
+“Now, Le-loo, that Wild Hunter-b’ar-wolf man has fooled us by doubling
+on his trail an’ as it hain’t him we’re after now but the trail out of
+the mountains, I mean to go by sens-see-ation, but you must keep yer
+meat-trap shut and not speak, ’cause soon as I know I’m a man I hain’t
+got no more sense than a man. I must say to myself, ‘Now, Pete, you’re a
+varmint and varmints know their way even in a new country.’ Then I just
+sense things and trots along ’til I come out all right.”
+
+I had often heard of this wonderful instinct of direction, the homing
+instinct of the pigeon, which some Indians, Africans, Australian black
+boys and a few white men still possess; I say still possess because it
+is evident that it was once our common heritage, a sort of sixth sense
+which has been lost by disuse. That Big Pete possessed this sixth sense
+I little doubted, and it was with absorbing interest that I watched the
+man work himself into the proper state of mind.
+
+For quite a time he stood sniffing the air and looking around him while
+his body swayed with a slow motion. Then suddenly, as if he had seen
+something or as if answering the call of something, he started off
+almost at right angles to our trail, acting very much like a hound on an
+old scent, but keeping up a pace that tried my endurance.
+
+It was truly wonderful the way this man, in a trance-like state, was
+guided by an invisible power over the most dangerous ground, but no one,
+after a careful survey, could have selected a better trail than that
+chosen by Big Pete. On and on we went, scrambling over rock-skirting
+precipices and crumbling ledges. A dense fog settled around us, making
+each step hazardous, but with an instinct as true and apparently
+identical with that of our four-footed brothers, my guide kept the same
+rapid pace for hours, and then, all of a sudden, came to an abrupt stop.
+
+For several seconds he stood in his tracks, his body keeping the same
+swaying motion, but after a short while he crept cautiously forward in
+the fog, with me at his heels, and we found ourselves at the edge of a
+giant fault, similar to the one in Darlinkel Park, but there was
+apparently no pass to let us down the towering precipices to the valley
+below.
+
+“Well, that was a wonderful trip,” I cried.
+
+“Shut up!” shouted Pete savagely, but I had spoken and the spell was
+broken; reason, not instinct, must now lead us.
+
+Vapor and clouds concealed the low grounds from our view; however, we
+were determined not to spend another night in the mountains, so while I
+rested and regained my breath, Big Pete went on to explore the ledges.
+
+Presently my guide hove in sight and motioned me to follow him; he led
+me to a place where another goat trail went over the edge of the
+precipice, this time not in ten and fifteen feet jumps, but by a steep
+diagonal path. Down the treacherous trail we slipped and slid with a
+wall of rocks on one side and death in the form of a bluish white space
+on the other side.
+
+As we were clambering carefully around the face of a big rock Pete
+suddenly whispered that he smelt a “Painter,” and upon peering around
+the corner we found ourselves face to face with a large cat; the animal
+was crouching upon a flat-topped projecting stone immediately in our
+path. That it was not the puma of the low-lands, its reddish-colored
+coat and great size proclaimed. It was a so-called mountain lion and a
+grand specimen of its kind.
+
+The cat’s small head lay between its muscular forepaws, its hair adhered
+closely to its body, its long tail was full and round and waved slowly
+from side to side, while its eyes gleamed like electric sparks.
+
+We were in a most awkward position; our guns were swung by straps over
+our backs, so that we might use our hands, and we were clinging to the
+face of the big rock while our toes were seeking foothold in the
+treacherous shale of the trail. To loosen our hands was to fall
+backwards into the bluish white sea of unknown depths, and to retrace
+our steps was out of the question.
+
+Pete often expressed the opinion that no predaceous creature, from a
+spider up to a cougar, will attack its prey while the latter is
+immovable.
+
+As a corollary to this proposition he said that when a person is
+suddenly confronted by a dangerous wild beast, the safest plan to pursue
+is to remain perfectly quiet, or, as he quaintly put it, “to peetrify
+yourself in the wink of an eye.”
+
+Truth to tell, on this occasion I found no difficulty in following his
+directions. I was “peetrified” by fear; my feet were cold and numb,
+chills in wavelets washed up and down my spine, a sudden rash seemed to
+be breaking out all over my body and the skin on my back felt as if it
+had been converted into goose-flesh.
+
+Had we been able to travel a few feet further we would have both found a
+comparatively safe footing and had our arms free and a fighting chance
+with the big catamount in place of hanging suspended to the face of the
+rock like two big, helpless, terrified bats.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+With an imperceptible movement, as steady and almost as slow as that of
+a glacier, my guide twisted his neck until his face was turned from the
+puma and the side of the mouth pressed against the flat surface of his
+rock. I was crowded up against Big Pete, who occupied a position but
+slightly in advance and a little above me. My agony of fear having
+somewhat subsided I ventured to steal a momentary glance at my comrade’s
+face. To my unutterable surprise I discovered a whimsical twinkling at
+the corners of his eyes and a mirthful expression of mischief in his
+countenance. This was incomprehensible to me, for I could imagine no
+more awe-inspiring position than the one we then occupied.
+
+While my thoughts were still busy trying to fathom the cause of Pete’s
+untimely mirth, the long-drawn howl of the big timber wolf floated over
+the valley and sent a new lot of shivers down my back. It was the
+rallying call used by the wolves to call the band together when game is
+in sight. The sound increased in volume until it reverberated among the
+crags like the voice of a winter’s storm, and then it gradually died
+away. Big Pete was not only a good mimic but he proved himself to be a
+ventriloquist of no mean ability; by the help of the rock against which
+his cheek was pressed he had been able to throw his voice off into space
+in such a manner that it baffled me for several moments.
+
+The gray wolves are old and inveterate enemies of the panther or cougar,
+hunting the cats on all occasions. Consequently all panthers know the
+meaning of that wild lonesome howl, the assembling call, as well as the
+oldest wolf in the pack, and its effect upon the lion in our path was
+instantaneous. The hair, which had a moment before been as slick as if
+it were oiled, now rose upright until the fuzzy hide gave the animal’s
+body the appearance of being twice its original size.
+
+Scarcely had the big cat vacated the path before we scrambled to the
+firm foothold and I breathed a great sigh of relief when it was reached.
+But Big Pete was convulsed with suppressed laughter at the practical
+joke he had played on the mountain lion.
+
+“Gosh darn my magnolia breath! That painter went as if he had a ball of
+hot rorrum tied to his tail,” cried my guide.
+
+It was difficult for me to realize that it was Big Pete himself who had
+given vent to that shuddering howl, and now the danger was over I
+pleaded with him to give another exhibition of his skill in wolf calls.
+
+The good-natured fellow at first seemed reluctant to repeat his
+performance, but at length consented and put his hands to his mouth,
+forming a trumpet, then bent forward his body, stooping so low that his
+face was was below his waist, after which he began again that wild cry
+which so closely resembles in sentiment and tone the shriek of the wind.
+As the sound increased in volume the man waved his head from side to
+side; continuing the movement he gradually assumed an upright pose, and
+ended by making a low obeisance as the sound died away.
+
+The imitation was perfect and I was expressing my delight and
+appreciation when my ear caught a distant sound which put a sudden stop
+to our conversation.
+
+Was it the wind which I now heard? No! there was not a breath of air
+stirring, neither was it an echo. There could be no doubt about it, the
+long-drawn sepulchral howl which filled and permeated the shivering air
+was an answering cry to Big Pete’s call.
+
+Scarcely had the sound waves faded away when in the mysterious distance
+came another and another answer, until it seemed as if a troop of lost
+souls were vocalizing their misery. I unslung my gun and loosened my
+revolvers in their fringed holsters, but Big Pete only shrugged his
+shoulders and said,
+
+“Come, let’s be moseying. ’Taint nothin’ but wolves.” A fact of which I
+was as well aware of as Pete, but I, tenderfoot that I was, could not
+treat howling of wolves with the same unconcern as did my guide.
+
+We soon reached a point where the goat trail turned again up the
+mountain and we forsook that ancient path for a diagonal fracture very
+similar to the one by which we had ascended, which led down the face of
+the precipice “slantendicularwise,” Big Pete said, and soon plunged into
+the bluish gray sea which filled the valley. We were now enveloped in a
+dense fog, which added materially to the dangers of the journey. I had
+had so many thrills in the last few moments that my nerves were becoming
+dull and failed to vibrate on this occasion, so that descending the
+cliff in a fog by a diagonal fracture in the rock became only an
+incident of our journey; this trail, however, was wider than the one by
+which we ascended.
+
+The Rocky Mountains are full of new sensations and I got a new one when
+I discovered that the fog through which we had been traveling was in
+reality a cloud, and, all unexpectedly, we emerged into the clear mellow
+light below the floating vapor. It was an enchanting scene which met our
+eyes; below us stretched a beautiful valley.
+
+For the first time in months I saw a human habitation. The blue smoke
+from the chimney ascended slowly in a tall column and then floated
+horizontally in stratified layers. There were fields of ripe grain,
+orchards, groves, pasture lands and a winding stream fringed with
+poplars, which flowed in a tortuous course across the valley. As I
+feasted my eyes on the peaceful scene a great longing took possession of
+my soul.
+
+Big Pete, too, was lost in thought, conjured up by the scene below us.
+He stood leaning on his rifle with his eyes fixed on the enchanting
+picture; so full of unconscious dignity was his pose, so immovable stood
+the mountain man that he looked like a grand statue done by a master
+hand.
+
+But what thoughts were conjured up in the guide’s brain by the
+unexpected sight of this ranch could not be interpreted from the
+expression of his countenance, for that showed no more trace of emotion
+than an American Indian at the torture stake, or the marble face of a
+Greek god. Presently he shifted his pose, threw back his head, and Big
+Pete’s eyes were fixed on the valley in front of us, as with distended
+nostrils he sniffed the mountain air, his brows contracted to a frown,
+his eyes lost their gentle angelic look and seemed to change from China
+blue to a cold steel color, and his tightly closed mouth had a stern
+expression about the corners which appeared altogether out of keeping
+with the occasion.
+
+“Rot my hide!” he exclaimed, “if I hain’t had a neighbor all these years
+and never knowed it. Waugh! Some emigrant—terrification seize him!—has
+found another park an’ squatted, t’ain’t more’n eight miles as a crow
+flies from mine, nuther, Le-loo.” He looked at the sun and muttered.
+“Hang me, but ’tis t’other end of my own park,” then he paused a moment
+and added fiercely, “if these geysers know when they are well off,
+they’ll steer shy of Darlinkel Park. If I catch ’em scoutin’ ’round my
+claim, I’ll send ’em a-hoppin’.”
+
+“Bless me, you are neighborly,” exclaimed a voice in smooth, even tones.
+
+“What!” said Pete, looking sternly at me. “Did you speak?”
+
+“I said nothing,” I replied.
+
+Big Pete’s countenance changed and he ran his hands over the cartridges
+in his belt in the old familiar manner, and with a motion quicker than I
+can describe it, whipped out his revolvers and wheeled about face, at
+the same time snapping out the words, “Throw up your hands!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+We were standing on the surface of a flat table-rock, which jutted out
+from the face of the towering cliff and overhung the valley that was
+spread out like a map beneath us. About twenty feet back from the edge
+of the rock was a pile of debris heaped up against the face of the
+cliff; but the remaining surface of the stone was clean bare and
+weather-beaten. The talus against the cliff was composed of loose
+fragments of stone and other products of wash and erosion. This was
+overgrown with a thicket of stunted shrubs, wry-necked goblin thistles
+and murderous devil’s clubs. These bludgeon-shaped plants, thickly
+covered with sharp thorns, reared aloft their weapons as if in menace to
+all living things; the unstable ground and thorny thicket formed the
+only shelter where we could be ambushed in the rear, and it was not a
+likely spot to be chosen for such a purpose by man or beast.
+
+When Big Pete wheeled about face with his trusty revolvers in hand, I
+quickly followed his example, and our mutual surprise may be imagined
+when we found ourselves gazing in the faces of a semicircle of gigantic
+wolves. The animals were squatting on their haunches at the foot of the
+talus, their wicked slant eyes fixed upon us and their red tongues
+lolling out from their cavernous mouths.
+
+I cannot tell why, whether it was the state of my nerves or the effect
+of the rare air of the high altitude, or what, but I felt no fear at
+facing this strange wolf pack. Indeed, to me they appeared all to be
+laughing and their red tongues lolled from their open mouths in a very
+humorous fashion.
+
+The whole scene appeared to me to be exceedingly funny and, in a spirit
+of utter reckless bravado, I doffed my fur cap, with exaggerated
+politeness made a low bow, and, addressing the largest and most
+devilish-looking wolf in the pack, exclaimed,
+
+“Ah! this is Monsieur Loup-Garou, I believe. Pardon me, Monsieur, but
+did you speak a moment since?”
+
+But Big Pete Darlinkel looked at the wolves, and great beads of sweat
+stood on his forehead. It was his turn to have the shivers. There was no
+more color in his face than in a peeled turnip. His gun shook in his
+left hand like a aspen, while the spangled gun in his right hand dropped
+its muzzle towards earth and there was scarcely strength enough in his
+nerveless fingers to have pulled a hair-trigger.
+
+Pete’s great baby-blue eyes turned helplessly to me; but it was now my
+innings, and with a cheery voice I cried,
+
+“Why, Pete, old fellow, what ails you?” Then meanly quoting his own
+words, I added, “They hain’t nothing but wolves!”
+
+There is not a shadow of a doubt that Pete expected the wolves to answer
+me with human voice, and I am willing to confess that, even to me,
+there seemed to be no other alternative for the slant-eyed bandits to
+pursue. But for the present they appeared to prefer to maintain a solemn
+silence.
+
+The middle wolf had been looking intently at us for some time before a
+well-modulated voice said,
+
+“I have answered your call, gentlemen; how can I serve you?”
+
+I was more than half expecting some such answer, but if it had not been
+so evident that Big Pete was badly frightened and had lost all his
+self-possession, I should have thought he was again practising his art
+as ventriloquist.
+
+Of course I deceived myself. The wolves had no more power of speech than
+a house-dog. But I really thought the wolves were doing the talking
+until I caught sight of a tall man of handsome and distinguished
+appearance seated among the weird goblin-thistles just above the wolves.
+The stranger appeared to be a man of almost any age; he might be young
+but, if old, he was wonderfully well preserved. He was clad in a
+light-colored buckskin suit of clothes, edged and trimmed with fur, a
+fur cap on his head and moccasins on his feet. And I noticed, with a
+start, that he had that same red porcupine quill ornament on his hunting
+shirt that the young Indian wore.
+
+When I saw how his dress blended perfectly with his surroundings I
+excused myself for not sooner detecting him. I could not help but admire
+his easy grace and the sense of reserved strength in his strong figure.
+The calmness and repose forcibly reminded me of the mountain lion we had
+lately encountered.
+
+“You kin hackle me and card my sinews, if it hain’t the Wild Hunter
+himself an’ his pack,” said Big Pete under his breath.
+
+The color now began to return to his face and at the recollection of his
+late rude words the big fellow blushed like a school girl. Gradually he
+recovered his self-possession, and, doffing his cap, made a low bow as
+graceful and as courtly as that of any polished courtier. This was an
+entirely new side to my friend’s character and I listened with interest
+when he said,
+
+“Sir, whether you be loup-garou, werwolf, witch-b’ar or all them to
+onct, I do not care. What I want ter say is ef that tha’ ranch yander be
+your’n, you may hamstring me ef I hain’t proud to have such a man for a
+neighbor. Whatever else you be yore no shavetail or shorthorn, an’
+that’s howsomever. I don’t mind sayin’ that yore a better shot an’ all
+around hunter an’ mountain man than Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton, Davy
+Crockett, Kit Carson, Bison McClean and Jim Baker all rolled in one.
+Yore the slickest woodsman on the divide. I’m powerful proud of you as a
+neighbor and would be still prouder ef I might call you my friend.”
+
+Our strange visitor displayed a beautiful white set of teeth as a frank
+smile played over his smooth face. But his only answer at that moment
+was an inclination of his head and a muttered command to the wolves,
+which they instantly obeyed by silently disappearing in the underbrush.
+
+After a pause the tall stranger came forward, and, removing his own cap,
+made a bow even more courtly than that of Big Pete, as he thus replied:
+“Sir, I feel highly honored at this flattering expression of
+commendation. I can honestly say that it is the greatest compliment I
+have ever received from a stranger, and,” he added with another winning
+smile, “you are the first stranger with whom I have held converse in
+nearly twenty years. That I am not unfriendly I have already proved by
+some trifling services, but the honor of the acquaintance is mine.”
+
+After the formalities of our meeting were over the stranger stood for a
+few moments with his chin resting on his breast. He was evidently
+thinking over some serious subject. His head was bare, his fur cap being
+in his hands, and his hands locked behind his back. A mass of light
+colored hair fell over his forehead and shoulders.
+
+Presently he looked at us again, with that same grave smile on his face,
+and said that if we would consent to be blindfolded and trust ourselves
+implicitly to his care, he would be glad to take us to his home and
+would feel honored if we should choose to visit him.
+
+“You can proceed no further on this trail for it ends here, and not even
+a goat can go beyond the rock on which we stand, therefore we must
+retrace our steps a few hundred yards,” he explained, as he apologized
+for his strange proposition. He securely bandaged our eyes with our own
+handkerchiefs, and after turning us around until I at least had lost all
+sense of direction, he placed thongs in our hands, and then we
+discovered that we were to be led by some sort of animals, presumably
+wolves. Whatever else they were, they proved to be careful and sagacious
+leaders.
+
+After a short distance of rough climbing where we constantly needed the
+personal help of our mysterious host, we began to descend and soon our
+feet told us that we were traveling on a comparatively smooth though
+steep trail. Now and again our guide would speak to warn us of stones or
+other obstructions in our path, but, with the exception of these
+necessary words of caution and brief words expressing approval or
+reproof to the animals, we made the journey in silence and in due time
+reached the bottom, and our feet told us that we were walking on a level
+shale-covered path.
+
+At this point the creatures leading us were dismissed and we could hear
+them scrambling back over the trail. We heard the bleating of sheep, the
+lowing of cattle and all the multiplicity of noises so familiar on a
+well-stocked farm, and we could easily detect the different odors as
+familiar and characteristic as the noises. We enjoyed to its fullest
+extent the novelty of the homely sensations aroused by the smell of
+new-mown hay and the familiar medley of sounds peculiar to the farm.
+
+In due time we found ourselves at the foot of a couple of wooden steps,
+which we ascended, and, crossing a broad veranda, entered a doorway.
+Here we stood awaiting further commands in utter ignorance of our
+surroundings. Of course, we surmised we were in the ranch house which we
+saw from the table rock, but this was only a surmise.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said the strange old man, “you are welcome to my home, and
+allow me to add that you are the only white men who have ever crossed
+the threshold of this house.”
+
+As he ceased speaking he removed the bandages from our eyes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+It was a strange place, indeed, in which I found myself. Our eyes were
+unbandaged after we entered the portal of the ranch house, and when Big
+Pete and I turned toward our guide, we were facing in a direction that
+gave us a sweeping view of the entire ranch. And what we saw made us
+marvel.
+
+This farm, between the towering, almost insurmountable mountains, had
+evidently been wrenched from what two decades before had been as much of
+a wilderness as the Darlinkel Park across the divide. Timber clothed the
+mountains on either hand but the fertile valley bottom was as rural as a
+district of the middle west. On one hand stretched acres and acres of
+ripened grain. Beyond was pasture land dotted with strange whitefaced
+animals, which later proved to be hybrid buffalos, a strange cross
+between wild and domestic cattle.[3] In other pastures and on the
+hillsides I could see goats and sheep, and these too were evidently a
+cross breed of wild and domestic stock, the goats having a very strange
+resemblance to the fleet-footed shaggy old fellows we had seen on the
+mountains, while the sheep closely resembled usual domestic sheep.
+
+  [Footnote 3: Since that time the late Buffalo Jones has bred
+  buffalo and domestic cattle and called the offspring “catelow.”]
+
+There were stables, too, and corrals, all made of logs, as was the ranch
+house, but what seemed very strange to me was the fact that there were
+no horses in sight. All of the animals at work in the fields were those
+strange hybrid buffalo-oxen, all save one, a single, lame and apparently
+almost blind burro that I saw lying in the sun. From his grayness about
+the head I had little doubt that he was of great age.
+
+There were hordes of strange poultry too,—strange to me at least, for
+never had I expected to find flocking together wild turkeys, Canadian
+geese, black ducks, wood ducks, and mallards (all with wings clipped so
+that they never again could fly), sage hens, quail, spruce-grouse,
+partridge, ptarmigan and western mountain quail. All seemed perfectly at
+home and comfortably domesticated.
+
+Beyond the poultry houses was still another outhouse, a long, low, log
+building before which was a lawn. On the lawn were all manner of perches
+and roosts and on these, sunning themselves and preening their feathers,
+were several types of predaceous birds, ranging from huge and powerful
+female eagles to smaller hawks and true falcons. This evidently was the
+Wild Hunter’s falconry.
+
+Another thing that made an instant impression upon me was the number of
+men at work about the place. The workmen were all, without an exception,
+Indians, and as they moved about silently, their stoic, almost
+expressionless faces held a decided look of contentment, a few of them
+turned toward the porch with a frank, honest stare. There was no
+evidence of fear or restraint in their actions but they always gave the
+wolf dogs plenty of room as they passed them. These black beasts were
+ugly, snarling things that showed no love for anyone; on the least
+provocation menacing growls rumbled in their throats.
+
+What manner of place was this that we had permitted ourselves to be led
+into? Indeed, what manner of man was this strange host of ours? I shot a
+sidelong glance at him and it seemed to me as if I caught a strange,
+hunted look in his eyes, and a sad smile on his handsome but grim
+countenance. A slight feeling of fear crept into my heart. Could this
+strange man be my father? For some reason he certainly did attract me
+and excite my sympathy, yet I stood in awe of him. The strangeness of my
+surroundings, too, settled upon me. I turned toward Pete and I had a
+premonition of evil. I could see that he too was affected the same way.
+The valley was an earthly paradise, the Wild Hunter a kindly gentleman,
+what then was it that gave me an uncomfortable and uneasy feeling? I
+was eager to be alone with Pete for I knew that he would have some
+interesting observations to make.
+
+“I am disappointed, gentlemen, you say nothing. Isn’t my ranch
+interesting to you?” demanded the Wild Hunter, with a smile. In a low
+smooth voice he gave some orders to a young Indian who was walking
+toward the stables. The Indian instantly snapped into action and hurried
+away as if one of the black wolf dogs were snapping at his heels, and I
+felt certain that it was the youth whom we had been trailing.
+
+A hurried and very unpleasant thought flashed through my mind: What was
+the source of the power the Wild Hunter held over these Indians? They
+were not slaves in this mountain-surrounded prison; this grim, forceful
+but kindly wild man did not hold them through fear. He always smiled
+when he greeted them, but he never smiled at his wolves; when giving
+them orders or even looking at them, the expression of his face was
+stern and almost fierce. But the man had asked a question. He was
+expecting an answer.
+
+“It is a wonderful place,” I managed to stammer; “who could conceive of
+such a remarkable ranch buried here in the heart of the wilderness?”
+
+“It’s a ring-tailed snorter, hamstring me if it hain’t,” said Big Pete
+in an attempt to be enthusiastic.
+
+The man’s face glowed with pleasure.
+
+“You are the first white men to see it. I think I have achieved
+something here in the wilds, thanks a great deal to Pluto and his
+strain.”
+
+“Eh, what?” exclaimed Big Pete in alarm.
+
+“To—to—whom,” I gasped, for to have the man actually confess an
+alliance with Satan rather startled me also.
+
+The Wild Hunter chuckled in an amused manner.
+
+“Thanks to Pluto, I said. But Pluto is that black wolf-dog over there,
+nevertheless. I think that the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a
+nicety.”
+
+He pointed to the massive, deep-chested, long-haired, long-limbed,
+vicious looking leader of his black wolf pack where it was chained to a
+post. The great animal glared at his master when his name was mentioned.
+He crouched twenty feet away with his slanting green eyes fixed
+constantly on his master’s face and in them ever flared a fierce, wicked
+fire.
+
+“Yes, you son of Satan, you and your hybrid whelps have helped me do all
+this in spite of the fact that you hate me, and would love to tear me
+limb from limb. You splendid, ugly brute, you are insensible to
+kindness!”
+
+I noticed that whenever he looked the wolf in the face his own
+countenance became grim and his eyes exceedingly fierce and not unlike
+the wolf itself in expression.
+
+[Illustration: “I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a
+nicety”]
+
+“He hates me,” he continued, turning to us, “because of his ancestors.
+In him is the blood of a Great Dane noted for its strength, size and
+ferocity, a fierce brute which I brought over the mountains with me many
+years ago. Pluto’s mother was a pure black wolf of a mean disposition,
+and his father the half-breed son of a Great Dane and a she-wolf. He is
+the fiercest and most bloodthirsty beast in the whole pack, he hates me
+with the intense hatred of his wolfish nature, he hates me because he
+knows that I am the master of the pack, the real leader, and he is
+jealous. Since his puppy days he has watched for a chance to kill me;
+twice he nearly succeeded—the time will no doubt come when it will be
+his life or mine. Yet because of his wonderful strength, endurance and
+sagacity, I could almost love him.
+
+“His breed does not want to recognize any master. But _I am_ his
+master!” cried the Wild Hunter as his eyes flashed and he struck himself
+on his chest, “and he knows it. The only way, however, that I keep my
+power over him and his pack is by forcing myself to think every time I
+speak to them, now I am going to _kill you_, and brutes though they are
+they can read my mind and fear me. Besides which self-interest helps a
+little towards their loyalty. With me for a leader there is always a
+kill at the end of the hunt, and they know that they come in for a share
+of the food.
+
+“Sometimes I fear the wolves will break loose and attack my Indians,
+which I would very much regret, for the Redmen are faithful fellows and
+we form a happy community. The Indians look upon me as Big Medicine
+because I can control these medicine wolves.”
+
+Big Pete looked at the man with open admiration, a man who by the sheer
+power of his will could control a band of wolves, any one of which was
+powerful enough to kill an ox, certainly was a man to please the wild
+nature of Big Pete. “But,” said Pete, “you say Pluto has helped you.
+How?” he asked.
+
+“How,” exclaimed the Wild Hunter, “why, gentlemen, by governing the pack
+as savage as himself. The pack is the secret of my whole success; my
+power over them first won the allegiance of the Indians, won their
+admiration and their respect. They know that I could turn those wolves
+upon them at any moment, but they also know that I would not think of
+doing such an act and they are human and love me; the wolves are brutes
+and not susceptible to kindness. The wolves hate the Redmen as they hate
+me, but they supplied us all with food, they secured for us our winter
+meat while the men worked to build houses and clear the land, and thus
+made it possible for us to start this settlement. They even acted as
+pack animals for us, each of them carrying as much as seventy pounds in
+weight on their backs. But be on your guard, gentlemen, be on your
+guard! Remember that you are strangers to the wolves and they will not
+hesitate, if the opportunity offers, to rend you and even devour you.”
+
+A moment later his expression changed.
+
+“Enough of this,” he exclaimed in pleasanter tones, “come, dinner is
+served,” and turning, he led the way through the broad doorway of the
+log ranch house into an almost sumptuously furnished dining room where
+two silent, soft-footed Indians began immediately to serve a truly
+remarkable meal.
+
+“He may be lo-coed,” whispered Pete to me as we took our places at the
+table, “but I’ll tell the folks, he is a master looney alright. He knows
+how to make Injuns love him and varmints fear him, he kin pack all his
+duffle in my bag, he need not cough up eny money when he’s with me.
+Reckon we be alright here, but waugh! we’ve gotter watch tha’ black wolf
+pack!—yes and also that young Indian whose ram you shot; it seems he
+looks after the wolves and sees to it that they are fastened up in their
+corral. I wouldn’t want him to be sort of careless, you know.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+What a dining room that was! All of logs, high ceilinged, with smoked
+rafters stained like an old meerschaum pipe. It reminded me of a wealthy
+man’s hunting lodge in Maine, perhaps, rather than the abode of a wild
+man. There was a huge yawning fireplace at one end, above which was the
+finest specimen of an elk’s head I have ever seen. There were other
+heads, too, prong-horned antelope, beautiful bison heads, remarkable
+specimens of bighorn sheep and mountain goats, there were buffalo robes
+and wolf robes strewn over the floor, and there were abundant well
+stocked gun cases on every hand.
+
+But conspicuous among the collection of firearms was one, kept apart,
+polished and cleaned, and on a rack made of elk horns handily placed
+just above the big mantle. It was beautifully though not elaborately
+made, with a fine damascus barrel of tremendous length, a lock and set
+trigger that showed expert handicraft, and stock of beautifully polished
+birds-eye maple. An expert would have known immediately that it was a
+first-water product of an expert gunsmith.
+
+Big Pete noticed it as soon as I did and he could not keep his eyes from
+roving to it occasionally during the meal.
+
+“You may scalp me, stranger, fer sayin’ it, but I’d like mightily well
+to heft that tha’ shooting iron o’ your’n and examine it when we git
+through with chuck,” he said.
+
+Our strange host looked up at the rifle, then searchingly at Big Pete.
+
+“I don’t mind showing it to you, but you must not touch it,” he said
+finally.
+
+“I reckon I wouldn’t hurt it none. I’ve handled guns before,” said Big
+Pete shortly, and I could see that he was piqued at the man’s attitude.
+
+“Guess you wouldn’t, but I’ve made it a rule never to let strange hands
+touch that rifle,” said the strange man, and there was a grimness about
+his tone that forbade quibbling.
+
+“Huh, well I can’t say as perhaps yore not right about yore shootin’
+hardware at that,” said Pete. Then after glancing at it again, he added,
+“a hunter’s gun and a woodsman’s ax should never be trusted in strange
+hands. Bet a ten spot it’s a Patrick Mullen. Hain’t it?”
+
+The name of my kinsman, the famous gunsmith, brought a sudden
+realization that Mullen was my own family name.
+
+The mention of the gunsmith seemed also to have a curious effect on the
+old man. His face grew red under the tan and his brow wrinkled and I
+could see his cold blue eyes scrutinizing Big Pete closely. Finally he
+said bluntly,
+
+“It is, and it’s worth a thousand dollars.”
+
+“A thousand dollars!” I exclaimed, “a thousand dollars?”
+
+“Yes,” cried the old man almost fiercely, “yes, yes, and it is my gun.
+He gave it to me, he did—to me and not to Donald. He—”
+
+He stood up suddenly as if he intended to stride over and seize the gun,
+to protect it from us but as quickly sat down again and buried his face
+in his hands, and I could see him biting his lips as if he were
+attempting to control his feeling.
+
+As for me, quite suddenly a great light seemed to dawn. This strange old
+man was mentioning names that were familiar—that meant worlds to me. I
+leaned toward him eagerly. Big Pete stood quietly listening, a silent
+but interested spectator.
+
+“Did you know Donald Mullen, a brother to the famous gunsmith? Tell me,
+did you know him? I have come all the way—”
+
+I stopped in wonder. Never in all my life do I ever expect to witness
+such a pitiful expression of anguish pictured so vividly on the human
+countenance as it was on the face of the Wild Hunter.
+
+“What,” he whispered, “did you know him?”
+
+“He was my father,” I answered simply.
+
+For a moment the Wild Hunter looked at me intently, then said, “I
+believe you, you favor him somewhat.” He then came forward as if to
+shake my hand, but changed his mind and sat down with a forced and wan
+smile.
+
+“Did I know Don Mullen? Did I? He was my partner, my bunkee for many
+years and on many prospecting trips, a better bunkee no man ever had,
+but he is dead now, dead! dead! dead! been dead for a dozen years. He
+was killed by an avalanche. A better partner no man ever had,” he
+murmured and relaxed into silence.
+
+My efforts to get more information of my parents were of no avail. The
+Wild Hunter turned the conversation in other directions.
+
+Of course, the knowledge that my real father was dead, had been dead a
+long time, caused me a feeling of sadness, yet strangely enough the
+little knowledge that I had gleaned from this strange old man brought a
+sense of relief to me. I think that it must have been a certain sense
+of satisfaction to know that this queer man was not my father.
+
+But if he was not Donald Mullen, who was he? That question kept me
+pondering and for the rest of the meal I was silent, speculating on this
+strange situation, nor did I have an opportunity to note, as Big Pete
+did, the tearful, kindly glances that the Wild Hunter shot at me now and
+then.
+
+Still, for all, he was sociable, extremely sociable, and talkative, too,
+but I fancy now as I recall it, he was simply keeping the conversation
+in safe channels, for it was very apparent that the rifle and his former
+mining partner were painful subjects.
+
+Dinner over, we all went out onto the porch of the ranch house, where we
+talked while the twilight lasted. At least Big Pete and the Wild Hunter
+talked as they smoked two of those mysterious long cigars, but I was
+still silent because of the many strange thoughts that were romping
+through my mind.
+
+Soon darkness settled down and Big Pete began to yawn. I also was
+heavy-eyed, and presently the Wild Hunter clapped his hands and summoned
+a leather-skinned old Indian to whom he gave brief low command in the
+Mewan Indian tongue, as I was afterwards informed by Big Pete, then
+turning to us he said in his fascinating soft voice:
+
+“It will probably be a novelty for both of you gentlemen to again sleep
+in a bed between sheets and under a roof. I doubt whether you will enjoy
+it even though the sheets are clean linen which were spun and woven by
+my noble Indians. Moose Ear, here, will conduct you to your rooms and I
+will take a turn about the place before retiring to see that all is
+well, and also to see that my black wolf pack is securely confined
+within the wolf corral. This is a precaution, gentlemen, which I take
+every night, because a wolf is a wolf no matter how well trained he may
+be upon the surface, and night is the time wolves delight to run. These
+beasts are especially dangerous to strangers and it is for that reason I
+am putting you in the house in place of allowing you to camp outdoors,
+as I know you would prefer to do. Good-night, gentlemen, see that the
+doors are closed. Pleasant dreams.”
+
+As we said good-night to him I wondered vaguely if the wolf pen was
+securely built, for it seemed to me that I detected a suggestion of
+doubt in the mind of the Wild Hunter himself. I little realized,
+however, the horrors the darkness had in store for us.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Moose Ear, the silent, wrinkled old Indian, with lighted candles made of
+buffalo tallow, guided Big Pete and me up the broad skilfully built
+puncheon stairway to the upper story of the surprisingly large ranch
+house, where he showed us to our rooms, rooms which were a joy to look
+upon. Each was furnished with a heavy, hand-made four-posted bedstead,
+which in spite of the massiveness was beautifully made, and I wondered
+at the patience of the Wild Hunter in teaching the Indians their
+craftmanship.
+
+The other furniture in the room was also hand wrought, as were the fiber
+rugs on the floor and the checked homespun blankets on the beds. There
+was a harmonious and pleasing effect; the rooms were cheerful, abounding
+in evidences of Indian handicraft. Beadwork and embroidery of dyed
+porcupine quills were prevalent, even the tester which roofed the
+four-post bedstead was ornamented with fringes of buckskin and designs
+made of beads and porcupine quills. The chairs and floors were
+plentifully supplied with fur rugs, and the quaint, old-fashioned
+appearance of the room in nowise detracted from its comfort or even
+luxury.
+
+If it had not been for the uncomfortable thought of that pack of black
+wolves outside, I am sure I would have been supremely happy at the
+prospect of once more spending a night between clean and cool sheets and
+a real feather pillow on which to rest my head. Eagerly and almost
+excitedly I threw off my clothes and donned the long, linen nightshirt
+with which old Moose Ear had provided me. Then I put the buckhorn
+extinguisher over the candle and dove into the feather bed as gleefully
+as a child on Christmas Eve.
+
+I expected to immediately fall asleep, but there is where I made a
+mistake; my mind would not cease working, the wheels in my head kept
+buzzing and would not stop. I was as wide awake as a codfish; the bed
+was comfortable, too comfortable, but tired though I was I felt no
+inclination to sleep. I thought it was the strangeness of my
+surroundings which kept me tossing from side to side, but I soon
+realized that the trouble was to be found in the fact that for months I
+had only had the sky for my roof, never using our tents or open faced
+shack except in bad weather; but here, the ornamented tester of the bed
+and the ceiling itself seemed to be resting on my chest; in spite of the
+wide open windows the room seemed stuffy and oppressive. I felt as if I
+would suffocate.
+
+Twice I got up and sat by the open window and gazed out at the black
+landscape. The sky was cloudy and there were no stars; this combined
+with the pine trees about the ranch house made the darkness so black and
+thick that it seemed as if one might cut it in chunks, with a knife. The
+air felt good to breathe but I did not propose to sit by the window all
+night so at last I arose, put moccasins on my feet and, taking my
+blankets with me, stole stealthily down the stairs, opened the front
+door and made my bed on the floor of the broad piazza. I had not
+forgotten the warning to keep indoors, but I thought I would rather risk
+the wolves than to smother all night.
+
+In the darkness I discovered another occupant of the piazza also rolled
+up in a blanket taken from a bed in the house. Feeling with my hands I
+discovered that it was Big Pete. Comfortably settling myself in my
+blanket I felt the breeze from the mountain blowing over my face and
+through my hair, and it soothed me until I dropped off into gentle
+slumber; but during the months I had been sleeping in the open I had
+learned the art, as the saying is, of sleeping with one eye open. In
+this case, however, if the eye had really been wide open it could have
+seen nothing because of the darkness, but the darkness did not interfere
+with my ability to hear, and after I had been sleeping awhile I found
+myself suddenly sitting bolt upright in my blankets with beads of
+perspiration on my forehead and that terrible sensation of horror which
+one experiences in a nightmare. I knew that I had heard something, but
+what?
+
+The oppressive silence of the wilderness made the valley appear as if
+Nature was holding her breath for a moment before giving voice to an
+explosion of sound. I sensed impending disaster of some sort. What it
+was I could not guess, but was convinced that something was about to
+happen.
+
+As I held my breath and listened, the ranch house was silent; even Pete
+had not, apparently, awakened, but I could not hear his regular
+breathing. Now I thought I could detect a soft and very faint noise as
+of some large body creeping over the puncheon steps. I also imagined I
+detected the noise of padded feet and the scraping noise of claws on the
+wood. A shudder ran through me. Was a panther, a mountain lion, about to
+spring upon me? No, I abandoned the thought and instinctively I knew
+that it must be one of the black wolf pack. Then I remembered hearing
+the cracking and breaking of sticks or timber while I was trying to
+sleep in the bedroom, and I felt that Pluto had broken out of the pen
+and was creeping up on us slowly and stealthily as I have seen a fox
+creep up on a covey of quail.
+
+Would the beast presently hurl its terrible form upon me, or on Big
+Pete? I attempted to warn my friend, but my tongue clung to the roof of
+my mouth and for the moment I was powerless and speechless, subdued by a
+combination of fear of the real beast and superstitious fear of the
+fabulous werwolf or loup-garou,[4] but the next moment I pulled myself
+together, mastered my trembling limbs, rolled softly out of my blankets,
+and gun in hand wormed my way toward the spot where Big Pete lay,
+determined to sell my life dearly. With Big Pete beside me, now that I
+was thoroughly awake, I would fight all the werwolves of the old world
+and all the loup-garous of Canada. I reached out and felt for Pete but
+he was not there, the blankets were empty; once or twice I thought I
+detected the glint of the wolves’ eyes, but the night was very dark and
+in the shadow of the roof I could really see nothing.
+
+  [Footnote 4: A werwolf, or loup-garou, is a legendary man who,
+  it was formerly believed, could at will take on the form and
+  nature of a wolf.]
+
+Closer and closer sounded the stealthy, dragging noise, and I heard a
+hand feel softly for the latch of the front door and could hear fingers
+scraping ever so softly over the wood surface of the other side. A
+slight rattle told me that the hand had found the latch and that
+presently the door would be flung open. With my revolver ready I waited
+developments and braced myself for the attack.
+
+The door flew open wide, and the voice of the Wild Hunter cried,
+
+“Pluto, you fiend, down! down! I say!”
+
+But this time the huge brute did not obey and the command was answered
+by a low rebellious growl, a scratching of feet on the puncheons, and a
+heavy thud of someone falling told me that the final struggle for the
+leadership of the black wolf pack had begun.
+
+Then burst upon the stillness of the night such an uproar that for a
+moment I thought the whole pack was mixed in the fight, but at length I
+heard Pluto’s snarling, rumbling growl, answered by the distant howl of
+the wolf pack, followed immediately by a close-by yell that chilled my
+blood; after this came Big Pete’s war cry, then the crash of falling
+objects, shrieks and growls and savage yells.
+
+I had flung myself forward, and there in the pitch darkness of the
+doorway of the hall I felt and heard rather than saw the lean twisting
+bodies of the Wild Hunter and Pluto clasped in a life and death struggle
+on the floor. I feared to use my revolver, as it would have been
+impossible to tell whether I was shooting the hunter or the wolf.
+
+Suddenly a light burst upon the scene. Big Pete’s absence was
+explained; he had secured a lantern and holding it aloft with his left
+hand, with a six-shooter in his right, he paused a moment over the
+struggling figures. By the light of the lantern one could see that the
+Wild Hunter was on his back struggling with the giant beast which he was
+trying to choke with his two hands, while the wolf’s teeth were seeking
+the throat of the man. It was a terrible scene but it was no time to
+waste in horror. The efforts of the hunter to free himself from his
+terrible assailant would have been of little avail but for the
+assistance of Big Pete, for the wolf was shaking the wild man from side
+to side with terrific force, very much the same as a bull-terrier might
+shake a cat.
+
+Pete wasted no time but placing the muzzle of his gun against the wolf’s
+head he fired, then shouted to me, “Look behind you.”
+
+As I wheeled about I found that I was facing the rest of the pack. Pluto
+reared upon his hind legs, clawed the air frantically in his death
+struggle, and fell with a thud across his master’s body, but Pete and I
+were now concentrating our fire on the snarling, leaping bodies of the
+wolf pack. Fortunately the death of Pluto and the silence of the Wild
+Hunter seemed to discourage the pack, they evidently missed their
+leaders and this gave us the advantage, for if they had rushed us we
+undoubtedly would have fallen victims to their savage teeth.
+
+In the melee the lantern was upset and the struggle ended in darkness as
+it began, but when things quieted down and Pete relit the lantern there
+were only two wolves which were alive and they were fiercely attacking
+each other. We soon dispatched them, however, and then devoted our
+attention to the Wild Hunter over whose body Big Pete was now bending.
+
+“By the great horn spoon, Le-loo!” cried he, looking up for a moment,
+“we’ve wiped out the pack, and now that the scrap is over here comes the
+Injuns. I calculate our friend here is a dead one; Pluto has chewed him
+to pieces. Come, lend a hand and we will see what we can do for the poor
+old man; he certainly did put up a glorious fight.”
+
+Reaching down I gathered the old man’s legs in my arms, and with Big
+Pete supporting his head and shoulders, we carried him into my room and
+laid him on the feather bed under the savagely ornamented tester.
+
+Big Pete was all action then, and I helped as best I could. The Scout
+ripped one of the homespun sheets into ribbons and with these made
+bandages and proceeded to stay the flow of blood from the old man’s
+lacerated throat. He worked hard and long and now and then he would
+shake his head dubiously. Presently he muttered, “’Taint much use, Ol’
+Timer, I guess yore a goner. Yore goneta pass over t’ Divide this time,
+I guess. That tha’ Pluto fiend done chewed you up fer further orders.”
+
+At this the old man opened his eyes, and a grim smile wrinkled his now
+ashen face.
+
+“I knew he’d do it some day, and I think he got me this time. The Mewan
+Indians call the giant wolf “Too-le-ze” and that is also the name they
+gave me, but I am not a werwolf, a loup-garou or a Too-le-ze. I was only
+their master but now their victim.
+
+“I feared that Pluto, as I call him, or Too-le-ze, was strong and
+treacherous and that is why I ruled him with an iron hand. He’s got me
+this time. I guess it had to end this way—give me a cup of water.”
+
+He then fixed his gaze on me and I noticed that he no longer had that
+worried, haunted look which had heretofore characterized him.
+
+“So you are Donald’s son—well, when I heard Pluto stalking you I knew
+that it was you or your uncle that the beast would get; it was fate that
+made me slip and fall, and once down the wolf saw his long-looked-for
+opportunity and instantly availed himself of it. But the good Lord was
+not going to allow me to bring bad luck to both you and your father,
+boy. Yes, I am Fay Mullen and I caused the death of your father, and my
+brother. I bear the brand of Cain.
+
+“We were crossing a steep bank of snow at the foot of a cliff, and being
+both tired and hungry we were bickering and quarreling over nothing. I
+should have remembered that your father was but just recovering from an
+attack of nervous prostration, but I did not; we had been months in the
+mountains prospecting and the unprofitable toil and loneliness must have
+got on my nerves. At any rate, after some hot, unbrotherly language, we
+agreed to part company.
+
+“We sat down on the snow and divided our outfit by lot. I got the
+flint-lock Patrick Mullen, the fierce Great Dane and the gentle little
+donkey; your father got the packhorse and the Winchester rifle.
+
+“We—we—parted without saying good-bye, and just then an elk came out
+on the snow bank. Instantly your father fired and I fired, the elk fell,
+but the simultaneous concussion of the reports of the two rifles started
+the snow to moving. The Great Dane and the donkey sensed the danger and
+fled to the right. I turned to warn your father and motioned him back,
+but he came on a run toward me and I fled at the heels of my outfit. The
+burro and dog escaped to safety, I was caught in the edge of the slide,
+knocked unconscious and buried in snow, from which the dog rescued me.
+
+“A fragment of stone struck me on the head and I have never been the
+same since then. Your father and his outfit are buried under five
+hundred feet of snow and rocks. I camped nearby for days but could find
+no trace of my brother and all the time a voice seemed to cry, ‘You
+killed your brother; you are marked with the brand of Cain.’
+
+“This thought has haunted me night and day and I have never quarreled
+with a man since then; for fear that I might do so, I have avoided white
+men ever since and buried myself in these mountains. I found this valley
+and I hid here and with the aid of the Great Dane and the wolf dogs I
+bred, as beasts of burden, I built this ranch. I—I—was afraid—all the
+time, though—afraid someone would—find out about—Donald’s death and
+blame it on me. When you—said—you—were—Donald’s son I was
+frightened—I thought you’d come to get me—for killing your—father
+and—I—I—I was going to kill myself. But Pluto got—me—and saved me
+from further guilt. I—”
+
+He said more, but neither Big Pete nor I could understand him. Indeed,
+he kept mumbling incoherently for an hour or more while we watched over
+him and did all that we could to make him comfortable until the death
+rattle in his throat put an end to his mumbling. But despite our
+efforts, he passed on at dawn. Just as the first warm light of the sun
+glowed above the mountains, he breathed his last.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now you know why my private den is just cram full of the things you
+fellows like. You may also guess where I procured the black wolfskin
+rugs and the rare bead and porcupine quill decorations. Yes, that
+long-barrelled rifle hanging on the buckhorn rack is the famous Patrick
+Mullen gun. It is a rifle that Washington, Boone or Crockett would have
+almost given their scalps to possess, because it is the same pattern as
+the ones they themselves used but more scientifically and skillfully
+made. It’s a flint-lock, too, and that is the funny part about it that
+interests all the Scouts of our Troop. It is my good-turn mascot, for as
+long as it hangs there I am under the influence of my wild uncle and can
+quarrel with no man.
+
+Now you know why the gun is preserved as a trophy for my old Scouts and
+is an object of veneration upon which they love to gaze when they sit
+cross-legged on the skins of the black wolf pack before the crackling
+fire of their Scoutmaster’s private den.
+
+Big Pete? Oh, he now runs the Pluto Ranch in Paradise Valley.
+
+
+
+    THE BEARD BOOKS FOR BOYS
+
+    _By_ DAN C. BEARD
+
+
+    THE AMERICAN BOY’S HANDY BOOK. Or, What to Do and How to Do It
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    Gives sports adapted to all seasons of the year, tells boys how
+    to make all kinds of things—boats, traps, toys, puzzles,
+    aquariums, fishing-tackle; how to tie knots, splice ropes, to
+    make bird calls, sleds, blow-guns, balloons; how to rear wild
+    birds, to train dogs, and do the thousand and one things that
+    boys take delight in.
+
+
+    THE OUTDOOR HANDY BOOK. For Playground, Field, and Forest
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    “How to play all sorts of games with marbles, how to make and
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+    other things ... an unmixed delight to any boy.”—_New York
+    Tribune._
+
+
+    THE FIELD AND FOREST HANDY BOOK. Or, New Ideas for Out of Doors
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    “Instructions as to ways to build boats and fire-engines, make
+    aquariums, rafts, and sleds, to camp in a back-yard, etc. No
+    better book of the kind exists.”—_Chicago Record-Herald._
+
+
+    SHELTERS, SHACKS, AND SHANTIES _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    Easily workable directions, accompanied by very full
+    illustration, for over fifty shelters, shacks, and shanties.
+
+
+    BOAT-BUILDING AND BOATING. A Handy Book for Beginners
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    All that Dan Beard knows and has written about the building of
+    every simple kind of boat, from a raft to a cheap motor-boat, is
+    brought together in this book.
+
+
+    THE JACK OF ALL TRADES. Or, New Ideas for American Boys
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    “This book is a capital one to give any boy for a present at
+    Christmas, on a birthday, or indeed at any time.”—_The
+    Outlook._
+
+
+    THE BOY PIONEERS. Sons of Daniel Boone _Illustrated by the
+    author_
+
+    “How to become a member of the ‘Sons of Daniel Boone’ and take
+    part in all the old pioneer games, and many other things in
+    which boys are interested.”—_Philadelphia Press._
+
+
+    THE BLACK WOLF-PACK
+
+    “A genuine thriller of mystery and red-blooded conflicts, well
+    calculated to hold the mind and the heart of its boy and, for
+    that matter, its adult reader.”—_Philadelphia North American._
+
+
+
+
+    THE BEARD BOOKS FOR GIRLS
+
+    _By_ LINA BEARD _and_ ADELIA B. BEARD
+
+
+    THE AMERICAN GIRL’S HANDY BOOK. How to Amuse Yourself and Others
+
+    _With nearly 500 illustrations_
+
+    “It is a treasure which, once possessed, no practical girl would
+    willingly part with.”—GRACE GREENWOOD.
+
+
+    THINGS WORTH DOING AND HOW TO DO THEM
+
+    _With some 600 drawings by the authors that show exactly how
+    they should be done_
+
+    “The book will tell you how to do nearly anything that any live
+    girl really wants to do.”—_The World To-day._
+
+
+    HANDICRAFT AND RECREATION FOR GIRLS
+
+    _With over 700 illustrations by the authors_
+
+    “It teaches how to make serviceable and useful things of all
+    kinds out of every kind of material. It also tells how to play
+    and how to make things to play with.”—_Chicago Evening Post._
+
+
+    WHAT A GIRL CAN MAKE AND DO. New Ideas for Work and Play
+
+    _With more than 300 illustrations by the authors_
+
+    “It would be a dull girl who could not make herself busy and
+    happy following its precepts.... A most inspiring book for an
+    active-minded girl.”—_Chicago Record-Herald._
+
+
+    ON THE TRAIL
+
+    _Illustrated by the authors_
+
+    This volume tells how a girl can live outdoors, camping in the
+    woods, and learning to know its wild inhabitants.
+
+
+    MOTHER NATURE’S TOY SHOP
+
+    _Profusely illustrated by the authors_
+
+    How children can make toys easily and economically from wild
+    flowers, grasses, green leaves, seed-vessels, fruits, etc.
+
+
+    LITTLE FOLKS’ HANDY BOOK
+
+    _With many illustrations_
+
+    Contains a wealth of devices for entertaining children by means
+    of paper building-cards, wooden berry-baskets, straw and paper
+    furniture, paper jewelry, etc.
+
+
+    CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard
+
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Black Wolf Pack
+
+Author: Dan Beard
+
+Release Date: July 19, 2007 [EBook #22109]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK WOLF PACK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<!-- <h1><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span>THE BLACK WOLF PACK</h1> -->
+
+<!-- <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+<h1>THE<br />
+BLACK WOLF PACK</h1>
+
+<p class="by">BY</p>
+
+<p class="author">DAN BEARD</p>
+
+<p class="role">NATIONAL SCOUT COMMISSIONER, B.S.A.</p>
+
+<p class="illustrated">ILLUSTRATED</p>
+
+<p class="publisher">CHARLES SCRIBNER&#8217;S SONS<br />
+<strong>NEW YORK</strong></p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:285px;"><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a>
+<p><a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"><img src="images/frontispiece_th.jpg"
+alt="It was a shadowy figure yet it moved"
+title="It was a shadowy figure yet it moved" /></a></p>
+<p class="caption">It was a shadowy figure yet it moved<br />
+<span style="float: right;">[<i>Page 96</i></span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="copyright"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span>
+<span class="smcap">Copyright,</span> 1922, <span class="smcap">by</span><br />
+CHARLES SCRIBNER&#8217;S SONS</p>
+<hr />
+<p class="copyrightcont"><span class="smcap">Copyright,</span> 1922, <span class="smcap">by</span> BOYS&#8217; LIFE</p>
+<hr />
+<p class="copyrightcont">Printed in the United States of America<br />
+<br />
+<i>All rights reserved. No part of this book<br />
+may be reproduced in any form without<br />
+the permission of Charles Scribner&#8217;s Sons</i>
+</p>
+
+
+<p style="margin-top: 4em;" class="figcenter"><a href="images/logo.jpg"><img style="border-style: none;" src="images/logo_th.jpg"
+alt="Logo: The Scribner Press"
+title="Logo: The Scribner Press" /></a></p>
+
+
+<p class="dedication"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span>
+<span style="line-height: 250%">DEDICATED TO</span><br />
+<big>BELMORE <span class="smcap">and</span> FRED</big><br />
+<small><span style="padding-right: 0em;">(BELMORE BROWNE)</span><span style="padding-left: 5em;">(FREDERICK K. VREELAND)</span></small><br />
+<br />
+NO BETTER WILDERNESS MEN EVER<br />
+WORE MOCCASINS<br />
+</p>
+
+<!-- <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+<div class="textbody">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2>
+
+
+<p>After numerous visits to a number of remote
+and unfrequented places in the Rocky
+Mountains, from Wyoming to Alberta, the
+writer was deeply impressed with the awesome
+mystery of the wilderness and the weird
+legends he heard around the camp fires,
+while the bigness of the things he saw was
+photographed on his brain so distinctly and
+permanently as to act as a compelling force
+causing him, aye, almost forcing him to write
+about it.</p>
+
+<p>When the spell came upon him, like the
+Ancient Mariner, he needs must tell the story,
+and thus the tale of the Black Wolf Pack was
+written with no thought, at the time, of
+publishing the narrative, but primarily for
+the real enjoyment the author derived from
+writing it, and also for the entertainment of
+the author&#8217;s family and intimate friends.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>The tale, however, pleased the members of
+the Editorial Board of the Boy Scouts of
+America, and Mr. Franklin K. Mathiews,
+Chief Scout Librarian, asked permission to
+have it edited for the Scout Magazine, which
+request was cheerfully granted.</p>
+
+<p>The author hereby freely and cheerfully
+acknowledges the useful changes and practical
+suggestions injected into the story by his
+friend and associate, Mr. Irving Crump,
+Editor of Boys&#8217; Life, in which magazine the
+Black Wolf Pack, in somewhat abbreviated
+form, first appeared.</p>
+
+<p class="signature">DAN BEARD.</p>
+
+<p class="location">
+Flushing,<br />
+<span style="padding-left: 1em;">June 1st, 1922.</span>
+</p>
+
+
+
+<p><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
+<table class="illos">
+<caption>ILLUSTRATIONS</caption>
+<tr><td class="desc"><a href="#frontispiece">It was a shadowy figure yet it moved</a></td><td class="onpage" colspan="2"><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="desc" colspan="2"><a href="#illo1">The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt
+... and struck the bull</a></td><td class="onpage">36</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="desc" colspan="2"><a href="#illo2">More than once while I clung to the chance projection
+... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt</a></td><td class="onpage">92</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="desc" colspan="2"><a href="#illo3">&#8220;I think the name &#8216;Pluto&#8217; fits his character to a
+nicety&#8221;</a></td><td class="onpage">192</td></tr>
+
+<tr class="spacer"><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+</table>
+
+
+<!-- <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+
+
+
+<p class="title"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span>The Black Wolf Pack</p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was a terrible shock to me (said the
+Scoutmaster as he fingered a beaded buckskin
+bag). Old Blink Broosmore was responsible.
+It was a malicious thing for him to do.
+He meant it to be mean, too,&mdash;wanted to
+hurt me,&mdash;to wound my feelings and make
+me ashamed. And all because he nursed a
+grudge against dad&mdash;I mean Mr. Crawford.</p>
+
+<p>It started because of that defective spark-plug
+in the engine of the roadster. Strange
+what a tiny thing such as a crack in a porcelain
+jacket around an old spark-plug can do in the
+way of changing the course of a fellow&#8217;s whole
+life.</p>
+
+<p>My last period in the afternoon at high
+school was a study period and I cut it because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
+I had several things to do down town. I
+hurried home and took the roadster, and on
+my way out mother&mdash;I mean Mrs. Crawford&mdash;gave
+me an armful of books to return to the
+library and a list of errands she wanted me to
+do. While motoring down town I noticed
+that one cylinder was missing occasionally
+and I told myself I would change that spark-plug
+as soon as I got home.</p>
+
+<p>I made all the stops I had planned and
+even drove around to the church because I
+wanted to look in at the parish house where
+some of my scouts (I was the assistant scoutmaster
+of Troop 6, of Marlborough) were
+putting up decorations for the very first
+Fathers and Sons dinner ever given which we
+were to have on Washington&#8217;s birthday.
+That was in 1911.</p>
+
+<p>As I was leaving I looked at my new wrist
+watch and discovered that it was a quarter
+of five.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just in time to catch dad and drive him
+home from the office,&#8221; I said to myself, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+I knew that he left the office of his big paper-mill
+down at the docks at five o&#8217;clock.</p>
+
+<p>I jumped into the car and bowled along
+down Spring Street and the Front Street hill
+and arrived at the mill office at exactly five.
+Dad wasn&#8217;t in sight so I decided to turn around
+and wait for him at the curb. That is how
+the trouble started. I got part way around
+on the hill when that cylinder began missing
+a lot and next thing I knew the motor stalled
+and there was I with my car crosswise on the
+hill, blocking traffic&mdash;and traffic is heavy on
+Front Street hill about five o&#8217;clock, because
+all the mills are rushing their trucks down to
+the piers with the last loads of merchandise
+before the down-river boats leave, at six
+o&#8217;clock.</p>
+
+<p>In about two minutes I was holding up a
+line of trucks a block long and those drivers
+were saying a lot of things that were not very
+complimentary to me and not printed in
+Sunday-school papers. And old Blink Broosmore
+was right up at the head of the line<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+with a truck load of cases from the box factory
+and the look on his face was about as ugly
+as a mud turtle&#8217;s. Then, to make matters
+worse, my starter wouldn&#8217;t work at the
+critical moment, and I had to get out to crank
+the engine. What a howl of indignation went
+up from those stalled truck drivers! I felt
+like a bad two-cent piece in a drawer full of
+five-dollar gold pieces. Guess my face was
+red behind my ears.</p>
+
+<p>And then old Blink made the unkindest
+remark of all&mdash;no, he didn&#8217;t make it to me;
+he just yelled it out to a couple of other truck-drivers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s what happens with these make-believe
+dudes,&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;That&#8217;s the
+kid old Skin Flint Crawford took out of an
+orphan asylum. He&#8217;s a kid that old
+Crawford took up with because he was too
+mean t&#8217; have t&#8217; Lord bless him with one o&#8217;
+his own. That&#8217;s straight, fellers. I was
+Crawford&#8217;s gardener when it happened an&#8217;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Old Blink stopped and got red and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+white, and I could see the other truck men
+looking uncomfortable. I looked up and
+there was Dad Crawford on the curb boring
+holes into Blink with those cold gray eyes of
+his and looking as white as marble. No one
+said a word. It seemed as if the whole street
+became hushed and silent. I got the car
+around to the curb somehow and dad got in
+and the line of trucks trundled by with every
+driver looking straight ahead and some of
+them grinning nervously and apparently feeling
+mighty uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>But that wasn&#8217;t a patch to the way I felt,
+and I could see by the lack of color and set
+expression of dad&#8217;s face and the way he stared
+straight ahead of him without saying a word
+that he was feeling very unhappy about it too.
+There was something behind it all&mdash;something
+that raised in my mind vague doubts and
+very unpleasant thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>Dad never spoke a word all the way home,
+and, needless to say, I did not either&mdash;I
+couldn&#8217;t; my whole world seemed to have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+turned upside down in the space of half an
+hour. Was it true that I was not Donald
+Crawford? Was it possible that Alexander
+Crawford, this fine, big, broad-shouldered,
+kindly man beside me was not my real father?
+Was it a fact that that noble, generous, happy
+woman whom I called mamma was not my
+mother at all? Each of those questions took
+shape in my mind and each was like a stab
+in the heart, for Blink Broosmore had answered
+them all, and Alexander Crawford, though he
+must know how anxious I was to have Blink
+denied, did not speak to refute him.</p>
+
+<p>We rolled up the drive and dad stepped
+out, still silent, but he did smile wistfully at
+me as he closed the car door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Put it away, Don, and hurry in for dinner,&#8221;
+he said and I felt certain I detected a break
+in his voice. I felt sorry&mdash;sorry for him and
+sorry for myself, and as I put the car in the
+garage, I had a hard time trying to see things
+clearly; my eyes would get blurred and a lump
+would get into my throat in spite of me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>As I dressed for dinner I felt half dazed.
+I hardly realized what I was doing, and I had
+to stop and pull myself together before I
+started downstairs to the dining room, for
+I knew if I did not have myself well in hand I
+would blubber like a big chump.</p>
+
+<p>Mother and dad were waiting for me and
+I could see by mother&#8217;s sad expression and
+the troubled look in her eyes that dad had
+told her of the whole occurrence. And that
+only added to my unhappiness because I
+felt for a certainty that all that Blink Broosmore
+had shouted must be true.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in my memory dad
+forgot to say grace, and none of us ate with
+any apparent relish and none of us tried to
+make conversation. It was a painful sort of
+a meal and I wanted to have it over with as soon
+as I could. It seemed hours before Nora
+cleared the table and served dad&#8217;s demi-tasse.</p>
+
+<p>I guess I then looked him full in the eyes
+for the first time since the occurrence on
+Front Street.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>&#8220;That was a very unkind thing for Blink
+Broosmore to do,&#8221; said dad, and I knew by
+the firmness and evenness of his voice that
+he had gained full control of his feelings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is&mdash;is&mdash;oh, did he tell the truth, dad?&#8221;
+I gulped helplessly and for the life of me I
+could not keep back the tears.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Unfortunately, Donald, there is just
+enough truth in it to make it hurt,&#8221; said dad
+and I could see mother wince as if she had
+been struck, and turn away her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They why&mdash;why? Oh! who am I?&#8221; I
+cried, for the whole thing had completely
+unnerved me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don dear, we do not know to a certainty,&#8221;
+said mother struggling with her emotions.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But now that you are partly aware of the
+situation, I think there is a way you can find
+out, at least as much as we know,&#8221; said dad,
+getting up and going into the library.</p>
+
+<p>Through the doorway I could see him
+fumbling at the safe that he kept there beside
+the desk. Presently he drew out a battered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+and dented red tin box and a bundle of papers.
+These he brought into the dining room and
+laid on the table. Then he drew up a chair,
+cleared his throat, rather loudly it seemed to
+me, and began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don, we always wanted a child, and why
+the Lord never blessed us with one of our own
+we do not know. Anyway, we wanted one
+so badly that we decided to adopt one. That
+was seventeen years ago, wasn&#8217;t it, mother?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mother nodded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Raymond, the physician at the
+county institution, knew our desires and,
+being an old friend of the family, he volunteered
+to find us a good healthy baby that we
+could adopt and call our own. Not a week
+later you appeared on the scene. Dr. Raymond
+told us that a wagon drawn by a raw-boned
+horse, and loaded with household
+goods, drew up to the orphanage and a tired
+and worn-out looking old lady got out with a
+lusty year old child in one arm and this box
+and these papers under the other.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>&#8220;At the office of the asylum she explained
+how she and her husband were moving from
+a Connecticut town to a little farm they had
+bought in Pennsylvania. Somewhere at a
+crossroad near Derby, Connecticut, they had
+found the baby and this box and bundle of
+papers in a basket under a bush with a card
+attached to the basket requesting that the
+finder adopt and take care of the baby.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, they could not pass the infant
+by, but the woman explained that they were
+too poor and too old to adopt the child so they
+had gone miles out of their way to find an
+orphanage and leave the baby there, along
+with the box and papers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When Dr. Raymond heard the story and
+saw you, for you were the baby, he got me on
+the telephone and told me all about you.
+And that night he brought you here, and
+you were such a chubby, bright, interesting
+little fellow that mother and I fell in love with
+you immediately and decided to adopt you,
+which we did according to law. So you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+our legal child, Don, and all that, although
+we are not your real parents.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Somehow that made me feel a little happier.
+Dad and mother did have a claim on me at
+least. That was something.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was not until after Dr. Raymond had
+left,&#8221; went on father, &#8220;that mother and
+I examined the box and papers that had come
+with you. Here they are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Dad took up a worn and age-yellowed envelope
+addressed in a bold hand:</p>
+
+<p class="center">To the Finder</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">Inside was the following brief message:</p>
+
+<div class="letter">
+<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">To the Finder</span>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The mother of this child, Donald Mullen,
+is dead. I, his father, cannot give him the
+care he should have. Will you, the finder,
+adopt him, care for him, and bring him up to
+be an honest, trustworthy man, and win the
+eternal gratitude of his dead mother and</p>
+
+<p class="signature1">
+<span class="smcap">Donald Mullen</span>,</p>
+<p class="writer">his father.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then my name is&mdash;or was Mullen,&#8221; I
+exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>&#8220;According to that,&#8221; said dad softly, &#8220;but
+when you became our son we kept your first
+name and discarded the family name of
+course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;but what has become of my father,
+Donald Mullen?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My boy, we have tried both for your sake
+and for our own to find out. We have followed
+up and searched every possible clue
+and&mdash;but wait, here are other papers of
+interest and after you have read them I will
+tell you all we have done to locate your real
+father and afterwards we will talk the whole
+situation over.&#8221; As dad was speaking he
+passed over the battered tin box. On the
+lid was inscribed the simple lines&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="letter">
+<p>The contents of this box belong to the boy.
+If you are honest you will see that it comes
+into his hands at the proper time. If you
+are dishonest, then God help the boy and
+God help you!</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+<span class="smcap">D. Mullen.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was some time before I could make up
+my mind to force the lid. When I did the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+first thing that my eyes fell upon was this
+buckskin bag of unmistakable Indian design,
+beautifully decorated with bead work and
+highly colored porcupine quills cunningly
+worked into a good luck design. As I picked
+up the bag I saw that it was sealed with wax
+and to it was attached a card on which was
+penned:</p>
+
+<div class="letter">
+<p class="noindent">To my son:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Here is all the wealth I possess. It isn&#8217;t
+much. The bag with its contents was sent
+to me by my brother, Fay, who is out in the
+Rockies. He gave it to me to pay my
+expenses out there to join him. I am leaving
+it for you. It may help you over some rocky
+places if it ever gets into your hands, and I
+trust the good Lord that it does.</p>
+
+<p class="signature2">Lovingly,</p>
+<p class="writer"><span class="smcap">Your Father.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>The bag gave forth the unmistakable clink
+of gold coins as I dropped it on the table.</p>
+
+<p>That message from my father, whom I had
+never seen, made my heart heavy and again
+that lump gathered in my throat, for I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+feel the heartaches that the writing of that
+note must have caused him. I had not the
+courage to break the seal of the bag and
+examine its contents. I pushed it aside and
+took from the box another time-yellowed
+envelope addressed to</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+<span class="smcap">My Son Donald</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">Inside I found the following:</p>
+
+<div class="letter">
+<p class="noindent">Dear Boy:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>I cannot determine whether I am giving you
+a mean deal or whether this is all for your
+good. Your mother, Barbara Parker Mullen,
+is dead, God bless her! She has been dead
+now six months. It seems to me like eternity.
+I have tried to take care of you as she would
+have cared for you but I am afraid I have lost
+heart, and my courage, and I am afraid my
+faith has slipped from me. I fear that I am
+a broken-spirited failure. The passing of
+your mother has taken everything from me.
+I am no longer fit or able to care for you and
+I must pass you on to someone else and trust
+your welfare to God. For neither your mother
+nor I have any relatives left who are able to
+take care of you.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>What will become of you I cannot guess.
+I can only hope for the best. But by the
+time you are old enough to read and understand
+this message you will, I hope, have
+forgiven me or praised me for my effort to
+find you a home.</p>
+
+<p>What will become of me I do not know.
+I have one brother left in the world, Fay
+Mullen, and he is out in Piute Pass in the
+Rockies grubbing for gold. I am going out
+to join him for I know the only way I can
+forget my grief and get hold of myself once
+more is to bury myself in the wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>Fay has sent me a bag of double eagles to
+pay my expenses west. That is all the
+money I have in the world. I am not going
+to use it. I will work my way west and leave
+the gold for you. It is the least and probably
+the last that I can do for you.</p>
+
+<p>If, when you read this you have any desires
+to know who you really are, I will leave you
+the following information:</p>
+
+<p>Your mother, a wonderful woman, was
+Barbara Parker of Litchfield, Connecticut,
+daughter of Judge Arnold Parker of Litchfield,
+now deceased. I am Donald Mullen,
+the eldest of three brothers; Fay Mullen is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+the next of age and Patrick Mullen, the gunsmith
+of Maiden Lane, New York, is the
+youngest. We were born in Byron Bridge,
+Ireland, and we three came to this country
+after our parents died. You come of an
+honest, worthwhile people on my side, and of
+the best American blood on your mother&#8217;s,
+Donald, and I ask only that you live an honest,
+honorable life and have faith in your country
+and your God, and He will be with you to the
+end.</p>
+
+<p>Good-bye, boy.</p>
+<p class="signature2">Lovingly,</p>
+<p class="writer"><span class="smcap">Your Father.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>I read the letter aloud but I confess that
+my voice broke toward the end and I choked
+up until reading was difficult.</p>
+
+<p>For some time after I finished, we three sat
+in silence. The thoughts and mental pictures
+of that broken man parting with his baby son
+seventeen years before made me most unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>Dad broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, now you are acquainted with the
+whole situation, what do you think?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>&#8221;&#8220;I scarcely know what to think,&#8221; said I.
+&#8220;It does not appear natural for a man to
+abandon his own son in the manner he did.
+It seems heartless and cruel. I cannot understand
+it; yet I wish I could see my poor
+father. I wonder if he is still alive. Certainly
+with the information at hand it should not
+be impossible for me to trace him or some
+relatives of my mother. Don&#8217;t you think so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is what I thought, Don, for when
+you were three years old I began to wonder
+about your father&#8217;s whereabouts. I wanted
+to meet him and perhaps help him if I could.
+Do not think that your poor father was cruel,
+for it is evident that the man was suffering
+from a nervous breakdown and consequently
+more or less irresponsible; I think he acted
+wonderfully well under the circumstances.
+In order to help him I began a search and for
+ten years I have had detectives and private
+individuals following up every possible lead.
+Yet, with all my efforts, the search has
+amounted to nothing. Your father&#8217;s trail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+ended at a Spokane outfitting store. I could
+not locate anyone nearer to you than an old
+maiden great-aunt of your mother&#8217;s although
+I have had every clue investigated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The only relative of your father&#8217;s that
+I could get any information about was his
+youngest brother, Patrick Mullen, your uncle
+and a famous gunsmith of Maiden Lane,
+New York. He is dead now but his reputation
+for making an exceptionally fine hand-forged
+gun lives on even to-day. Patrick Mullen
+died just before I began my search for your
+father, but in digging around for facts about
+him, I learned that he had made a limited
+number of very fine guns, on each of which he
+had stamped his full name, &#8216;Patrick Mullen.&#8217;
+Other guns of an inferior quality that he made
+bore the simple stamp of &#8216;P. Mullen.&#8217; The
+old man was very proud of each &#8216;Patrick
+Mullen&#8217; that he turned out and like the true
+artist that he was he kept track of each one,
+sold them only to men he knew and when the
+owner died he bought the gun back himself so
+that he always knew its whereabouts.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>&#8220;In that way all of the 101 &#8216;Patrick
+Mullen&#8217;s&#8217; he made came back to him, save
+one. There is one of the complete number still
+missing and no one seems to know where it is.
+This is more remarkable because the missing
+gun is a flint-lock rifle of the style of seventy
+years ago. That gun has always struck me as
+being a valuable clue in our search, because it
+is the only rifle ever made by the old gunsmith
+and I have a feeling that that missing &#8216;Patrick
+Mullen&#8217; may have been given to your father
+by the brother, and that may account for
+the fact that among the papers of Patrick
+Mullen there is no record of its whereabouts;
+this is in a measure confirmed by the report
+that the man outfitting at Spokane had a long
+old-fashioned rifle, and collectors say there
+used to be an expert in antique arms by the
+name of Mullen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The suggestion made me tremendously
+excited. Beyond a doubt in my mind that
+missing &#8220;Patrick Mullen&#8221; was my father&#8217;s
+gun. I imagined him parting with everything
+else save the unique gun his famous brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+had made for him. Why he should wish for a
+flint-lock rifle was an unanswerable question,
+but someone wanted that sort of a gun or it
+would not have been made, and my father&#8217;s
+letters showed him to be a man of sentiment,
+and impractical, just the sort of fellow to use a
+flint-lock when he might just as well have
+had a modern breech-loading high-power rifle.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe you&#8217;ve hit it, dad. Hot dog!&#8221;
+I exclaimed. &#8220;Bet a cookie that that gun
+does belong to my father and if we can find it
+we will probably find him too&mdash;would not that
+be bully?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I feel the same way too, Don. But
+finding that missing gun will be as difficult
+as finding your father. I have searched the
+country over for it and made a wonderful
+collection of flint-lock guns, as you see by
+looking at yonder gun-rack; I have had
+dozens of arms collectors and detectives
+looking for guns of that description, but no
+Patrick Mullen rifle has turned up anywhere.
+There have, of course, been many false clues<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+and many queer rifles offered to me and I
+have put a great many thousands of dollars
+into the search, and my collection of flint-locks
+is the best in the land, Don. But so
+far nothing but failures seem to have rewarded
+my search&mdash;no, I&#8217;m wrong, there is one man
+out west&mdash;out in the little jerk-water town of
+Grave Stone, who insists that there is a wild
+man living in a lonely, almost inaccessible
+valley in the mountains, who shoots a gun
+which looks like the one for which I am searching.
+For a number of years this man of
+mystery, it seems, has been appearing and
+reappearing, according to Big Pete Darlinkel,
+my informant, but even Pete has never got in
+personal touch with this eccentric hermit.
+Neither have several detectives I have sent
+out there for that purpose. The detectives
+seem to be all right in towns or cities and are
+undoubtedly brave men, but something out
+there appears to frighten them and they lose
+interest the moment they cut the trail of the
+wild hunter. I begin to think this wild man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+is a myth, too. Strange, though, that just a
+week ago I received another letter from Pete
+Darlinkel. Wait, I&#8217;ll find it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He returned from the library presently with
+a letter which he opened and passed over to
+me. It read:</p>
+
+<div class="letter">
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Crawford</span>:&mdash;<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Maybe you hain&#8217;t interested no more but
+thet tha&#8217; ole Dopped ganger, the Wild
+Hunter, the spooky old critter, has been seen
+agin. i wuz on the top of the painted Butte
+yesterday squinten one i in the valley look&#8217;n
+for elk and look&#8217;n up with tother i for
+Big horn on the mountain, when i staged the
+old duffer snoop&#8217;en along in one of the parks
+an&#8217; he had the same long hair and long rifle
+he uster have. He sure is a ghost or else
+he&#8217;s a nut or an old timer gone locoed. He
+sends the chills down my backbone every
+time i sots my eyes on him.</p>
+
+<p class="signature1">Your obedients sarvent,</p>
+<p class="writer"><span class="smcap">Big Pete.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>There was something about that crude
+letter that stirred me deeply.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>Could this strange freak that Big Pete saw
+from the top of the painted Butte possess that
+Patrick Mullen rifle? If so did he know anything
+about the whereabouts of my father?
+It is not uncommon for people suffering from
+a mental breakdown to flee to the country
+or wilderness and there live the life of a
+recluse, and from my father&#8217;s last letter it
+was evident that he had had a nervous breakdown
+from anxiety and brooding over the loss
+of my mother, to whom he evidently was
+devotedly attached. It might, therefore, be
+possible that this strange, wild man himself
+was my father, an unpleasant possibility.
+At any rate, I felt that I could not rest, at
+least until I discovered to a certainty the
+name of the maker of the long rifle said to be
+carried by the wild hunter and I told dad just
+how I felt about it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I knew you would feel that way, son,&#8221;
+said he. &#8220;I have often wanted to go west
+for the very same purpose and I knew that
+when I told you everything you would want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+go too. I intended to lay all the facts before
+you when you were twenty-one but now that
+Blink Broosmore has taken it upon himself to
+inform you and his truck-driving friends of
+the mystery surrounding your real parentage,
+I guess it is best you know all there is to be
+known about the situation. The rest I&#8217;ll
+leave to you. In fact, it would please me a
+great deal if you would run down this last
+vague clue to see if your father really is still
+alive. Go, Donald, and God bless you, and
+take that bag of gold with you, unopened,
+for it may now stand your father in good stead,
+and if you do find him, bring him here and I
+promise you he will never want for a thing,
+nor will you, my son, for you are still my boy
+whatever your real parentage may be.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+
+<p>The stage pulled up in front of a typical
+western saloon, post office and general store.
+There was the usual crowd of prospectors,
+gamblers, cow punchers and trappers assembled
+to meet the incoming stage. When
+I scrambled off the top of the old-fashioned
+coach, and before I had time to shake the
+alkali dust from my clothes, or moisten my
+dry and cracked lips, a typical western bully
+approached me roaring the verses of a song
+with which he evidently intended to terrify me,</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&#8220;He blowed into Lanigan swinging a gun<br />
+A new one,<br />
+A blue one,<br />
+A colt&#8217;s forty-one,<br />
+An&#8217; swearing<br />
+Declaring<br />
+Red Rivers &#8217;ud run<br />
+Down Alkali Valley,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>An&#8217; oceans of gore<br />
+&#8217;ud wash sudden death<br />
+On the sage brush shore,<br />
+An&#8217; he shot a big hole&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+
+<p>He got no further with the song. Another
+man stepped out from the crowd, a very
+tall, powerful man who would have attracted
+attention in any garb in any place by his
+distinguished appearance, who with little ceremony
+rudely brushed the roughneck to one side,
+and my instinct told me the handsome
+stranger could be no other than Big Pete
+Darlinkel.</p>
+
+<p>My! my! what a man he was! Looked as if
+he just stepped out of one of Fred Remington&#8217;s
+pictures, or Buffalo Bill&#8217;s Wild West
+Show, or slipped from between the leaves
+of a volume of Captain Mayne Reid&#8217;s
+&#8220;Scalp Hunters&#8221;&mdash;Big Pete was evidently a
+hold-over from another age. He would have
+fitted perfectly and with nicety in a picture
+of Davy Crockett&#8217;s men down in old Texas.
+He seemed, however, perfectly at home in this
+border town, and I noted that the most hard-boiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+and toughest men in the crowd treated
+him with marked respect and deference.</p>
+
+<p>Pete was a wilderness fop and a dandy, and
+evidently was as careful of his clothes as a
+West Point cadet. In dress he affected the
+old-fashioned picturesque garb of the mountains.
+His appearance filled me with wonder
+and admiration; he stood six feet two or
+three inches in his moccasins, straight as an
+arrow and lithe as a cat.</p>
+
+<p>His costume consisted of a tunic of dressed
+deer skin, smoked to the softness of the
+finest flannels. He wore it belted in at the
+waist, but open at the breast and throat
+where it fell back like a sailor&#8217;s collar into a
+short cape covering the shoulders. Underneath
+was the undershirt of dressed fawn skin;
+his leggins and moccasins were of the same
+material as his hunting shirt, and on his head
+he wore a fox skin cap; the fox&#8217;s head adorned
+with glass eyes ornamented the front and the
+tail hung like a drooping plume over the left
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>Big Pete Darlinkel was a blonde, and his
+golden hair hung in sunny curls upon his
+massive shoulders; a light mustache, soft yellow
+beard, with a pair of the deepest, clearest,
+most innocent baby-like blue eyes, all made a
+face such as an angel might have after years of
+exposure to sun and wind.</p>
+
+<p>Not only are Big Pete&#8217;s revolvers gold
+mounted, but the shaft of his keen-edged
+knife is rich with figures, rings, and stars
+filed from gold coins and set in the horn.
+The very stock of his long, single-barreled
+rifle is inlaid like an Arab&#8217;s gun, and, as for
+his buckskin hunting suit, it is a mass of
+embroidery and colored quills from his beaded
+moccasins to the fringed cape of his shirt.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete was a dandy, fond of color, fond of
+display; yet in spite of all this he wore absolutely
+nothing for decoration alone, but every
+article of use about his person was ornamented
+to an oriental degree. Gaudy and
+rich as his costume was when viewed in detail,
+as a whole it harmonized not only with Pete,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+his hair, his complexion, his weapons, but
+with whatever natural objects surrounded him.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete also seemed to know me instinctively
+and approached with a graceful and
+swinging step; holding out his hand he greeted
+me in a low, soft, well-modulated voice with,
+&#8220;Howdy, kid; yes, I&#8217;m Big Pete and allow you
+are the tenderfoot dude from New York
+what wants to shoot big game, an&#8217; reckon
+you&#8217;d like to meet the wild mountain man?
+Well, he&#8217;s a queer one, I tell you. He&#8217;s got
+us all buffaloed out this-a-way, most of us
+don&#8217;t care to meet him close up and we give
+him wide range when we cut his trail.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was Big Pete&#8217;s greeting. Of course,
+I had not told him of my real interest in this
+mysterious man of the mountains, only suggesting
+that I would like to do some big game
+shooting and see the spooky hunter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; I answered, &#8220;I would like to get a
+record elk head to take home to dad. As for
+the mountain wildman, I wish you&#8217;d tell me
+more about him, he is awfully interesting.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>&#8220;Tell you more? Well, sho, I reckon I can
+tell you more than most people round these
+parts for he makes my game park his stampin&#8217;
+grounds every onct in a while, an&#8217; let me tell
+you he hunts some peculiar, he do, he&#8217;s half
+man and half wolf&mdash;but shucks, I won&#8217;t spoil
+the show, you will see how he hunts for yourself
+if you stay here long. Glory be, but he&#8217;s
+got me some bashful and shy. But mosey
+along and I&#8217;ll hist yore stuff on this here
+cayuse while you let them tha&#8217; dogs out of
+their chicken coop boxes. You can cache
+your dude duds in the Emporium general store
+over yonder next to Squinty Quinn&#8217;s saloon,
+an&#8217; then we&#8217;re off for the hills. I&#8217;ll yarn about
+this Wild Hunter while we hit the trail.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>An hour spent in Grave Stone gave me an
+opportunity to wash myself and change my
+clothes for some that would be more substantial
+for out-of-door wear, start several letters
+east telling of my safe arrival, buy the things
+I had overlooked, store my surplus clothes
+with the postmaster at the general store, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+repack my kit for pony travel. Then, after
+watching Big Pete skilfully throw the diamond
+hitch, we were off for the hills and our first
+camp. I hoped that I was on my way to find
+my real father and unravel the mystery that
+surrounded my strange babyhood. But I
+little guessed what adventures I was to have
+or the strange things I was to see before my
+quest was ended.</p>
+
+<p>We traveled fast all the remaining portion
+of the afternoon and toward evening we made
+camp and for the first time in my life I slept
+under the sky. At the end of the fifth day
+we reached the secret and narrow opening of
+a big valley or &#8220;park&#8221; in the midst of a wild
+tumble of mountains. Big Pete said we
+would pitch our tent in the park.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tha&#8217;s plenty of signs &#8217;round too an&#8217; if we
+loosen t&#8217; dogs p&#8217;raps we kin stir up a mountain
+lion or collar some fresh meat t&#8217; start camp
+with,&#8221; said he as he slid off his horse and took
+the leashes off the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>It took us but a short time to arrange our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+camp, then Big Pete followed by the frisking
+dogs slipped silently into the woods. He was
+gone scarcely a quarter of an hour when he
+reappeared again without the dogs, motioned
+for me to get my gun and follow him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tha&#8217;s elk signs all bout,&#8221; he said, &#8220;an&#8217;
+the muts broke away on a fresh trail. Now
+you an&#8217; me&#8217;ll climb through that draw yonder
+and hide out on the runway till they drive an
+elk in gun shot. Come along.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I followed eagerly and presently we had
+climbed through a thickly grown poplar
+grove and found a suitable hiding place among
+the small poplars. We had the wind right
+and a clear view of most of the open park.
+Big Pete stooped down and motioned for me
+to do likewise.</p>
+
+<p>I quietly crouched beside him and waited&mdash;waited
+until my legs were cramped, waited
+until the dampness from the moss struck
+through the heavy soles of my tenderfoot
+shoes and chilled my feet; waited until my
+arm was so numb that it felt like a piece of
+lead&mdash;then, in spite of the danger of incurring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+Big Pete&#8217;s displeasure and in spite of my
+dread of being thought a dude tenderfoot,
+I changed my position, rubbed life into my
+arm and assumed an easier pose.</p>
+
+<p>In front of us was a small lake, deep, dark
+and unruffled. All around the edge was a
+natural wharf formed from the gigantic trunks
+of trees which had fallen for ages into the lake
+and been washed by wind and waves and
+forced by winter ice into such regular order
+and position along the shore that their arrangement
+looked like the work of men.
+Back of this wharf and all about was the wilderness
+of silent wood; a wilderness enclosed
+by a wall of mountains, whose lofty heads
+were uplifted far above the soft white clouds
+that floated in the blue sky overhead and
+were mirrored in the lake below. An eagle,
+on apparently immovable wings, soared over
+the lake in spiral course. As I watched the
+bird its wings seemed suddenly endowed with
+life. At the same instant my guide gave a low
+grunt of warning.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; I asked in a whisper, for there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+was a strange expression in my companion&#8217;s
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s&mdash;it&#8217;s him, so help me!&mdash;Keep yer ears
+open and yer meat-trap shut!&#8221; growled Pete.</p>
+
+<p>I did so. The trained ear of the hunter had
+detected the sound of crackling twigs and swishing
+branches made by some animals in rapid
+motion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; I exclaimed, &#8220;the dogs. You
+startled me; I thought it was Indians.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish it was nothing wuss,&#8221; muttered my
+guide, as he examined his weapons with a
+critical eye and loosened the cartridges for
+his revolvers in his belt to make sure that
+they would be easy to pluck out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Those hain&#8217;t our dogs, mister,&#8221; he remarked
+after he had examined his whole arsenal.</p>
+
+<p>As I again fixed my attention on the noise,
+in place of the resonant voice of the hounds,
+I heard nothing but the crackling of branches,
+with an occasional half-suppressed wolf-like
+yelp.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete turned pale and muttered, &#8220;It&#8217;s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+them for sartin; it&#8217;s them agin! And I hain&#8217;t
+been drinkin&#8217;, nuther!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete Darlinkel remained crouching in
+exactly the same pose he had first assumed,
+but his face looked sallow and worn. I marveled.
+Was this big westerner really awed
+by the situation we were facing? What disaster
+impended?</p>
+
+<p>My guide&#8217;s eyes were fixed upon an opening
+in the woods and I knew that something would
+soon bound from that spot. I could hear the
+crashing of brush and half-suppressed wolf-like
+yelps, followed by a pause, then a rushing
+noise, and out leaped as beautiful a bull elk
+as I had ever seen&mdash;in fact the first I had ever
+seen at close range in his native wilderness.
+I had only time to take note of his muscular
+neck, clean cut limbs, his grand branching
+antlers, and&mdash;not my dogs but a pack of
+<i>immense black wolves</i> at his heels before I
+instinctively brought my gun to my shoulder.
+But before I could draw a bead Big Pete
+struck it, knocking the muzzle up.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>&#8220;Hist!&#8221; he exclaimed, pointing to the bird.</p>
+
+<p>The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt
+and skilfully avoiding the branching
+antlers, struck the bull, driving one talon into
+the neck and the other into the back, flapping
+its huge wings as it tore with its beak at the
+body of the elk like a trained &#8220;<i>bear coote</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was thunderstruck. The evident partnership
+of the wolves and bird needed explanation
+and it was not long in coming. A shrill
+whistle pierced the air, the black wolves
+immediately ceased to worry the elk, the eagle
+soared overhead, and for an instant the elk
+stood confused, then leaped high in the air and
+fell dead. The next moment I heard the
+crack of a rifle and saw a puff of blue smoke
+across the lake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s no ghost,&#8221; I said, when partly recovered
+from my astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wait,&#8221; said Pete laconically.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:286px;"><a name="illo1" id="illo1"></a>
+<p><a href="images/illo1.jpg"><img src="images/illo1_th.jpg"
+alt="The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and struck the bull"
+title="The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and struck the bull" /></a></p>
+<p class="caption">The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and struck the bull</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p><p>Not long afterward there was a movement
+among the wolves and, noiselessly as a panther
+the figure of a man lithe and youthful in every
+movement slipped to the side of the dead elk.
+He made no noise, uttered no word to the
+fierce black animals that sat with their red
+tongues hanging from their panting jaws, but
+without a moment&#8217;s hesitation whipped out a
+knife and with a dexterity and skill that
+brought the color to Big Pete&#8217;s face, proceeded
+to take the coat off the wapiti, while the great
+eagle perched upon the branching antlers.
+The skin was removed and with equal dexterity
+all the best parts of the meat were
+skilfully detached and packed in the green
+hide, after which, removing a large slice of
+red flesh, the strange hunter held up one
+finger. One of the wolves gravely walked up
+to him, received the morsel, gulped it down
+and retired. Each in turn was fed, then the
+great bird flopped on his shoulder and was fed
+from his hand, and before I could realize what
+had happened the man, the wolves and the
+eagle had disappeared, leaving nothing but
+the dismembered carcass of the elk to remind
+us of the strange episode.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+
+<p>To say that the whole spectacle that I had
+just witnessed startled me would be stating it
+mildly indeed. The strange appearance of this
+big, powerful, smooth shaven man in a buckskin
+hunting costume with a retinue of black
+wolves and a trained eagle, the mysterious
+manner of his hunting and his coming and
+going, aroused in me great interest and curiosity
+and I could realize the effect it evidently
+had upon Big Pete&#8217;s superstitious mind in
+spite of the fact that the big fellow was
+accustomed to facing almost any sort of
+danger. As for me, I could not myself prevent
+the creeping chills from running down my
+spine whenever I thought of the wild man.</p>
+
+<p>Could it be possible that this strange,
+half-wild man of the mountains, this killer,
+this master of a wolf pack, could be in any
+way connected with my father? I wondered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+and as I wondered I found that a vague fear
+of this mad man who despite his reputed age
+seemed as youthful and as agile as a man in
+his thirties, was gripping me. Perhaps the
+strangeness of the wilderness park added to
+my awe, for certainly one could expect almost
+anything supernatural to happen in the twilight
+of the forest of giant trees, whose
+interlacing branches overhead shut out the
+light of heaven.</p>
+
+<p>Recovering somewhat from my astonishment
+and surprise, I realized that what I had
+witnessed, strange though it appeared, was
+not a supernatural occurrence. I knew that
+it was a real gun I had heard, real smoke I
+had seen, real man, real bird, real elk, and
+real wolves.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, Pete,&#8221; I exclaimed, as a sudden
+thought struck me, &#8220;what&#8217;s become of our
+dogs?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Better ask them black fiends up the mountains.
+I reckon you won&#8217;t see them tha&#8217;
+hounds of yours agin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>And I never did, but having hunted the
+wolf with cowboys and having been a witness
+to their extraordinary biting power, I knew
+the fate that must necessarily befall a couple
+of ordinary hounds when overtaken by half
+a dozen full-grown wolves. On such occasions
+we do not spend much time in grief over a loss
+of any kind, &#8220;it taint according to mountain
+law,&#8221; Pete would say.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Reckon we had better swipe some of that
+elk before the coyotes get at it,&#8221; growled
+Pete. &#8220;The wild mountainman knows the
+good parts, but an elk is an elk, and one wild
+man, even if he is a giant, can&#8217;t carry off all
+the good meat, not by a long shot.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may come back,&#8221; I suggested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not he,&#8221; said Pete. &#8220;He&#8217;s too stuck up
+for that. When he wants more, them tha&#8217;
+black demons and that voodoo bird of his&#8217;n
+will get &#8217;em for him, and he&#8217;s a hanging his
+long legs off&#8217;ner a rock some whar smoking a
+long cigar.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dod rot him,&#8221; growled Pete. &#8220;Why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+couldn&#8217;t he leave a piece of hide to carry the
+meat in and the stomach to cook it in?
+That&#8217;s the fust time I ever stayed long
+&#8217;nough to see him collar his meat, though
+they say he do eat the game raw, but I
+reckon that&#8217;s a lie, leastwise he didn&#8217;t do&#8217;t
+this time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With a good square meal of the locoed
+hunter&#8217;s elk under our belts and a rousing
+camp fire before which to toast our shins,
+both the big westerner and I felt a little more
+natural and comfortable, but our conversation
+turned again to this wild hunter of the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>I could see that the mysterious old man with
+his wolf pack and eagle aroused almost every
+possible form of superstition in Big Pete and
+I confess that I was not free from some of it
+myself. The guide was certain that the man
+was either a ghost or a reincarnated devil,
+and he displayed no uncertain signs of awe.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I tell you,&#8221; said Pete, &#8220;he&#8217;s a devil.
+He&#8217;s over a hundred years old, for my dad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+says he seed him, an&#8217; an Injun before dad&#8217;s
+time told him about him. They are all
+skeered t&#8217; death o&#8217; him. An&#8217; I don&#8217;t blame
+&#8217;em. He&#8217;s a shore enough hant and them
+tha&#8217; houn&#8217;s o&#8217; his&#8217;n is devils in wolf skins.
+Jumping Gehoosaphats, ef they shed ever cut
+my trail I reckon I&#8217;d just lay right down an&#8217;
+die,&#8221; and Big Pete actually shuddered at the
+possibility.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, young feller,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;that ol&#8217;
+man shoots gold bullets out o&#8217; a real Patrick
+Mullen gun.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A Mullen gun, Pete?&#8221; I cried, &#8220;how do you
+know, man; speak for goodness sake!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know it&#8217;s a Patrick Mullen and
+guess it tain&#8217;t one &#8217;cause a Patrick Mullen
+rifle would cost a thousand or more. But
+the old Injun, Beaver Tail, says, someone
+told his father and his father told him that et
+is a Patrick Mullen gun an&#8217; is a special make
+inlaid with gold and silver, an&#8217; all ornamented
+up, an&#8217; built for an ol&#8217; muzzle-loadin&#8217; flint-lock.
+Now Mullen never made no flint-lock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+rifles that I hear&#8217;n tell of, his specialty be
+shotguns an&#8217; if he made this rifle I&#8217;m ganderplucked
+if I cud tell how this spook got it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Unless the wild Hunter might be a relative
+of old Patrick Mullen,&#8221; I said, thinking aloud,
+and gasping at the thought, for the description
+of the rifle somehow impressed me again with
+the possibility that this wild man of the mountains
+might himself be Donald Mullen, and
+<i>my own father!</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why do you say that, kid?&#8221; asked Big
+Pete with a queer look in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t know, I was just wondering
+to myself. But what makes you think he&#8217;s a
+supernatural being, and, Pete, does this wild
+loony hunter look at all like me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Super what? Say when did you swallow
+a dictionary?&mdash;Oh, you mean what makes
+me think he&#8217;s a devil. No, he don&#8217;t favor you
+none,&#8221; he added with a grin, &#8220;he&#8217;s a <i>handsome</i>
+devil, although he&#8217;s done terrified every white
+man, an&#8217; Injun, in these parts half t&#8217; death,
+so most of &#8217;ems afeared to come back here at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+all. Men have gone in the park jest to get this
+wild man&#8217;s scalp, but they&#8217;ve done come back
+scared yaller an&#8217; they ain&#8217;t opened their trap
+much about him since nuther. They do say he
+spits fire an&#8217; chaws his meat offen the bone an&#8217;
+then cracks the bones like a dog an&#8217; swallers
+it all. They do say, too, that he roars like
+forty devils with their tails cut off when he
+gits mad an&#8217; some say as when he wants t&#8217;
+git som wha&#8217; in a hurry he jest grabs aholt o&#8217;
+the feet o&#8217; tha&#8217; there thunder bird and she
+flies off with him and draps him anywha&#8217; he
+asks her to&mdash;Nope, I hain&#8217;t seen none of these
+things myself but others say they has, an&#8217;
+believe me, I&#8217;m plumb cautious when travelin&#8217;
+these parts alone. Howsomever, he hain&#8217;t
+yet skeered me &#8217;nough to make my ha&#8217;r come
+out by the roots,&#8221; said Pete with a yawn.
+&#8220;There, kick that back log over so&#8217;s the fire can
+lick at t&#8217;other side; now let&#8217;s turn in.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+
+<p>Big Pete and I spent several weeks in our
+charming little camp at the lower end of the
+park, for my guide decided that despite the
+recent presence of the wild hunter, here would
+be a good place to get a shot at some black-tail
+deer. In fact we saw signs of those
+animals all about and my guide was only looking
+for fresh indication to start out on our last
+hunt before we made our way deeper into the
+wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>On the third day of our stay I was returning
+to camp with my shotgun over my shoulder
+and a brace of sage grouse in my hand, when
+I came upon Big Pete in a swail about a mile
+from camp. He was bending low and examining
+fresh signs when he saw me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Howdy, kid, here&#8217;s some doin&#8217;s. Shall
+we foller him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>&#8220;Of course, Pete; what are we here for, the
+mountain air?&#8221; I answered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered Pete, in his deep, low voice,
+&#8220;we&#8217;re here for game,&#8221; and off he started, but
+slowly and with great caution. I felt impatient,
+but restrained myself, saying nothing
+and continued to follow my big guide who now
+moved with the most painstaking care. Not
+a twig broke beneath his moccasins as with
+panther-like step and crouching form he led
+me through a lot of young trees over a rocky
+place until we struck a small spring with a
+soft muddy margin. Here Pete came to a
+sudden halt. I asked him why he did not go
+on, and he pointed to a ledge of rock that ran
+up the mountain side diagonally with a flat,
+natural roadbed on top, graded like a stage
+road but unlike a traveled road, ending in a
+bunch of underwood and brush about a hundred
+yards ahead.</p>
+
+<p>Above the ledge of the rocks was a steep
+declivity of loose shale sprinkled over with
+large and small boulders of radically different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+formations, and in no manner resembling the
+friable, uncertain bed upon which they rested.</p>
+
+<p>These boulders undoubtedly showed the result
+of the grinding and polishing of an ancient,
+slow-moving glacier, but some other force had
+deposited them in the present position.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s in tha&#8217;,&#8221; whispered Pete.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who, the wild mountain man?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered my guide, &#8220;th&#8217; grizzly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The what?&#8221; I almost shouted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Th&#8217; grizzly,&#8221; answered Pete; &#8220;what do
+you think we&#8217;ve been following?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Black-tailed deer,&#8221; I said softly, with my
+eyes glued on the thicket.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, tenderfoot, here&#8217;s the trail of that
+tha&#8217; <i>deer</i>, and he hain&#8217;t been gone by here
+mor&#8217;n nor a week ago, nuther.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked and there in the soft mud was the
+print of a foot, a human-looking foot, but
+for the evenness in the length of the toes and
+the sharpness and length of the toe nails.
+Yes, there was another difference, and that
+was the size. It was the footprint of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+savage Hercules, the track of an enormous
+grizzly bear, and the soft mud that had dripped
+from the big foot was still undried on the
+leaves and grass when Pete pointed it out to
+me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, Pete, don&#8217;t forget your promise that
+I am to have first shot at all big game,&#8221; I
+whispered with my best effort at coolness, but
+my heart was thumping against my ribs at
+a terrific rate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;why, bless you old man!&#8221; I whispered
+excitedly as I looked at my gun, &#8220;I am
+armed only with a shotgun.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tha&#8217;s all right,&#8221; replied the big trapper
+complacently; then, with a quick motion, he
+whipped out his keen-edged knife and snatching
+one of my cartridges he severed the shell
+neatly between the two wads which separated
+the powder and shot; that is, a wad in each
+piece of the cartridge was exposed by the cut.</p>
+
+<p>Guided by the faint longitudinal seam where
+the edges of the colored paper join on the shell,
+Big Pete carefully fitted the two parts of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+cartridge together exactly as they were before
+being cut apart. Breaking my gun, he slipped
+the mutilated ammunition into the unchoked
+barrel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tha&#8217;,&#8221; he grunted, &#8220;tha&#8217;s better than a
+bullet at short range, an&#8217;ll tar a hole in old
+Ephraim big enough to put your arm through.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He cut two more in the same manner, saying,
+&#8220;Be darned kerful not to get excited and
+put them in your choke barl, or tha&#8217; may be
+trouble.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Hunting a grizzly with a shotgun and bird
+shot was not my idea of safe sport, but I was
+too much of a moral coward to acknowledge
+to Pete that I was frightened. Pete examined
+his gun, ran his finger over the cartridges in
+his belt, and went through all the familiar
+motions which to him were unconscious but
+always foretold danger ahead.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You drap on your prayer hinges behind
+that tha&#8217; nigger head,&#8221; said Pete, &#8220;and you
+will have a dead shot at the brute, an&#8217; I&#8217;ll go
+up and roll a stone down the mountain side and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+follow it as fast as I kin, so as to be ready to
+help you if you need it; but you ought to drap
+him at first shot at short range. Yer must
+drap him, yer must or I allow tha&#8217;ll be a right
+smart of a scrap here, and don&#8217;t yer forget
+it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is no Christmas turkey shooting,
+young feller, so look sharp,&#8221; and with a noiseless
+tread Pete vanished in the wood, while I
+with beating heart and bulging eyes watched
+the thicket at the end of the ledge. I had not
+long to wait before I heard a blood-curdling
+yell and then crash! crash! crash! came a big
+boulder tearing down the mountain side. It
+reached a point just over the thicket, struck a
+small pine tree, broke the tree and leaped
+high into the air, then crashed into the middle
+of the brush.</p>
+
+<p>Following with giant leaps came Big Pete
+Darlinkel down the rocky declivity, but I
+only looked that way for one instant, then my
+eyes were again fixed on the thicket, and in
+my excitement I arose to a standing position.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+There was but a momentary silence after the
+fall of the boulder before I heard the rustling
+of sticks and leaves, saw the top of the bushes
+sway as some heavy body moved beneath,
+then there appeared a head, and what a head
+it was! Bigger than all outdoors! I aimed
+my gun, but my body swayed and the end
+of my shotgun described a large circle in the
+air. I knew that my position was serious, but
+my nerves played me false.</p>
+
+<p>I had never before faced a grizzly. I heard
+Big Pete&#8217;s voice calling to me to drop behind
+the rock, but I only stood there with a dogged
+stupidity, trying to aim my gun at a mark
+which seemed to me as big almost as a barn-door.</p>
+
+<p>I heard Pete give a sudden cry then there
+was a rattle of stones and dirt on the ledge
+in front of the mountain of brownish hair that
+was advancing in sort of side leaps or bounds
+like a big ball.</p>
+
+<p>The bear came to a sudden stop, and to my
+horror I saw the form of my friend shoot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+over the edge of the overhanging rock right
+in the path of the grizzly. It all flashed
+through my mind in a moment. Pete in his
+haste to reach me had lost control of himself
+and slid with the rolling stones and dirt over
+the mountain side, a fall of at least twenty-five
+feet!</p>
+
+<p>Instantly my nerve returned and I rushed
+madly up the incline to rescue my companion.
+I bounded between the branches of some stout
+saplings, they parted as my body struck them
+but sprung together again before my leg had
+cleared the V-shaped opening.</p>
+
+<p>My foot was imprisoned and I fell with a
+heavy thud on my face. For an instant I
+was dazed, but even in my dazed state I was
+fully conscious of Pete&#8217;s impending peril,
+and I kicked and struggled blindly to free
+myself. My gun had been flung from my hand
+in my fall and was out of my reach. Then to
+my horror I heard the howl the wolf gives when
+game is in sight, and even half blind as I was
+I saw dark, dog-like forms sweep by me; I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+heard the scream of an eagle; I heard a snarling
+and yelping, the sounds of a struggle&mdash;I
+ceased to kick, wiped the blood from my eyes
+and looked ahead.</p>
+
+<p>There lay Big Pete Darlinkel, dead or
+unconscious, and within ten feet of him
+stood the giant bear surrounded by a vicious
+pack of gaunt red-mouthed wolves. The
+bear made a rush and a shadow passed over
+the ground; I heard the sound of a large body
+rushing swiftly through the air, and an
+immense eagle struck the bear like a thunderbolt;
+at the same instant the wolves attacked
+him from all sides; then there was a whistle
+keen and clear; the wolves retreated; the bird
+again soared aloft; the bear made several
+passes in the air in search of the bird, fell
+forward again on all fours, rose on its hind
+legs and killed a wolf with one sweep of its
+great paw.</p>
+
+<p>The bear now made a dash at the giant
+leader of the pack, only to fall forward, dead,
+with its ugly nose across Big Pete&#8217;s chest.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Then I remembered hearing the crack of a
+rifle, and knew that the Wild Mountain Man
+had saved our lives. I tried to rise but found
+my ankle so badly sprained that I could not
+stand on it.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a low voice with a hint of an
+Irish accent said, &#8220;Sit down, stranger, while
+I look to your mate,&#8221; and I saw the tall lithe
+figure of a man clothed in buckskin bending
+over Pete.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Only stunned, friend,&#8221; said he, and I
+heard no more. The blow on my head,
+combined with the pain from my ankle was
+too much for me, and now that the danger was
+over it was a good time to faint, and I took
+advantage of it.</p>
+
+<p>How long I remained unconscious I do not
+know, but when my eyes opened again it was
+night; through the interlacing boughs overhead
+the stars were shining brightly, my head
+was neatly bandaged and so was my foot and
+ankle. I could hear our horses cropping grass
+near by. I raised my head and there lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+Pete; he was alive I knew by his snores that
+issued from his nose, and we were in our own
+camp; but&mdash;what are those animals by our
+camp fire? Wolves! gaunt, shaggy wolves!</p>
+
+<p>I hastily arose to a sitting posture, but my
+alarm subsided when in the dim light of the
+fire I could trace the outline of another man&#8217;s
+figure, and on a stick close to the stranger&#8217;s
+head roosted a giant bird.</p>
+
+<p>Could it be that this wild man of the mountain&mdash;possibly
+my own father&mdash;was camping
+with us?</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+
+<p>&#8220;Moseyed, by gum! I&#8217;ll be tarnally tarnashuned
+if that terri-fa-ca-cious spook hain&#8217;t
+pulled out!&#8221; was the exclamation that awakened
+me the morning after our adventure with
+the bear.</p>
+
+<p>Lazily opening my eyes I gazed a moment
+at the sun just peeping over the mountain,
+then closed them again; but when I attempted
+to change my position a sharp pain in my
+ankle thoroughly awakened me. Still I lay
+quiet because it was some time before I could
+collect my scattered senses and separate in
+my mind the real incident and the dream
+phantasms.</p>
+
+<p>The pain in my ankle, the swelled and
+irritated condition of my nose plainly proved
+to me that there was no dream about my injuries,
+but I discovered that my head and leg
+were neatly bandaged with strips of fine linen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+I sat for a while busily collecting the incidents
+of the past twenty-four hours, arranging them
+in my mind in their proper order and place.
+I cut out the dream portion from the realities
+with very little trouble until I reached the
+part where I had awakened in the night and
+had seen the wolves, the eagle and the Wild
+Hunter. I could not be sure whether that was
+a dream or reality. Had I seen this strange
+old man with his eagle and his wolf pack
+beside our camp fire or had I dreamed it?
+Had this hobgoblin man, who might be my
+own father, rescued me from death at the
+claws of the grizzly and bound my wounds
+for me, or was that but a dream too? Had
+not Big Pete saved me perhaps and cared for
+me afterward?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pete, old fellow,&#8221; I said presently, rising
+to my elbow, &#8220;who brought me to camp?
+Who killed that bear? Who saved our lives?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Wild Hunter,&#8221; replied Pete gravely.
+&#8220;He bathed my head with some sort of good
+smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+dead buffaler, toted me to camp; he &#8217;lowed
+that I was all sort of shuk up and a little
+hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched
+you in on his shoulders just as if you was a
+dead antelope, fixed you up with bandages
+torn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave
+you a drink which you didn&#8217;t seem to appreciate,
+but just swallowed like you were asleep,
+then he laid you out. I had my eye peeled
+on him but he said nary a word, an&#8217; when
+we wuz both all comfortable he pulled out a
+long cigar, sot down by the fire and was
+smoking tha&#8217; with his bird and his wolves
+around him when I went to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He cut his bullets out, as he allus does,&#8221;
+muttered Pete a little while later.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who cut what bullets?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whomsoever cud I mean but th&#8217; Wild
+Hunter, and wha&#8217;s tha&#8217; been any bullets
+lately but in th&#8217; b&#8217;ar?&#8221; queried my companion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, of course,&#8221; I admitted, &#8220;but why do
+you suppose he cut out the bullets?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wal, I reckon tha&#8217; might be right scarce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+and he haster be kinder sparing with them.
+I calculate you&#8217;d like to have a hatful of them
+balls, leastwise most folks would; cause
+the Wild Hunter don&#8217;t use no common low-flung
+lead for his bullets, no-sir-ree bob-horsefly!
+Tain&#8217;t good &#8217;nuff for a high-cock-alorum
+like him&mdash;<i>he shoots balls of virgin gold!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But I was more interested in what had
+become of this strange man than in the sort
+of projectiles rumor said that he used in his
+gun and so dismissed the subject with a
+request for further information about our
+rescuer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This morning when I opened my peepers,&#8221;
+Pete continued, &#8220;I t&#8217;ought maybe the Wild
+Hunter had only gone off on a tramp; but
+he&#8217;s done clared out for good, and tuk his
+wolves and bird with him. I&#8217;m some glad he
+took th&#8217; wolves, I don&#8217;t sorter like the look
+of their mean eyes; they do say that he is a
+wolf himself and the head of the pack.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s that, Pete? Steady, old man, now
+let&#8217;s go slow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>&#8220;All right; tha&#8217;s wha&#8217; I mean ter do.
+&#8217;Cause it hain&#8217;t a varmint natur&#8217; to help
+men folks, and he done helped us, and no
+mistake, and left us the bulk of the b&#8217;ar too,&mdash;only
+took the claws, teeth and tenderloin or
+two for himself and pack; that is, if he be a
+wolf. But we will settle that if your foot
+will let you walk a bit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How far?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Only over yan way to the first piece of
+wet ground, and the trail leads down to tha&#8217;
+spring tha&#8217;, and tha&#8217; is quite a right smart
+bit of muddy swail beyont.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right, I&#8217;ll try it,&#8221; I exclaimed. But
+I could not touch my foot on the ground, and
+it was not until my guide had made me a
+crutch of a forked branch, padded with
+a piece of fur, that I was able to go limping
+along after Big Pete.</p>
+
+<p>We followed the trail left by the Wild
+Hunter to the spring. The trail after that
+was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes;
+and when we reached the muddy spot the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+print of the moccasined feet and the dog-like
+tracks of the wolves were distinctly visible.</p>
+
+<p>But look at Big Pete!</p>
+
+<p>As motionless as a statue, with a solemn
+face he stoops with a rigid figure pointing to
+the trail! I hastened to his side and saw that
+the moccasin prints ceased in the middle of
+an open, bare, muddy place and beyond were
+nothing but the dog-like tracks of the wolves.</p>
+
+<p>I looked up and all around; there were no
+overhanging branches that a man could
+swing himself upon, no stones that he could
+leap upon&mdash;nothing but the straggling bunches
+of ferns; but here in this open spot the Wild
+Hunter vanished.</p>
+
+<p>We walked back in silence, for I had nothing
+to say, and Pete did not volunteer any further
+information.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+
+<p>To have one&#8217;s nose all but broken, both
+eyes blackened and a twisted ankle is a sad
+misfortune wherever it occurs, but when such
+a thing happens to a fellow many weary miles
+from the nearest human habitation and in a
+howling wilderness it might be considered
+anything but pleasant. Yet, strange as it
+may appear, among the most pleasant and
+precious memories I have stored away in my
+mind, only to be tapped upon special occasions,
+is the memory of the glorious days spent nursing
+my bruises and lolling around that far-away
+camp. Sometimes I listened to the
+quaint yarns of my unique and interesting
+guide or idly watched the changing colors and
+effects which the sun and the atmosphere produced
+on the snow-capped mountains of
+Darlinkel&#8217;s Park. I made friends with our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+little neighbors the rock-chuck, whose home
+was in the base of the cliff back of the spring,
+and became intimate with the golden chipmunk
+and its pretty little black and white
+cousin, the four-striped chipmunk, both of
+which were common and remarkably tame
+about camp.</p>
+
+<p>Back of the camp in the dark shade of the
+evergreens there was a bark mound composed
+entirely of the fragments of the conifera cones,
+which Pete said was the squirrel&#8217;s dining room.
+This mound contained at least four good cart-loads
+of fragments and all of it was the work
+of the impudent little blunt-nosed red squirrels,
+which were plentiful in the woods.</p>
+
+<p>How long it took these small rodents to
+heap such a mass of material together I was
+unable to calculate, but the mound was as
+large as some of the shell heaps made by the
+ancient oyster-eating men and left by them
+along our coast from Florida to Maine.</p>
+
+<p>The numerous magpies seemed to be conscious
+of my admiration of their beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+piebald plumage and to take every opportunity
+to show off its iridescent hues to the best
+advantage in the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>Pete evidently thought I was a chap of
+very low taste, with a great lack of discrimination
+in the choice of my friends among the
+forest folk, and he could see no reason for
+my intimacy with &#8220;all th&#8217; outlaws and most
+rascally varmints of the park.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Truth compels me to admit that the pranks
+of some of my little friends were often mischievous
+and annoying, but they were also
+humorous and entertaining and I laughed
+when the &#8220;tallow-head&#8221; jay swooped down
+and snatched a tid-bit from Pete&#8217;s plate just as
+he was about to eat it, and when the irate
+trapper threw his plate at the camp robber
+it was a charming sight to see a number of
+birds flutter down to feast upon the scattered
+food.</p>
+
+<p>The loud-mouthed, self-asserting fly-catcher
+in the cottonwood tree learned to know my
+whistle, and whenever I attempted to mimic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+him he would send back a ringing answer.
+The charming little lazulii buntings were
+tamer than the irritating dirty English sparrows
+at home.</p>
+
+<p>It was interesting to notice how quickly all
+our little wild neighbors learned to know that
+the sound produced by banging on a tin plate
+meant dough-god and other good things at our
+camp, and as they came rustling among the
+grasses or fluttering from bush and trees they
+showed more fear of each other than they did
+of Pete and me.</p>
+
+<p>When the myriads of bright stars would
+twinkle in the blue black sky or the great
+round-faced moon climb over the mountain
+tops to see what was doing in the park, the
+birds and chipmunks were quiet, but then
+the big pack-rats, with squirrel-like tails,
+would troop out from their secret caves and
+invade the camp.</p>
+
+<p>In the gray dawn, while sleeping in a tent,
+I often awakened to hear something scamper
+up its steep side and then laughed to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+shadow of a comical little body toboggan
+down the canvas. Our pocket-knives, compasses
+and all other small objects were never
+safe unless securely packed away out of reach
+of these nocturnal marauders.</p>
+
+<p>Our conversations around the camp fire
+evenings were highly interesting too, for Big
+Pete was a fluent talker with a wealth of
+stories of the Great West at his tongue&#8217;s end.
+Indeed, the story of his family and their
+migration west was one that fascinated me.
+His father had been a trapper in the old days;
+he had done his share of roaming the mountains,
+prospecting and making his strikes,
+small and large, fighting Indians and living
+the strenuous life of the border pioneer. He
+had found the woman he afterward married
+unconscious under an overturned wagon of
+an emigrant train that had been raided by the
+Indians, and after nursing her back to health
+in his mining shack, had married her. With
+money he had worked from the &#8220;diggin&#8217;s&#8221;
+he had acquired, by grants from the government,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+the beautiful and expansive mountain
+park where he had planned to develop a
+ranch. He never went very far with his
+project, however, for a raiding party of
+Indians caught him alone in the mountains
+and his wife found his body pinned to the
+ground with arrows. The shock of his tragedy
+killed Big Pete&#8217;s mother soon after, and the
+young Peter Darlinkel, then three years old,
+went to a nearby settlement to be brought up
+by an uncle and a squaw aunt. Pete became
+prospector, scout, trapper and hunter, using
+this beautiful park that became his as a result
+of the passing of his father, as a private game
+preserve, so to speak. That is, it was private
+except for the intrusion of the Wild Hunter
+and his black wolf pack.</p>
+
+<p>In a fragmentary way Big Pete told me this
+story and other interesting tales of this wild
+western country, but mostly our conversation
+turned to this old man of the mountains who
+was such a mystery to everyone, even to Big
+Pete, but who, despite the lugubrious reputation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+had proved a kindly gentleman and a
+good friend to me.</p>
+
+<p>There were no visible signs of a change in the
+weather which had been clear for weeks, and
+the sky was otherwise clear blue save where
+the white mares&#8217; tails swept across the heavens.
+But when we sat down to supper that evening
+I could hear the rumbling of distant thunder.
+I knew it was thunder for, although the fall
+of avalanches makes the same noise, avalanches
+choose the noon time to fall when the
+sun is hottest and the snows softest. Soon I
+could see the heads of some dark clouds
+peering at us over the mountains and before
+dark the clouds crept over the mountain tops
+and overcast our sky.</p>
+
+<p>It rained all that night in a fitful manner and
+came to a stop about four <span class="smcap">A.&nbsp;M.</span> The wind
+went down and the air seemed to have lost its
+vivacity and life; it was a dead atmosphere;
+we arose from our blankets feeling tired and
+listless.</p>
+
+<p>While we were eating our breakfast dark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+clouds again suddenly obscured the heavens
+and before we had finished the meal big drops
+of rain set the camp fire spluttering and drove
+us to the shelter of our tent; then it rained!
+Lord help us! the water came down in such
+torrents that on account of the spray we could
+not see thirty feet; then came hailstones as
+large as hen&#8217;s eggs. There was some lightning
+and thunder, but either the splashing of the
+water drowned the rumbling or the electric
+fluid was so far distant that the reports were
+not loud when they reached us. Suddenly
+there was a ripping noise, followed by a sort
+of subdued roar which stampeded our horses
+from their shelter under a projecting rock and
+made the earth shudder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Earthquake!&#8221; I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wuss,&#8221; said Pete, &#8220;hit&#8217;s a landslide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Instantly a thought went through my brain
+like a hot bullet and made me shudder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pete,&#8221; I shouted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m right hyer, tenderfut, you needn&#8217;t holler
+so loud,&#8221; he answered, and calmly filled his pipe.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>I flung myself impulsively on my companion,
+grasped his big brawny shoulders, and
+with my face close to his I whispered, &#8220;Pete,
+I believe the slide occurred at the gate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, hit did sound that-a-way,&#8221; admitted
+Pete composedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pete,&#8221; I continued, &#8220;that butte has caved
+in on our trail!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wull, tenderfut, we ain&#8217;t hurt, be we?
+Tha&#8217;s plenty of game here fur the tak&#8217;n of it
+and plenty of water, as fine as ever spouted
+from old Moses&#8217; rock, right at hand. If the
+Mesa&#8217;s cut our trail we can live well here for
+a hundred years and not have to chew wolf
+mutton neither. I don&#8217;t reckon I can go to
+York with you just yet,&#8221; drawled my comrade
+in a most provokingly imperturbable manner,
+as he slowly freed himself from my grasp and
+made for the camp fire, which being to a great
+extent sheltered by an overhanging rock, was
+still smouldering in spite of the drenching rain.
+Raking the ashes until he found a red glowing
+coal, Pete deftly picked it up and by juggling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+it from one hand to the other, he conducted
+the live ember to his pipe-bowl, then he puffed
+away as calmly as if there was nothing in this
+world to trouble him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If the gate be shut,&#8221; he resumed, &#8220;it will
+keep out prospectors, tramps and Injuns.&#8221;
+With that he went to smoking his red-willow<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
+bark again.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The trappers and Indians made Kil-i-ki-nic, or Kinnikinick, by
+mixing tobacco with the inside bark of red willow, which is the
+common name for the red osier of the dogwood family. <span class="smcap">Editor.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>But I could not view the situation so complacently,
+and when the rain had ceased as
+suddenly as it began, with some difficulty I
+caught my horse and made my way to the
+gate, to discover that my worst fears were
+realized; a large section of the cliff had split
+off the Mesa and slid down into the narrow
+gateway completely filling the space and
+leaving a wall of over one hundred feet of
+sheer precipice for us to climb before we could
+escape from our Eden-like prison.</p>
+
+<p>Again a wave of superstitious dread swept
+over me as I viewed the tightly closed exit,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>a dread that perhaps after all there was more
+to Big Pete&#8217;s superstitions about the Wild
+Hunter than I dared to admit, else why should
+that cliff which had stood for thousands of
+years take this opportunity to split off and
+choke up the ancient trail?</p>
+
+<p>The longer I questioned myself, the less
+was my ability to answer. I sat on a stone
+and for some time was lost in thought. When
+at length I looked up it was to see Big Pete
+with folded arms silently gazing at the barricaded
+exit and the muddy pool of water extending
+for some distance back of the gateway
+into the park.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, tenderfut, you was dead right in
+your judication. The gate air shut sure
+&#8217;nuff. Our horses ain&#8217;t likely to take the
+back trail and leave us, that&#8217;s sartin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Pete,&#8221; I exclaimed, &#8220;how will we ever
+get out? Must we spend the remainder of
+our lives here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It do look as if we&#8217;d stop hyer a right
+smart bit,&#8221; he admitted, &#8220;maybe till this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+hyer holler between the mountains all fills
+with water agin like it was onct before, I
+reckon. Don&#8217;t you think that we&#8217;d better get
+busy and build a Noah&#8217;s Ark?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pete, you&#8217;d joke if the world came to an
+end. But seriously I think we might move
+our camp back to the far end of your park.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+
+<p>One day after we had selected our new camp,
+I took my rod along and wandered into the
+wonderful forest of ancient trees. There I
+seated myself on a log to think over my experience.
+Somehow my own trials and ambitions
+seemed small, trivial and not worth
+while when I looked upon those grand trees
+standing silently on guard as they were standing
+when Columbus was busy smashing a hard-boiled
+egg to make it stand on end. Yes,
+naturalists tell us some of these same trees
+were standing before the New Testament was
+written and then as now their branches concealed
+their lofty tops and formed a screen
+through which the powerful rays of the noon-day
+sun are filtered, refined and subdued to a
+dreamy twilight below, a twilight in which
+the soft green mosses and lace-like ferns thrive
+into luxuriant growth.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>It was so still and quiet in that forest that
+the silence seemed to hurt my ears and I
+found myself listening to see if I could not hear
+the deep dark blue blossoms of the fringed
+gentians whispering scandals about the flaming
+Indian paint brushes that flourished in
+the opening in the woods where the sun&#8217;s
+ray could reach and warm the dark earth.
+As I listened I could not help but speculate
+a great deal as to the possibilities of the odd
+old man of this forest being in some way
+connected with my father&#8217;s history, but the
+story of the wolf-man as given to me by my
+big companion was so varied and so mixed
+with the superstitions of the Indians and
+trappers who had come in contact with him,
+or had seen him and his weird wolf pack
+roaming the mountains, that I could not
+in any way take it as the basis for a solution
+of the problem.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, the more Big Pete told me the less
+I believed that this strange and probably
+mad man could be my father. In truth, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+only real clue or even faint reason I had for
+believing that he owned the missing &#8220;Patrick
+Mullen&#8221; was because this gun at a distance
+seemed to correspond with the description of
+the Mullen&#8217;s gun. It was a faint clue indeed
+and sometimes seemed not worth investigation.
+Yet when I began to doubt the possibility
+an unexplained impulse or force kept
+urging me on to believe that if I but persisted
+and found an opportunity to examine this gun
+it would prove to be the one I sought, and if I
+had a chance to talk to this strange Wild
+Hunter much of the mystery that surrounded
+my own babyhood would be cleared up, so
+I found myself earnestly longing for a real
+interview with this mysterious creature.</p>
+
+<p>The more I thought of it the more I was
+inclined to believe that I was on the right
+track, until at last convinced that this was so,
+I cried aloud, &#8220;I have found him!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who! Who!&#8221; queried a startled owl, as it
+peered down at me from its hiding place in
+the dense foliage of a cedar far above.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>&#8220;Never mind who, you old rascal,&#8221; I laughingly
+replied, and picking up my fishing-rod I
+parted the underbrush to start on my way
+through the wood for some trout, but suddenly
+halted when I found myself staring into the
+face of a huge timber wolf. The beast&#8217;s lips
+were drawn back displaying its gleaming fangs,
+its back hair was as erect as the cropped mane
+of a pony, its mongolian eyes shone green
+through their narrow slits and its whole attitude
+seemed to say, &#8220;Well, now that you have
+found me, what do you propose to do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now, boys, do not make any mistake about
+me, I am not a hero and never posed as one;
+in truth my timidity at times amounts to
+cowardice, a fact which I usually keep to
+myself, but I never was afraid of wolves
+until I so unexpectedly met this one. It is
+needless to say that I have no hair on my back,
+it is as bare as that of any other fellow&#8217;s,
+nevertheless, on this occasion I could distinctly
+feel my bristles rise from the nape of my neck
+to the end of my spine, just the same as those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+on the oblique-eyed, shaggy monster whose
+snapping teeth were so near my face.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody is familiar with the fact that
+people who have had limbs amputated often
+complain of pains or itching in the missing
+members. My missing back hair, the hair
+which my ancestors lost by the slow process
+of evolution, the hair which grew on the back
+of the &#8220;missing link,&#8221; stood on end at the
+sight of this wolf. However, this fear was
+but momentary and when my courage returned
+I lifted my rod case in a threatening
+manner, and the wolf slunk away as noiselessly
+as a shadow, and like a shadow faded
+out of sight in the dim twilight of the ancient
+forest. When I reached the open land beyond
+the forest another surprise awaited me.</p>
+
+<p>Surely this is heaven, I thought as I waded
+knee-deep among the beautiful flowers of the
+prairie, starting the sharp pin-tailed grouse,
+prairie chickens and sage grouse from their
+retreats and sending the meadow-larks skimming
+away over flowering billows. Reaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+an elevation where I could peer beyond the
+crests of one of the &#8220;ground swells&#8221; which
+furrowed the sea of nodding blossoms, I saw
+through the stems of the plants, a part of the
+prairie at first concealed from view, and there
+appeared to be numerous irregular boulders
+of dark brown stone scattered around among
+the vegetation, and the boulders were moving!</p>
+
+<p>Careful scrutiny, however, proved them to
+be not stones but live buffalo. Big Pete
+had often told me that these animals lived
+unmolested by him in the park; but when I
+realized that I was looking at between three
+and four hundred real buffalo my heart gave
+a great jump of joy. I tried to view them so
+as to take in their details, but the apparently
+shapeless masses of dark reddish brown wool
+appeared to have none, unless indeed the
+comical fur trousers with frayed bottoms on
+their front legs might be called detail.</p>
+
+<p>Even the faces of the beasts were so concealed
+by masks of knotted wool that at first
+I could distinguish neither eyes, noses, horns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+or ears; but in spite of their ragged trousers
+and their masked faces, the bison are sublime
+in their mighty strength and ponderous proportions,
+and as this was the first wild herd
+I had ever seen and one of the very few, if
+not the only one, then extant, I viewed them
+with the keenest interest.</p>
+
+<p>But the scattered bunches of antelope, which
+I now noticed were dotting the plains around
+the buffalo, appealed to my love of the beautiful.
+Knowing that in other localities these
+charming little creatures are rapidly being
+slaughtered and steadily decreasing in numbers
+and that all attempts to breed them in
+captivity have so far failed, they at once
+absorbed my attention to the exclusion of
+their larger neighbors.</p>
+
+<p>When we moved our camp to the far side
+of the lake, Big Pete told me that I could find
+plenty of trout streams beyond the timber
+belt, and he also informed me that I could
+there see the walls of the park and satisfy
+myself that there was but one trail leading
+into the preserve.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>I do not now recall the sort of walls that
+were pictured in my mind or know what I
+really expected to see enclosing Darlinkel&#8217;s
+Park, but I do know that when I suddenly
+emerged from the dark forests into the sunlit
+prairie, the scene which greeted my vision
+was not the one painted by my imagination.</p>
+
+<p>Before me stretched an open plain surrounded
+by mountains arising abruptly from
+a bed of many colored flowers; they were the
+same ranges whose snow-covered peaks formed
+a feature of the landscape at the lake and at
+our first camp.</p>
+
+<p>Here, however, their appearance was different,
+as different as the dark forest from
+the open sunlit prairie. The scene at first
+did not seem real, it had a sort of a drop-curtain
+effect that was as familiar to me as
+the row of footlights and gilded boxes, but
+never did I expect to see those delicate tints,
+that blue atmosphere, the fresco colored rocks
+and all the theatrical properties of a drop-curtain
+duplicated in nature, yet here it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+before me, not a detail wanting, even the
+impossible mammoth bed of gaudy flowers at
+the foot of the mountain was here and the
+numerous cascades had not been forgotten.
+Well, it does seem wonderful to me that
+unknown theatrical daubers should know so
+much more of nature than the public for
+whom they paint.</p>
+
+<p>But, nature is a bolder artist than even the
+daring scenic painters; in front of me was a
+prairie of flowers, acres and acres of waving,
+undulating masses of color; thousands of
+Arizona wyetha (wild sunflowers) mingled
+with the brilliant tips of the fire-weed and
+clumps of odorous and delicately colored
+horsemint. There were other flowers unfamiliar
+to me and hundreds of big blossoms of
+what I took to be a member of the primrose
+family. It was in this garden that the
+buffalo and antelope were grazing.</p>
+
+<p>An old buck antelope saw me and I instantly
+dropped to the ground and was concealed by
+the flowering vegetation. I wanted to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+the home life of these animals, but was
+disappointed because of the attention I had
+attracted. When first discovered the does
+were browsing with heads down and the kids
+were playing tag with one another, every once
+in a while spreading the white hair on their
+rumps and then lowering the &#8220;white flag&#8221;
+again, they apparently used it as a Morse
+signal system of their own. But now they
+were all alert and facing me; the bucks had
+seen something and that something had
+suddenly disappeared. This must be investigated,
+so they circled round hesitatingly; the
+apparition might be a foe but still they <i>must</i>
+satisfy their curiosity and discover what it was
+of which they had had a moment&#8217;s glimpse
+and thus they approached nearer and ever
+nearer to my place of concealment.</p>
+
+<p>Soon, however, I became aware of the fact
+that the antelope had unaccountably lost all
+thought of me and were deeply interested in
+something else which from their actions I
+concluded to be recognized as an enemy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+It was now apparent that if Big Pete did not
+hunt the prong-horns someone or something
+else <i>did</i> hunt them.</p>
+
+<p>As a bunch broke away from the scattered
+groups and came in my direction, making great
+leaps over the prairie, I detected the cause of
+their panic in the form of a huge eagle which
+was keeping pace with and flying over the
+fleeing prong-horns.</p>
+
+<p>The bird was not more than a dozen feet
+above the animals&#8217; backs and in vain did
+the poor creatures try to distance their
+pursuer. At length they scattered, each one
+taking a course of his own. Then the bird did
+a strange thing. It singled out the largest
+buck and persistently following him, it came
+directly towards me and passed within ten
+feet of my ambush, the broad wings of the
+antelope&#8217;s relentless foe casting a dark shadow
+over the straining muscles of the beautiful
+animal&#8217;s back. I was tempted to drive the
+bird away or shoot at it with my revolver,
+but the thought that I had seen that bird<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+before restrained me and the fact that it pursued
+a strong, healthy buck instead of selecting
+a weaker and more easy prey convinced me
+that this eagle had been trained to the hunt
+and was not a wild<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> bird, for the immutable
+law that &#8220;labor follows the line of least resistance&#8221;
+holds good with all wild creatures.
+It was not long before I had to use my field
+glasses to follow the chase and then I discovered
+that the poor prong-horn was showing
+signs of fatigue. It had made a grave error
+in dashing up an incline and the eagle from
+his position above knew that the time had
+come to strike and, like a thunderbolt, it
+fell, striking its hooked talons in the graceful
+neck of the terror-stricken antelope.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The late Howard Eaton of Wolf, Wyoming, watched an eagle
+hunt down a prong-horned buck.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Editor.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Hoping to get a nearer view of the last
+tragedy, I hastened towards the spot and
+before I was aware of my position, found
+myself close to the herd of buffalo. I then
+saw that these beasts being unaccustomed to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>man, did not fear him, but on the contrary
+meant to show fight. As I came to a sudden
+halt the old bulls began to paw the earth,
+throwing the dirt up over their backs and
+bellowing with a low vibrating roar that was
+terror-inspiring. Then they dropped to their
+knees, rolled on their backs, got up, shook
+themselves, licked their noses, &#8220;rolled up their
+tails&#8221; into stiff curves, put down their heads
+and came at me. The cows with their hair
+standing on end like angry elks and bellowing
+loudly were not behind their lords in aggressiveness
+and the comical little calves came
+bouncing along after their dame.</p>
+
+<p>Was I frightened? That depends upon
+one&#8217;s definition of the word. I was not
+panic-stricken, but to say that I was not
+<i>excited</i> when I saw those animated masses
+of dark brown wool come roaring and thundering
+at me would be to make boast that no
+one who has had a similar experience would
+believe.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, not far behind me was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+hollow or gully already mentioned and I
+bolted over the edge of it. As soon as the bank
+concealed my person I ran as I never ran
+before taking a course at right angles to my
+original one and leeward of the herd, and at
+last, out of breath, I rolled over in the weeds
+and lay there panting and straining my ears
+to hear the snorting beasts.</p>
+
+<p>My chest felt dry, hot and oppressed from
+forced and labored breathing, and had the
+buffalo discovered me I do not think I could
+have run another step. But the big brutes
+halted at the edge of the bank and seeing no
+one in sight walked around pawing and throwing
+up great clouds of dust and in their rage
+apparently daring me to come forth. Like
+a small boy when he hears a challenge from
+a gang of toughs, I decided that I did not want
+to fight and lay as quiet as possible among
+the sunflowers until I had regained my breath.
+When the buffalo wandered back to their
+original pasture land I, like a coyote, slunk
+away and consoled myself with the thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+that although I had had my run for my money,
+at least, I had seen the death of the antelope
+even if I did miss again seeing the Wild
+Hunter &#8220;collar his game,&#8221; as Big Pete would
+have called the act of securing it. Besides
+this I had a real exciting adventure with
+good red-blooded American animals and
+learned the lesson that large horned beasts
+which have not been taught to fear man are
+exceedingly dangerous to man.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+
+<p>Rising abruptly from the prairie was a
+frowning precipice a thousand or more feet
+high and above and beyond the top of this
+cliff, the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>When Big Pete told me that his park was
+&#8220;walled in&#8221; he told me the mildest sort of
+truth; the prairie is the bottom of a wide
+canyon, in fact everything seems to indicate
+that the whole park had settled, sunk&mdash;&#8220;taken
+a drop&#8221; of a thousand or more feet;
+forming what miners would call a fault.</p>
+
+<p>From the glaciers up among the clouds
+numerous streams of melted ice came dashing
+down the sides of the mountain range, fanciful
+cascades leaping without fear from most
+stupendous heights spreading out in long
+horse-tail falls over the face of the cliff, doing
+everything but looking real. At the foot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+each of the falls there was a pool of deep
+water, in one or two instances the pools were
+smooth basins hollowed out of solid rock
+in which the water was as transparent as air
+and but for the millions of air bubbles caused
+by the falling water every inch of bottom
+could be plainly seen by an observer at the
+brink of the pool.</p>
+
+<p>The trout in these basins were almost as
+colorless as the water itself (the light color
+of the fish is due to their chameleon-like
+power of modifying their hue to imitate their
+surroundings)&mdash;this mimicry is so perfect
+that after looking into one of these stone
+basins, the rounded smooth sides of which
+offered no shade or nook where a trout might
+hide, I was ready to declare the waters uninhabited
+but no sooner had my brown hackel
+or professor settled lightly on the surface of
+the pool than out from among the air bubbles
+a fish appeared and seized the fly.</p>
+
+<p>My sprained ankle was now so much improved
+that upon discovering a diagonal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+fracture in the face of the cliff, which looked
+as if offering a foot hold, and feeling reckless,
+I determined to make the effort to scale the
+wall at this point.</p>
+
+<p>If the giant &#8220;fault&#8221; is of comparatively
+recent occurrence, geologically speaking, it
+seemed reasonable that there would be trout
+in the streams above the cliff and the memory
+of the fact that Pete had reported that both
+Rocky Mountain sheep and goats were up
+there decided me to attempt to scale the wall
+by the fracture. It was a long, hard climb
+and more than once while I clung to the
+chance projections or dug my fingers into
+small cracks and looked down upon the backs
+of some golden eagle sailing in spirals below
+me, I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt,
+but when the top was reached and I saw
+signs of sheep and had a peep at a white
+object I took to be a goat, I felt repaid for my
+arduous climb.</p>
+
+<p>The elevated prairie or table-land on which
+I found myself corresponded in every important<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+particular with the park below; there
+were the same natural divisions of prairie
+and forests, the same erratic boulders, but
+on account of the difference in elevation there
+was a corresponding difference in plant life,
+and most interesting of all to me, there were
+the trout streams. The tablelands above
+the park were comparatively level in places
+where the stream ran almost as quietly as a
+meadow brook, but these level stretches were
+interrupted at short distance by foaming
+rapids, jagged rocks and roaring falls.</p>
+
+<p>My angler&#8217;s instinct told me that the
+biggest fish lurked in the deep pools, to reach
+which it was necessary to creep and worm
+myself over the open flats of sharp stones
+and patches of heather, but once on the vantage
+ground the swish of a trout rod sounded
+there for the first time since the dawn of
+Creation.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:293px;"><a name="illo2" id="illo2"></a>
+<p><a href="images/illo2.jpg"><img src="images/illo2_th.jpg"
+alt="More than once while I clung to the chance projection ... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt"
+title="More than once while I clung to the chance projection ... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt" /></a></p>
+<p class="caption">More than once while I clung to the chance projection ... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p><p>There was an audible splash at my first cast.
+My, how that reel did sing! Before I realized
+it, my fish had reached rapid water and taken
+out a dangerous amount of line; still I dared
+not check him too severely among the sharp
+rocks and swift waters, so I ran along the
+bank, stumbling over stones, but managing
+to avail myself of every opportunity to wind
+in the line until I had the satisfaction of
+seeing enough line on my reel to prepare me
+for possible sudden dashes and emergencies.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! that was a glorious fight, and when at
+last I was able to steer my tired fish into
+shallow water I saw there were three of them,
+one lusty trout on each of my three flies.
+I had no landing net so I gently slid the almost
+exhausted fish onto a gravel bar and as I did
+so I experienced one of those delightful thrills
+which comes to a fellow&#8217;s lot but once or twice
+in a life-time. But it was not because I had
+captured three at a strike, for I have done
+that before and since, but I thrilled because
+they were not only a new and strange kind
+of trout, but they were of the color and sheen
+of newly minted gold. Never before had any
+man seen such trout.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>I have since been informed that I had
+blundered on to water inhabited by the rarest
+of all game fish, the so-called golden trout,
+which has since been discovered and which
+scientists declare to be pre-glacier fish left
+by some accident of nature to exist in a new
+world in which all their original contemporaries
+have long been extinct.</p>
+
+<p>Think of it! Fish which had never seen an
+artificial fly nor had any family traditions
+of experiences with them. It is little wonder
+that they would jump at a brown hackle, a
+professor or even a gaudy salmon fly. Why
+they would jump at a chicken feather! They
+were ready and eager to bite at any sort of
+bunco game I saw fit to play upon them.
+They were veritable hayseeds of the trout
+family, but when they felt the hook in their
+lips, the wisest trout in the world could not
+show a craftier nor half as plucky a fight.
+They would leap from the water like small-mouthed
+bass and by shaking their heads,
+try to throw off the hateful hook.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>The constant vigorous exercise of leaping
+water-falls and forging up boiling rapids had
+developed these sturdy mountaineer trout
+into prodigies of strength and endurance.
+Even now my nerves tingle to the tips of
+my toes as in fancy I hear my reel hum or see
+the tip of my five ounce split bamboo bend
+so as to almost form a circle.</p>
+
+<p>I fished that stream with hands trembling
+with excitement and had filled my creel with
+the rare fish before I began to notice other
+objects of interest. Suddenly I became aware
+of the presence of two birds hovering over and
+diving under the cold water. They were
+evidently feeding on some aquatic creature
+which my duller senses could not discern.</p>
+
+<p>Although they were the first of the kind
+that I had ever seen alive, I at once recognized
+the feathered visitors to be water ouzels.
+The birds preceded me on my way along the
+water course towards camp, and were never
+quiet a minute. They would hop on a rock
+in mid-stream and bob up and down in a most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+solemn but comical manner for a moment
+before plunging fearlessly into the cold white
+spray of the falls or the swift dashing current,
+where they would disappear below the surface
+only to reappear once more on another rock to
+bob again.</p>
+
+<p>A ducking did not trouble the ouzels, for
+as they came out of the water the liquid rolled
+in crystal drops from their feathers and their
+plumage was as dry as if it had never been
+submerged. The wilder and swifter the cold
+glacier water ran the more the birds seemed
+to enjoy it.</p>
+
+<p>The nearer I approached the edge of the
+precipitous walls, enclosing the valley comprising
+Big Pete&#8217;s park, the rougher grew the
+trail, and as I was picking my way I paused
+to gaze at the distant purple peaks and watch
+the sun set in that lonely land as if I was
+witnessing it for the first time. As my eyes
+roamed over the stupendous distance and
+unnamed mountains I felt my own puny
+insignificance, as who has not when confronted
+with the vastness of nature.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>I turned from my view of the sunset to
+retrace my steps to the valley, and peeping
+over the top of a large boulder, saw seated
+upon an inaccessible crag directly in front of
+me, a gigantic figure of a man clad in a hunter&#8217;s
+garb, and he was smoking a long cigar!</p>
+
+<p>When I thought of Big Pete&#8217;s description
+of how the Wild Hunter was wont to sit with
+his long legs dangling from some rock while
+he smoked one of those unprocurable cigars,
+and when I realized that the figure before me
+was fully sixty feet tall, I must confess to
+experiencing a queer sensation.</p>
+
+<p>It was a shadowy figure yet it moved,
+arose, held out one hand, and a bird as large
+as the fabled roc alighted on the wrist of the
+outstretched hand.</p>
+
+<p>A slight breeze sprang up, the white mists
+from the valley rolled up the mountainside
+and drifted away and the man and bird
+disappeared from view.</p>
+
+<p>It was long after dark when I reached camp
+and was greeted by my friend and guide with
+&#8220;Gol durn your pictur tenderfut, if it hain&#8217;t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+tuk you longer to get a pesky mess of yaller
+fish than it orter to kill a bar.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Little wonder,&#8221; thought I, &#8220;that the
+Wild Hunter used golden bullets in a land
+where even the fish&#8217;s scales seemed to be of
+the same precious metal&#8221;; but I said nothing
+as I sat down to clean my &#8220;yaller trout.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was always interesting to me when I
+could get Pete&#8217;s theories and his brand of
+philosophy on almost any subject and it was
+my intention that night at supper to lead up
+to the apparition I had seen on the cliffs that
+day. With a substantial supper tucked away
+I was in a better frame of mind to realize that
+the illusion I had seen was not uncommon in
+mountain districts. I recalled that I had
+read of, and seen pictures of, a particular
+illusion of this nature that is often present in
+the Hartz Mountains in Germany and I knew
+full well that the setting sun, the mist and the
+atmospheric condition had all contributed
+to throwing a greatly enlarged shadow of the
+real Wild Hunter onto the screen made by the
+mist very much as today a motion picture
+increases the size of the small film image when
+it is thrown on the movie screen.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>I intended to get Big Pete&#8217;s idea on the
+subject but I never did for I was not adroit
+enough to steer the conversation in that
+direction, for Big Pete seized my first statement
+and made it a subject for a veritable
+lecture.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There was a smashing lot of those trout
+up there, Pete. Bet I could have brought
+home all I could have carried if I had been a
+game hog,&#8221; I said, as I stirred the fire with a
+stick and set the coffee pot nearer the flames
+to warm a second cup.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see, tenderfut, it&#8217;s like this,&#8221; he said,
+&#8220;when a man goes out to kill a deer for the
+fun of blood-spilling or to get th&#8217; poor critter&#8217;s
+head to hang in his shack, he&#8217;s nothing more
+than a wolf or butcher; hain&#8217;t half as good a
+man as the one who never shot a deer, but
+goes back home and lies about it. The liar
+hain&#8217;t harmed nothin&#8217; with his lies. His
+fairy stories don&#8217;t hurt game an&#8217; they be
+interesting to the tenderfuts in the States.
+The real sportsman is the pot-hunter. Yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+that&#8217;s jist what I mean, a pot-hunter&mdash;he&#8217;s
+out &#8217;cause the camp kettle is empty, and it&#8217;s
+up agin him to fill it or starve. Now then,
+this fellow is not after blood; nor trophies, nor
+is he hunting for the market. It&#8217;s self-preservation
+with him, that&#8217;s what it is.
+He&#8217;s an animal along with the rest of &#8217;em and
+he knows he&#8217;s got jest as much a right to
+live as tha&#8217; have and no more! He&#8217;s hustling
+for his living along with the bunch, forcing it
+from savage nature, and I tell you boy, there
+is no greater physical pleasure in life than
+holding old Mother Nature up and just
+saying to her, &#8216;You&#8217;ve got a living for me,
+ole&#8217; gal, and I&#8217;m going to get it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Such talk pleases the old lady, makes her
+your friend &#8217;cause she likes your spunk, and
+because of it she&#8217;ll give you the wind of a grey
+wolf, the step of the panther, the strength of
+the buffalo and the courage of a lion. She is
+always generous with her favorites. Ah!
+lad, she kin make your blood dance in your
+veins, make fire flash from your eyes and give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+you the steady nerve necessary to face a
+she-grizzly when she is fightin&#8217; for her cubs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why? &#8217;cause you see, you are a grizzly
+yourself when the camp kettle is empty!&#8221;
+And Big Pete relapsed into silence, turned his
+attention to his tin platter, examining it
+carefully, and then with a piece of dough-god,
+carefully wiped the platter clean and contentedly
+munched the savory bit.</p>
+
+<p>The reason, that being locked into Big Pete&#8217;s
+park in the mountains struck me as being very
+serious, was because I realized that although
+the park was extensive it was completely
+surrounded by a practically unsurmountable
+barrier of rugged cliffs and mountains negotiable,
+as far as I knew, not even by the sure-footed
+mountain sheep and goats which we
+could occasionally see on the cliffs from the
+valley floor, but never saw in the park itself.
+I questioned Big Pete and found that he did
+not know of a trail up the cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Though,&#8221; he said, &#8220;there must be some
+sort of a one for that tha&#8217; Wild Hunter gits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+in an&#8217; out and brings his wolf pack along too.
+He knows a trail all right an&#8217; ef he knows it
+why it&#8217;s up to us to find it, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Maybe we can trail him,&#8221; I suggested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Trail him! Me? With that wolf pack
+clingin&#8217; to his heels? Not while I&#8217;m alive!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That was the last that was said about trailing
+the Wild Hunter for some time to come,
+but meanwhile we built a more or less open
+faced permanent camp and Big Pete initiated
+me into mysteries of real woodcraft, for it was
+up to us now to live on the land, so to speak.</p>
+
+<p>Although hard usage had made havoc with
+my tailormade clothes, neither time nor the
+elements seemed to affect the personal appearance
+of my big companion; his buckskin suit
+was apparently as clean and fresh as it was on
+the day I first met him. There was no magic
+in this. Big Pete knew how to clamber all
+day through a windfall without leaving the
+greater part of his clothes on the branches, a
+feat few hunters and no tenderfoot have yet
+been able to accomplish.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>As I have already said, Pete was a dude,
+but he was what might be called a self-perpetuating
+dude, who never ran to seed no
+matter how long he might be separated from
+the city tailor shops, for Pete was his own
+tailor, barber and valet, and the wilderness
+supplied the material for his costume.</p>
+
+<p>In the camp he was as busy as an old
+housewife, and occupied his leisure time
+mending, stitching and darning. Many a
+morning my own toilet consisted of a face
+wash at the spring, but my guide seldom
+failed to spend as much time prinking as if he
+expected distinguished visitors!</p>
+
+<p>Instead of &#8220;Tenderfoot,&#8221; Big Pete now
+called me &#8220;Le-loo,&#8221; which I understand is
+Chinook for wolf and I took so much pride in
+my promotion that I would not have changed
+clothes with the Prince of Wales; I gloried in
+my wild, unkempt appearance!</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, Big Pete announced that he
+was the Hy-as-ty-ee (big boss) and he forthwith
+declared that my costume was unsuitable for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+the approaching cold weather. There was
+no disputing that Big Pete was Hy-as-ty-ee
+and I agreed to wear whatever clothes he
+should make for me, and can say with no fear
+of dispute that if that ancient chump, Robinson
+Crusoe, had had a Big Pete for a partner
+in place of a man Friday, he would have never
+made himself his outlandish goatskin clothes
+and a clumsy umbrella.</p>
+
+<p>From a cache in the rocks Pete brought forth
+a miscellaneous lot of trappers&#8217; stores, bone
+needles made from the splints of deer&#8217;s legs,
+elk&#8217;s teeth with holes bored through them,
+and odds and ends of all kinds.</p>
+
+<p>Among his stuff was a supply of salt-petre
+and alum, and this was evidently the material
+for which he was searching for he at once
+preceeded to make a mixture of two parts
+salt-petre to one of alum and applied the
+pulverized compound to the fleshy side of the
+skins, then doubling the raw side of the hides
+together he rolled them closely and placed the
+hides in a cool place where they were allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+to remain for several days; when at length
+unrolled, the skins were still moist.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just right, by Gosh,&#8221; he exclaimed, as he
+took a dull knife and carefully removed all
+particles of fat or flesh which here and there
+adhered to the hide. After this was done
+to his satisfaction we both took hold and
+rubbed, and mauled and worked the skins with
+our hands until the hides were as soft and as
+pliable as flannel. Thus was the material for
+my winter clothing prepared.</p>
+
+<p>It took four whole deer-skins to furnish
+stuff for my buckskin shirt with the beautiful
+long fringes at the seams; but the whole garment
+was cut, sewed and finished in a day&#8217;s
+time. It was sewed with thread made of
+sinew.</p>
+
+<p>When it came to making the coat and trousers
+Big Pete spent a long time in solemn
+thought before he was ready to begin work on
+these garments; at length he looked up with a
+broad smile and cried:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;See here, Le-loo, I have taken a fancy to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+them &#8217;ere tenderfut pants o&#8217; your&#8217;n. Off with
+&#8217;em now an&#8217; I&#8217;ll jist cut out the new ones from
+the old uns.&#8221; In vain I pleaded with him to
+make my trousers like his own; he would not
+listen to me, he insisted upon having my ragged
+but stylish knickerbockers to use as a pattern.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+
+<p>Big Pete was an expert backwoods tailor,
+shoemaker and shirtmaker, but these were
+but few of his accomplishments, not his trade;
+he was first, last and aways a hunter and
+scout. No matter what occupation seemed
+to engage his attention for the time it never
+interfered with his ability to hear, see or smell.</p>
+
+<p>It was while I was going around camp minus
+my lower garments that I saw Pete suddenly
+throw up his head and suspiciously sniff the
+air, at the same time sharply scanning the
+windward side of our camp. Living so long
+with this strange man made me familiar with
+his actions and quick to detect anything
+unusual and I now knew that something of
+interest had happened. To the windward and
+close by us was a mound thickly covered with
+bullberry bushes and underbrush, and so far
+as could be seen there was nothing suspicious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+in the appearance of the thicket. Fixing my
+eyes on Big Pete, I saw a peculiar expression
+spread over his face which seemed to be half
+of mirth and half of wonderment, and I
+immediately knew that his wonderful nose
+had warned him of the presence of something
+to the windward.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly and quietly he laid aside my almost
+finished breeches and silently stole away.
+It was only a few minutes before he returned
+with a very solemn face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Doggone my corn shucked bones, Le-loo,
+we&#8217;ve had a visitor but it got away mighty
+slick and quick. I hain&#8217;t determint yit
+whether it wa&#8217; man er beast er both, er jist a
+thing wha&#8217; might change into &#8217;tother. We&#8217;ll
+hafter investigate later. Here git these duds
+on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>When I put on my new elk-hide knickerbockers
+with cuffs of dressed buckskin laced
+around my calves, and my beautiful soft
+buckskin shirt tucked in at the waist I began
+to feel like a real Nimrod, but after I added my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+&#8220;Moo-loch-Capo,&#8221; the shooting jacket with
+elk-teeth buttons, pulled a pair of shank
+moccasins over my feet and donned a cap
+made of lynx skin, I was as happy as a child
+with its Christmas stocking. It was a really
+wonderful suit of clothing; the hair of the elk
+hide was on the outside, and not only made the
+coat and breeches warmer, but helped to shed
+the rain. The buttons of the elk-teeth were
+fastened on with thongs run through holes in
+their centers, and my coat could be laced up
+after the fashion of a military overcoat. The
+elk&#8217;s teeth served as frogs and loops of rawhide
+answered for the braid that is used on military
+coats.</p>
+
+<p>My shank moccasins were made by first
+making a cut around each of the hind legs of an
+elk, at a sufficient distance above the heels to
+leave hide enough for boot legs and making
+another cut far enough below the heels to
+make room for one&#8217;s feet. The fresh skins
+when peeled off looked like rude stockings with
+holes at the toes. The skins were turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+wrong side out, and the open toes closed by
+bringing the lower part, or sole, up over the
+opening and sewing it there after the manner of
+a tip to the modern shoe. When this novel
+foot-gear was dry enough for the purpose,
+Big Pete ornamented the legs with quaint
+colored designs made with split porcupine
+quills colored with dyes which Pete himself
+had manufactured of roots and barks.</p>
+
+<p>Dressed in my unique and picturesque
+costume I stood upright while Pete surveyed
+me with the pride and satisfaction of one who
+had done a fine piece of work. I had now little
+fear of being called a tenderfoot and when I
+viewed my reflection in the spring I felt quite
+proud of my appearance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come along now old scout,&#8221; said Pete
+viewing me with the pride of an artist, &#8220;come
+along and let me test you on a real trail.
+I want to see what my teaching has done for
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pete led me through the underbrush to a
+point among the rocks.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>&#8220;Tha&#8217;. A trail begins right under yore
+nose; let&#8217;s see what you make of it,&#8221; he said
+crisply.</p>
+
+<p>Down on all fours I crept over the ground
+and, to my surprise and joy, I found that I
+could here and there detect a turned leaf the
+twist of which indicated the direction taken
+by the party who made the trail. I noticed
+that the bits of wood, pine cones and sticks
+scattered around were darker on the parts
+next to the ground, and it only required
+simple reasoning for me to conclude that
+when the dark side was uppermost the object
+had been recently disturbed and rolled over.</p>
+
+<p>It was a day of great discoveries. I found
+that what is true of the sticks is equally true
+of the pebbles and a displaced fragment of
+stone immediately caught my eyes. With
+the tenacity of a bloodhound I stuck to my task
+until I suddenly found myself at the base of
+the park wall, at the foot of the diagonal
+fracture in the face of the cliff where I had
+climbed when I discovered the golden trout.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+As I have said, the fracture led diagonally up
+the towering face of the beetling precipice.</p>
+
+<p>For fear that I might have made some
+mistake I carefully retraced my steps backward
+toward the bullberry bushes near the
+camp. On the back trail I came upon some
+distinct and obvious footprints in a dusty
+place, but so deeply interested was I in hidden
+signs, the slight but tell-tale disturbances of
+leaf and soil, that I once passed these plainly
+marked tracks with only a glance and would
+have done so the second time had not their
+marked peculiarities accidentally caught my
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>When examining the trail of this mysterious
+camp visitor I suddenly realized that in place
+of moccasin footprints I was following bear
+tracks, my heart ceased to beat for a moment
+or two before I could pull myself together and
+smother the prehensile footed superstitious
+old savage in me with the practical philosophy
+of the up-to-date man of today.</p>
+
+<p>Taking a short cut I ran back to the foot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+the pass and there, on hands and knees,
+ascended for a hundred feet or more&mdash;the
+bear steps led up the pass, and yet at the
+beginning of the trail the feet wore moccasins.
+This I knew because at one place the foot-mark
+showed plainly in the gray alkali dust
+which had accumulated upon a projecting
+stone a few feet below the ledge. Obviously
+whoever the visitor was, he had entered and
+left by this pass. Returning to camp I sat
+down on a log lost in thought. My reverie
+was at last broken by the voice of my guide
+quietly remarking. &#8220;Well, Le-loo, what&#8217;s
+your judication?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pete,&#8221; I said, &#8220;that bear walks on its
+hind-legs; there is not the sign of a forefoot
+anywhere along the trail. Now this could
+not be caused by the hind feet obliterating
+the tracks of the front feet, because in many
+places the pass is so steep that the forefeet
+in reaching out for support would make
+tracks not overlapped by the hind ones.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s true, Le-loo; sartin true. If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
+live to be a hundred years you&#8217;ll make as
+good a trailer as the great Greaser trailer of
+New Mexico, Dolores Sanchez, or my old
+friend Bill Hassler, who could follow a six-month-old
+trail,&#8221; replied my guide. &#8220;But,&#8221;
+he continued, &#8220;maybe witch-bears do walk on
+their hind legs same as people.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Witch be blamed!&#8221; I cried impatiently;
+&#8220;this is no four-legged witch nor bear either.
+That was a man and when he thought he
+would be followed he put on moccasins made
+from bears&#8217; paws to leave a disguised trail.
+And moreover I believe that man is none other
+than the Wild Hunter without his wolf pack.
+And that pass is the pathway he takes in and
+out of this park. I&#8217;m going to trail him
+whether you want to or not. Goodbye Pete,
+I&#8217;ll come back for you,&#8221; and picking up my gun
+and other necessary traps, I prepared to start
+immediately upon my journey, for I felt that
+to follow this trail would not only get us out of
+our park prison but would lead me to the
+abode of the Wild Hunter, where perhaps I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+could talk with him and learn some of the
+things I was so eager to know about my
+parents.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete looked at me solemnly for a while,
+ran over the cartridges in his belt and went
+through all those familiar unconscious motions
+which betokened danger ahead, and said,
+&#8220;Le-loo, you are a quare critter; you&#8217;re not
+afraid of all the werwolves, medicine ba&#8217;rs and
+ghosts in this world or the next, but tarnally
+afeared of live varmints like grizzly bars&mdash;one
+would think you had no religion, but, gosh all
+hemlock! If you can face a bear-man or a
+werwolf, even though all the Hy-as Ecutocks
+of the mountains show fight, I&#8217;ll be cornfed
+if I don&#8217;t stand by ye! Barring the Wild
+Hunter, I don&#8217;t know as I ever ran agin a
+Ecutock yit; that is if he be a Ecutock.
+Maybe he&#8217;s a Econe? Yes, I reckon that&#8217;s
+what he is,&#8221; continued Pete reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Maybe he is a pine cone,&#8221; I laughed.
+Then added, &#8220;Whatever he is, he knows the
+way out of this park of yours and I am going
+to follow him,&#8221; I emphatically answered.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>&#8220;That&#8217;s howsomever!&#8221; exclaimed my guide
+approvingly; &#8220;but,&#8221; he continued, &#8220;the mountains
+are kivered with snow, while it is still
+summer down here, so I reckon &#8217;twould be
+the proper wrinkle for us to pull our things
+together, have a good feed and a good sleep
+before we start. White men start off hot-headed
+and I kinder like their grit, but Injuns
+stop and sot by the fire an&#8217; smoke an&#8217; think
+afore they start on a raid an&#8217; I kinder think
+they be wiser in this than we &#8217;uns, so let&#8217;s do
+as the Injuns would do. We can cache most
+of our stuff and turn the horses loose. Bighorn&#8217;s
+mutton is powerful good, but tarnally
+shy and hung mighty high, an&#8217; billygoat is
+doggoned strong &#8217;nless you know how to cook
+&#8217;em. Yes, we&#8217;ll eat an sleep fust an&#8217; then
+his for the land where the Bighorn pasture,
+the woolywhite goats sleep on the rocks, the
+whistling marmot blows his danger signal an&#8217;
+the pretty white ptarmigan hides hisself in
+the snow-banks, the home of the Ecutocks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?&#8221;
+I asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>&#8220;An Injun devil, I reckon you&#8217;d call it;
+it&#8217;s bad medicine,&#8221; he answered soberly, and
+continuing in his former strain, he exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whar critters like goats, sheeps and rock-chucks
+kin live, you bet your Hy-as muck-a-muck
+we kin live too!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That night I rolled up into my blanket,
+filled with strange presentiments. Again the
+question came up: What is the source of the
+influence that this madman of the mountains,
+this wild hunter, this leader of the black wolf
+pack, had on me to impel me to trail him over
+the mountains? Was it mental telepathy?
+Could he really be my father? Somehow I
+felt convinced that soon I would be face to
+face with the riddle, soon I would know the
+facts and the truth about my parents. It
+seemed unthinkable that all these weeks of
+wilderness travel had been for naught and
+that the Wild Hunter was nothing but a
+strange, eccentric old fellow living alone in
+the mountains and of no interest to me
+whatsoever.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+
+<p>We made our start at daylight, loaded with
+all the necessities for a climb over the mountains.
+The rest of our supplies and equipment
+we cached, and Big Pete turned our horses
+loose assuring me that in the spring he would
+come back and rope them.</p>
+
+<p>The lower trail of the pass was quite well
+defined and we made famous progress, but
+the higher we climbed the more difficult the
+going became and more than once we were
+forced to pause on a ledge to rest and regain
+our breath.</p>
+
+<p>On one ledge I got my first really close view
+of a bighorn sheep, and I became so excited
+that nothing would do but I must stalk him,
+despite Big Pete&#8217;s assurance that the wily
+old ram would not let me get within gun shot
+of him in such an exposed area.</p>
+
+<p>I crawled, and wriggled, and twisted over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+rock and boulders for what to me seemed miles,
+but always the sheep kept just out of accurate
+shooting distance ahead of me. It was an
+exasperating chase, but one cannot live in
+the mountains for any length of time without
+paying more or less attention to geology; the
+mountaineer soon learns that stratified rock,
+that is rock arranged like layer cake, resting
+in a horizontal position on its natural bed,
+makes travel over its top comparatively easy,
+but when by the subsidence or upheaval of
+the earth&#8217;s crust huge masses of stone have
+been tilted up edgewise, it is an entirely
+different proposition.</p>
+
+<p>In this latter case the erosion, or the wearing
+away, caused by trickling water, frost and
+snow, sharpens the edge of the rock, as a
+grindstone does the edge of an ax, and traveling
+along one of these ridges presents almost the
+same difficulties that travel along the edge of
+an upturned ax would do to a microscopic man.</p>
+
+<p>But when a sportsman, for the first time in
+his life, has succeeded in creeping within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+range of a grand bighorn ram, and his bullet,
+speeding true, has badly wounded the game,
+hardships are forgotten, and if, on account
+of the miraculous vitality of the mountain
+sheep, there is danger of losing the quarry,
+all the inborn instinct of the predaceous
+beast in man&#8217;s nature is aroused, and danger
+is a consideration not to be taken in account.</p>
+
+<p>A hawk in pursuit of a barnyard fowl will
+follow it into the open door of the farmhouse;
+the hound in pursuit of the fox cares not for
+the approaching locomotive&mdash;being possessed
+by the instinct to kill&mdash;nothing is of importance
+to them but the capture of the game in
+sight. A man following a buck is governed
+by a like singleness of purpose.</p>
+
+<p>For this reason I was scrambling along the
+knife-like edge of the ridge, with death in the
+steep treacherous slide rock on one side,
+death in the steep green glacier ice on the
+other side, and torture and wounds under my
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>But the fever of the chase had possession<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+of me. I had tasted blood and felt the fierce
+joy of the puma and the wild intoxication of a
+hunting wolf!</p>
+
+<p>The cruel wounds inflicted by the sharp
+stones under my feet were unnoticed. Away
+ahead of me was a moving object; it could
+use but three legs, but that was one leg more
+than I had, and the ram had distanced me.
+After an age of time I reached the rugged,
+broader footing of the mountain side, and
+creeping up behind some sheltering rocks again
+fired at the fleeing ram. With the impact of
+the bullet the sheep fell headlong down
+a cliff to a projecting rock thirty feet below,
+where it lay apparently dead. A moment
+later it again arose, seemingly as able as ever,
+and ran along the face of the beetling rock
+where my eyes, aided by powerful field glasses,
+could perceive no foothold; then it gave a
+magnificent leap to a ledge on the opposite
+side of the narrow canyon and fell dead, out
+of my reach.</p>
+
+<p>Spent with my long, rough run, I naturally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+selected the most comfortable seat in which to
+rest; this chanced to be a cushion of heather-like
+plants along the side of a fragment of
+rock which effectually concealed my body from
+view from the other side of the chasm. Here,
+on the verge of that impassable canyon, I sat
+panting and looking at the poor dead creature
+upon the opposite side; its right front leg was
+shattered at the shoulder, a bullet had pierced
+its lungs. Yet, with two fatal wounds and a
+useless leg, the plucky creature had scaled
+the face of a cliff which one would think a
+squirrel would find impossible to traverse
+and made leaps which might well be considered
+improbable for a perfectly sound animal.
+The ram was dead and food for the ravens,
+and a reaction had taken place in my mind;
+I felt like a bloody murderer, and hung my
+head with a sense of guilt.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, becoming conscious of that peculiar
+guttural noise, used by Big Pete when
+desiring caution, and looking up I was amazed
+to see a splendid Indian youth climb down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+face of the opposite cliff, throw his arms around
+the dead ram&#8217;s neck and burst into deep but
+subdued lamentation. For the first time I now
+saw that what I had mistaken for a blood
+stain on the bighorn&#8217;s neck was a red collar.</p>
+
+<p>Cautiously producing my field glasses I
+examined the collar and discovered it to be
+made of stained porcupine quills cleverly
+worked on a buckskin band. The field glasses
+also told me that the boy&#8217;s shirt was trimmed
+with the same material, while a duplicate
+of the sheep&#8217;s collar formed a band which
+encircled his head, confining the long black
+hair and preventing it from falling over his
+face, but leaving it free to hang down his back
+to a point below the waist line.</p>
+
+<p>So absorbed was I in this unique spectacle
+that I carelessly allowed my elbow to dislodge
+a loose fragment of stone which went clattering
+down the face of the precipice. This proved
+to be almost fatal carelessness, for, with a
+movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake,
+the lad placed an arrow to the string<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+of a bow and sent the barbed shaft with such
+force, promptitude and precision that it went
+through my fur cap, the arrow entangling a
+bunch of my hair, taking it along with it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Squat lower, Le-loo; arrows has been the
+death of many a man afore you,&#8221; whispered
+Big Pete in my ear, but even as he spoke
+another arrow sang over our crouching bodies,
+shaving the protecting rock so closely that
+their plumed tips brushed the dust on our
+backs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Waugh! Good shootin&#8217;, by gum! I never
+seed it beat; if he onct sots them black eyes
+on our hulking carcasses he&#8217;ll get us yit,&#8221;
+muttered my guide, enthusiastically. &#8220;He&#8217;s
+mighty slender, quick and purty&mdash;but so also
+be a rattlesnake!&#8221; he exclaimed, as another
+arrow slit the sleeve of his wamus as cleanly
+as if it were cut with a knife.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For God&#8217;s sake, stop!&#8221; I shouted, in real
+alarm. The boy paused, but with an arrow
+still drawn to its head. His eyes flashing,
+head erect, one moccasined foot on the ram&#8217;s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
+body, the other braced against the cliff; his
+short fawn-colored skin shirt clung to his
+lithe body, and the fringed edges hung over
+the dreadful black chasm in front of him.
+It was a picture to take away one&#8217;s breath.
+&#8220;Put down your weapon, and we will stand
+with our hands up,&#8221; I cried. Slowly the bow
+was lowered and as slowly Big Pete and I
+arose, holding our empty hands aloft. &#8220;Now,
+young fellow, tell us your pleasure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There are a few gray hairs showing at my
+temples which first made their appearance
+while I was crouching behind that stone on
+the edge of the chasm.</p>
+
+<p>To my polite inquiry asking his pleasure,
+the wild boy made no reply but glanced at us
+with the utmost contempt when Big Pete
+went through some gestures in Indian sign
+language. The lad mutely pointed to the
+dead sheep, the sight of which seemed to
+enrage him again, for insensibly his fingers
+tightened on the bow and the wood began to
+curve after a manner which sent me ducking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+behind the sheltering stone again; but Big
+Pete only folded his arms across his broad
+chest and looked the boy straight in the eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Never will I forget that picture, the cold,
+bleak, snow-covered mountains towering above
+them, the black abyss of Sheol between them;
+neither would hesitate to take life, neither
+possessed a fear of death; but with every
+muscle alert and every nerve alive these two
+wild things stood facing each other, mutually
+observing a truce because of&mdash;what? Because,
+in spite of the fighting instinct or, maybe,
+because of it they both secretly admired each
+other.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+
+<p>The black chasm which separated us from
+the trail of the wild hunter was not as formidable
+a barrier as the unfathomable abyss
+which separates the reader from what he thinks
+he would have done had he been in my place,
+and what really would have been his plan of
+action.</p>
+
+<p>There were a lot of burning questions which
+I had privately made up in my mind to propound
+to the Wild Hunter, or the even wilder
+medicine bear, upon the occasion of our next
+meeting. But when the lad was standing
+before me, with bended bow and flashing
+eyes, the burning importance of those questions
+did not appeal to me as forcibly as did
+the urgent necessity of sheltering my body
+behind the friendly stone. To be truthful, it
+must be admitted that the proposed inquiries
+were, for the time, entirely forgotten, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
+I even breathed a sigh of relief when the boy
+suddenly clambered up the face of the cliff,
+turned, gave us a fierce look of defiance, made
+some quick energetic gestures with his hand
+and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>He scaled that precipitous rock with the
+rapidity and self-confidence of a gray squirrel
+running up the trunk of a hickory tree, squirrel-like,
+taking advantage of every crack, cranny
+and projection that could be grasped by
+fingers or moccasin-covered toes.</p>
+
+<p>Not until the Indian had disappeared down
+a dry coulee did I venture from the shelter
+of the protecting rock, or realize that my
+carefully planned interview must be indefinitely
+postponed.</p>
+
+<p>With his arms folded across his chest, his
+blond hair sweeping his shoulders, his blue
+eyes fixed upon a rocky rib of the mountain
+behind which the boy had disappeared, Big
+Pete still stood like a statue. But gradually
+the statuesque pose resolved itself into a
+more commonplace posture, and the muscles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+of the face relaxed until the familiar twinkle
+hovered around the corners of his eyes.
+&#8220;What did he say when he made those
+motions, Pete?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Waugh! he said he was not afraid of any
+whitefaced coyote like us.&#8221; And bringing
+forth his pipe, Pete filled it from the beaded
+tobacco pouch which hung on his breast, and
+by means of a horn of punk, a flint and steel,
+he soon had the pipe aglow and was puffing
+away as calmly as if nothing unusual had
+occurred. Presently he exclaimed, &#8220;Gol durn
+his daguerrotype, what good did it do him to
+throw that sheep down the gulch? Reckon
+Le-loo and me could find a better grave for
+mutton chops than that canyon bottom. The
+mountains didn&#8217;t need the sheep an&#8217; we did.
+But, I reckon it was his own sheep you killed,
+&#8217;cause it had a porcupine collar same pattern
+as the trimmings of his shirt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Turning his great blue eyes full upon me,
+he suddenly shot this inquiry, &#8220;Be he bar,
+ecutock or werwolf?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>&#8220;He is the finest adjusted, easiest running,
+most exquisitely balanced, highest geared bit
+of human machinery I ever saw,&#8221; I answered
+enthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wall, maybe ye are right, Le-loo, an&#8217;
+maybe ye hain&#8217;t; which is catamount to
+saying, maybe it is a man and maybe it
+tain&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Steady, Pete, old fellow, let us go slow;
+now tell me at what you&#8217;re driving?&#8221; I
+pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It looks to me this hea&#8217;-a-way,&#8221; he
+explained. &#8220;I&#8217;ve seed his trail onct or twice,
+an&#8217; I&#8217;ve seed him onct, but I never yet seed
+his trail and the Wild Hunter&#8217;s trail at the
+same time and place. &#8217;Pears to me that
+a man who, when it&#8217;s convenient, kin make
+a wolf of hisself, might likewise make a boy
+of hisself whenever he felt that way. Never
+heared tell on enny real laid who cud climb
+like a squtton and shoot a bow better nor
+a Robin Hood or Injun, and that&#8217;s howsomever!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>&#8220;Well, it does look &#8216;howsomever,&#8217; and no
+mistake,&#8221; I admitted, &#8220;and what makes it
+worse, our dinner is at the bottom of this
+infernal gulch. Come, let us be moving; the
+breeze from the snowfields chills me. Let us
+hit his trail now while it is fresh.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was a simple proposition to make, but
+a difficult one to carry into execution; for to
+all appearances that trail began upon the
+other side of the chasm, and there was no
+bridge in sight by which we could cross.
+Big Pete carefully put a cork-stopper in his
+pipe, extinguishing the fire without wasting
+the unconsumed contents; he then carefully
+put his briarwood away and began to uncoil
+a lariat from around his middle. As he
+loosened the braided rawhide from his waist his
+gaze was roaming over the opposite rocks.
+Presently he fixed his attention upon a pinnacle
+which reared its cube-like form above
+the top of the opposite side of the chasm; the
+latter was of itself much higher than the brink
+upon which we stood. Swinging the loop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+around his head he sent it whistling across the
+chasm, where it settled and encircled the
+projecting stone, the honda striking the face
+of the cliff with a sullen thud. The rope
+tightened, but when we both threw our
+weight on our end of the lariat to try it, the
+cube-like pinnacle moved on its base.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I oughter knowed better than to try to
+lasso a piece of slide rock,&#8221; said Pete in
+disgusted tones, as he cast the end of the
+braided rawhide loose and watched it for a
+moment dangling down the opposite side of
+the canyon.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, Le-loo, we must get over this hole or
+lose the best lariat in the Rocky Mountains.
+We kin look for that boy&#8217;s trail on this side,
+for even if he be an Ecutock, I&#8217;ll bet my crooker
+bone &#8217;gainst a lock of his hair that he can&#8217;t
+jump th&#8217; hole, an&#8217; I&#8217;ll wager my left ear that
+he&#8217;s got a trail an&#8217; a bridge somewhar&mdash;&#8217;nless
+he turns bird and flops over things like
+this,&#8221; he added, with a troubled look.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pete,&#8221; said I, &#8220;never mind the bird<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+business. I&#8217;ll admit that there is a lot of
+explanation due us before we can rightly
+judge on the events of the past few weeks;
+still I think it may all be explained in a
+rational manner; but what if it cannot?
+We have but one trip to make through this
+world, and the more we see the more we will
+know at the end of the journey. I am as
+curious as a prong-horned antelope when
+there is a mystery, so put your nose to the
+ground, my good friend, and find the spot
+where this Mr. Werwolf, witch, or bear
+flies the canyon, and maybe, like the husband
+of &#8216;The Witch of Fife,&#8217; we may find the
+&#8216;black crook shell,&#8217; and with its aid fly out
+of this &#8217;lum.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe your judication is sound, Le-loo;
+stay where you be an&#8217; if he hain&#8217;t a witch
+I&#8217;ll bet my front tooth agin the string of his
+moccasin that I&#8217;ll find the bridge, and I&#8217;ll
+swear by my grandmother&#8217;s hind leg that that
+little imp will pay for our sheep yit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As Pete finished these remarks there was a
+sudden and astonishing change in his appearance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+His head fell forward, his shoulders
+drooped, his back bowed and his knee bent.
+It was no longer the upright statuesque
+Pete the Mountaineer, but Peter the Trailer,
+all of whose faculties were concentrated upon
+the ground. With a swinging gait the human
+bloodhound traveled swiftly and silently along
+the edge of the crevasse, noting every bunch
+of moss, fragment of stone, drift of snow or bit
+of moist earth, reading the shorthand notes of
+Nature with facility which far excelled the
+ability of my own stenographer to read her
+own notes when the latter are a few hours
+old. But a short time had elapsed before I
+heard a shout, and, hurrying to the place where
+my big friend was seated, I inquired, &#8220;Any
+luck?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tha&#8217;s as you may call it. Here is wha&#8217;
+tha&#8217; boy jumped,&#8221; he replied, pointing to
+some marks on the stone which were imperceptible
+to me, &#8220;an&#8217; tha&#8217;s wha&#8217; he landed,&#8221;
+he continued, pointing to a slight ledge upon
+the face of the opposite cliff at least twenty
+feet distant. &#8220;He&#8217;s a jumper, an&#8217; no mistake&mdash;guess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+I might as well have my front tooth
+pulled, fur I&#8217;ve lost my bet,&#8221; soliloquized
+the trailer, as he sat on the edge of the cliff,
+with his legs hanging over the frightful chasm.</p>
+
+<p>The ledge indicated by Big Pete as the
+landing place of the phenomenal jumper might
+possibly have offered a foothold for a bighorn
+or goat, but I could not believe that any
+human being could jump twenty feet to a
+crumbling trifle of a ledge on the face of a
+precipice, and not only retain a foothold
+there, but run up the face of the rock like a
+fly on a window-pane. Yet I could see that
+something had worn the ledge at the point
+indicated and when I stood a little distance
+away from the trail I could plainly note a
+difference in color marking the course of the
+trail where it led over the flinty rocks to the
+jumping place.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wull, Le-loo! What&#8217;s your opinion of
+the Ecutock now? Do he use wings or ride
+a barleycorn broom?&#8221; asked Pete, with a
+triumphant smile.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+
+<p>Apparently there was no possible way by
+which we might hope to cross the canyon,
+and I threw myself prone upon the top of the
+stony brink of the chasm and peered down the
+awful abyss at the silver thread, shining in
+the gloom of the shadows, which marked the
+course of a stream, and wondered what the
+Boy Scouts of Troop 6 of Marlborough
+would do under the circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>I studied the face of the opposite cliff in a
+vain search for some hint to the solution of
+the problem before us, looking up and down
+from side to side as far as allowed by the
+range of my vision. At length my attention
+wandered to the perpendicular face of the
+cliff, on the top of which my body was
+sprawled; there was an upright crack in the
+face of the stone wall, and as I examined the
+fracture I saw that a piece of wood had lodged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+in the crack; a piece of wood in a crevice in a
+rock is not so unusual an occurrence as to
+excite remark; but when it occurred to me
+that we were then far above the timber line,
+my interest and curiosity were at once
+aroused.</p>
+
+<p>The end of the stick was within a short
+distance from my hand, and reaching down
+I grasped the wood and brought forth, not a
+short club or stick, as I thought to be concealed
+there, but a very long pole. The result
+of my investigations was so unexpected that
+I came dangerously near allowing the thing
+to slide through my fingers and fall to the
+bottom of the canyon. It was a neatly-smoothed,
+slender piece of lodge-pole pine
+which was brought to view, and it had a
+crooked root nicely spliced to one end and
+bound tightly in place with rawhide thongs.
+Big Pete was wholly absorbed in the trail,
+the study of which he had resumed, and
+when I looked up he was down on all fours,
+minutely studying the ground. Presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+he cried, &#8220;Le-loo, tha&#8217; pesky lad ha&#8217; been
+over wha&#8217; you be after sompen and he took
+it back tha&#8217; again afore he made his jump!
+If you&#8217;re any good you&#8217;ll find what the lad
+was after.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He was after his barleycorn broomstick,&#8221;
+I replied, proudly, &#8220;and here it is, although
+I must confess it is a pretty long one for a
+fellow of his size, and it looks more like a
+giant Bo-Peep&#8217;s crook than a witch&#8217;s broom.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete eagerly snatched the pole from
+my hands and examined it carefully. At
+length he said, &#8220;This hyer is the end used for
+the handle; one can see by the finger marks,
+an&#8217; this crook is used to scrape stone with,
+one kin see, with half an eye, by the way the
+end is sandpapered off. Over tha&#8217; air some
+marks on the stone which look almighty like
+as if they&#8217;d been made by the end of this yer
+hook slipping down the face of the rock.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, I wonder wha&#8217; cud be up tha&#8217; on
+the top of the rock that the boy wanted,&#8221;
+mused Big Pete, and for a moment or so he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
+stood in silent thought; at length he exclaimed,
+&#8220;Why, bless my corn-shucking soul, if I
+don&#8217;t believe he&#8217;s got a lariat staked out tha&#8217;
+an&#8217; crosses this ditch same as we-uns aimed
+to do!&#8221; With that he began raking and
+scraping the top of the opposite rock with the
+shepherd&#8217;s crook, and presently there came
+tumbling and twisting like a snake down the
+face of the cliff, a long braided rawhide rope
+with a loop at the bottom end.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Waugh, Le-loo! tha&#8217;s no witchcraft &#8217;bout
+this &#8217;cep the magic of common-sense; but
+we hain&#8217;t through with him yit!&#8221; By this
+time Pete had the end of the rawhide rope
+in his hands and was testing the strength of its
+anchorage upon the opposite cliff. The point
+where it was fastened projected some distance
+over the ledge, where the supposed landing-place
+was located, thus making it possible for
+one to swing at the end of the rope from our
+side without danger of coming into too violent
+contact with the opposite cliff.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as my big friend was satisfied that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
+the rope was safe he grasped it with his two
+hands, and with one foot in the loop and the
+other free to use as a fender, he sailed across
+the abyss and landed safely upon the crumbling
+ledge opposite.</p>
+
+<p>Holding fast to the rawhide rope with his
+hands and bracing his feet against the rock,
+Pete could walk up the face of the cliff by
+going hand-over-hand up the cable at the
+same time. He had almost reached the top
+when I was horror-stricken to see a small
+hand and brown arm reach over the precipice;
+but it was neither the grace nor the beauty
+of this shapely bit of anatomy which sent the
+blood surging to my heart, but the fact that
+the cold gray glint of a long-bladed knife
+caught my eyes and fascinated me with the
+fabled &#8220;charm&#8221; of a serpent. The power
+of speech forsook me, but with great effort I
+succeeded in giving utterance to the inarticulate
+noise people gurgle when confronted in
+their sleep by a shapeless horror. Big Pete
+heard the noise, but he was not unnerved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+when he saw the knife, neither did he show
+any nightmare symptoms, although he was
+dangling over the terrible abyss with a full
+knowledge that it needed but a touch of the
+keen blade of that knife to sever the straining
+lariat and dash him, a mangled mass, on the
+rocks below. The danger was too real to give
+Pete the nightmare; there was nothing spooky
+to him in the glittering knife blade, and only
+ghosts and the supernatural could give Big
+Pete the nightmare. Calmly he looked at
+the hand grasping the power of death with its
+strong tapering fingers. Suddenly and in a
+firm, commanding voice he gave the order,
+&#8220;Drap tha&#8217; knife!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ever since I had been in the company of
+this masterful forest companion I had obeyed
+his commands as a matter of course, and so
+was not surprised to see the fingers instantly
+relax their grasp and the knife go gyrating to
+the mysterious depths. In a few moments
+Big Pete was up and over the edge of the
+rock and hidden from my view.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>Seizing the long-handled shepherd&#8217;s crook,
+I caught the dangling end of the lariat, and
+was soon scrambling up the face of the cliff,
+leaving a trail which the veriest novice would
+not fail to notice and sending showers of the
+crumbling stones down the path taken by the
+knife; it was several minutes before I had
+clambered over the face of the projecting crag
+and was safe across the black chasm which
+lay athwart our trail.</p>
+
+<p>If the Wild Hunter was indeed my father,
+he certainly was a woodcrafter and scout to
+bring pride to a fellow&#8217;s heart, for I doubted
+not that the Indian boy was his retainer
+because the porcupine quill decorations on
+his buckskin shirt had the same peculiar
+pattern as that on the wamus of the Wild
+Hunter himself as well as on the collar of the
+pet sheep I had killed, and also on the buckskin
+bag of gold.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+
+<p>Only those persons who have made solitary
+trips over snow-capped mountain ridges can
+appreciate the overwhelming feeling of solitude
+that I felt on looking about me. To whatever
+point of view I turned my eyes were greeted
+with a tumbled sea composed of stupendous
+petrified billows.</p>
+
+<p>The occasional fields of snow were the white
+froth of the stony waves and the turquoise
+colored glacial lakes between the crags rather
+added to the effect of an angry ocean than
+detracted from it.</p>
+
+<p>On a closer examination, some of the rocks
+appeared to be rough bits of unfinished worlds
+still retaining the form they had when poured
+from the mighty blast furnaces of the Creator.
+It was God&#8217;s workshop strewn with huge
+fragments, still bearing the marks of His
+mallet and chisel; yet these cold barren
+wastes were the pasture lands of the shaggy-coated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+white goats and the lithe-limbed bighorned
+sheep.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced the air
+and with a jump I instinctively looked for a
+vision of the Wild Hunter, but a moment
+later realized that the sound I heard was but
+the warning cry of a whistling marmot.
+Again the silence was broken, this time by a
+low rumbling sound which increased in volume
+until it roared like a broadside from an old
+forty-four-gun man-of-war, each crag and
+peak taking up the sound and hurling it
+against its neighbor, until the reverberating
+noise seemed to come from all points of the
+compass.</p>
+
+<p>Away in the distance I could see a white
+stream pouring from the precipitous edge of
+an elevated glacier; this seeming mountain
+torrent I knew was not water, but ice, thousands
+of tons of which having cracked and
+broken from the edge of the glacier, were now
+being dashed over the hard face of the rock
+into minute fragments.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>The white stream could be seen to decrease
+perceptibly in size, from a broad sheet to a
+wide band, a narrow ribbon, a line, a hair and
+then disappear altogether. While the distant
+mountains were still growling, mumbling and
+playing shuttlecock with the echoes a timid
+chief hare went hopping across a green half-acre
+of grass at the damp edge of a melting
+snow patch in my path. Overhead a golden
+eagle sailed with a small mammal in its talons;
+strange reddish-colored bumblebees busied
+themselves in a bunch of flowers growing in
+a crevice in the rocks at my feet.</p>
+
+<p>But my eye could discern no larger creatures
+in this Alpine pasture land; not only could I
+see no sheep or goats, but not a sign of my
+friend. He had vanished from the face of
+the picture as completely as if the master
+artist had erased him with one mighty sweep
+of his paint brush.</p>
+
+<p>When I viewed the lonely landscape with
+no human being in sight, I confess to experiencing
+a creepy sensation and a strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
+inclination to flee, but I knew not in what
+direction to run. I was in a rough basin-shaped
+depression among the mountain peaks,
+and I sat on a large rock with my back to a
+black chasm. From my elevated position I
+could see a long distance. Strange fancies
+creep into one&#8217;s head on such occasions and
+play havoc with previous well-founded beliefs.
+To me, poor fool of a tenderfoot, Big Pete
+had melted into the thinnest of thin air, such
+as is only found in high altitudes, and somehow
+I wondered whether the Wild Hunter
+had had anything to do with it.</p>
+
+<p>How could I tell that I myself was not
+invisible?</p>
+
+<p>I hauled myself up short there for I realized
+that such folly was not good to have tumbling
+around in my brain. I figuratively pulled
+myself back to earth, and to steady my
+nerves reached into my pack and brought
+out several hard bits of bannock that I had
+stored there. I was dreadfully hungry and
+I munched these with enthusiasm, meanwhile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
+keeping a sharp eye out for Big Pete, and
+between times making the acquaintance of
+the little chief hare who, as he scuttled about
+among the rocks, looked me over curiously.</p>
+
+<p>A short distance to my left was a huge
+obsidian cliff, the glassy walls of which rose
+in a precipice to a considerable height. On
+account of its peculiar formation, this crag of
+natural glass had several times attracted my
+attention, and on any other occasion I would
+have been curious enough to give it closer
+inspection. Once, as I turned my head in
+that direction, I thought I heard a wild laugh
+and later concluded that it was only imagination
+on my part, but now, as I again faced the
+cliff, I unmistakably heard a shout and was
+considerably relieved to see silhouetted against
+the sky the figure of Big Pete.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hello, Le-loo,&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;Through
+chasin&#8217; that &#8217;ere spook Indian kid be you?
+It&#8217;s about time. Gosh-all-hemlocks! I been
+breakin&#8217; my neck tryin&#8217; to keep up with you,
+doggone yore hide,&#8221; shouted the big guide as
+he started to climb down toward me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>&#8220;Hello, Pete! You bet I&#8217;m through and
+I&#8217;m blamed near all in. Where are we, do
+you know?&#8221; I called to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Top o&#8217; the world, my boy. Top o&#8217; the
+world, that&#8217;s whar we be,&#8221; he said with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>I had seen no game since I had lost the
+bighorn, and the sunball was now hung low in
+the heavens. It appeared to me that there
+was every prospect for a supperless night, too.
+But Big Pete evidently had no such idea, and
+he &#8220;&#8217;lowed&#8221; that he would &#8220;mosey&#8221; &#8217;round
+a bit and kill some varmints for grub.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed to be plenty of mountain
+lion signs, and I was surprised that they
+should frequent such high altitudes, but
+Pete told me that they were up here after
+marmots, and were all sleek and fat on that
+diet. I would not have been surprised if my
+wild comrade had proposed a feast on these
+cats. But it was not long before Pete&#8217;s
+revolvers could be heard barking and in a
+short time he returned with two braces of
+white ptarmigan, each with its head shattered
+by a pistol ball, and I confess these birds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+were more to my liking than cat meat. Up
+there &#8217;mid the snow fields the ptarmigan
+apparently kept their winter plumage all year
+round, and their natural camouflage made
+them utterly invisible to me, but to Pete, a
+white ptarmigan on a white snowfield seemed
+to be as easy to detect as if the same bird had
+been perched on a heap of coal. I had not
+seen one of these grouse since we had been
+in the mountains and was not aware of their
+presence until my companion returned with
+the four dead birds.</p>
+
+<p>Without wasting time, Pete began to prepare
+them for cooking. He soon built a fire
+of some sticks which he gleaned from one or
+two twisted and gnarled evergreens that had
+wandered above timber line and cooked the
+birds over the embers. He gave a brace to
+me, and sitting on a boulder with our feet
+hanging over the edge we ate our evening
+meal without salt or pepper, and then each of
+us curled up like a grey wolf under the shelter
+of a stone and slept as safely as if we were in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
+our bed rolls down in the genial atmosphere
+of the park in place of being in the bitingly
+cold air of the bleak mountain tops.</p>
+
+<p>I, at least, slept soundly, and, thanks to
+the clothes Pete had so kindly made for me,
+I do not remember feeling cold. When I
+awoke again it was daylight and I could
+scarcely believe that I had been asleep more
+than five minutes since my friend bade me
+good-night. Big Pete was up before me, of
+course, and when I opened my eyes I found
+him cooking breakfast and making tea in a
+tin cup over those economical fires he so
+loved to build even when we were in the park
+where there was fuel enough for a roaring
+bonfire. It&#8217;s queer how difficult it is to make
+water boil on a mountain top.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, now fer the witch-b&#8217;ar track agin,&#8221;
+said Big Pete, wiping his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Witch-bear!&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;Oh&mdash;yes&mdash;you
+don&#8217;t mean to tell me you kept following
+the track of that two-legged bear this far,
+Pete?&#8221; I exclaimed, suddenly recalling that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
+had started out following a mysterious moccasin
+trail that had later turned into bear tracks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sartin&#8217; sure. Didn&#8217;t you figger out that
+that tha&#8217; b&#8217;ar war the Injun or tha&#8217; Wild
+Hunter who put on moccasins made o&#8217; b&#8217;ar
+feet when he thought we&#8217;d foller him?&#8221;
+asked Pete.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I did, but I forgot&mdash;maybe that ram
+was the Wild Hunter himself&mdash;blame it.
+Nothing will astonish me in this country.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you fergot everything, even yore
+head when you started to foller that tha&#8217;
+ram yesterday. But I didn&#8217;t. I jest kept
+peggin&#8217; away at them tha&#8217; rumswattel b&#8217;ar
+tracks and I followed &#8217;em right up to yonder
+cliff. They go on from tha&#8217;, but I left &#8217;em
+last night to come over by you. Come on,
+we&#8217;ll pick &#8217;em up agin.&#8221; And off he started.</p>
+
+<p>It was soon evident that it was an exceedingly
+active bear which we were following for
+it could climb over green glacier ice like a
+Swiss guide and over rocks like a goat. It led
+us a wild, wild chase over crevasses, friable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
+and treacherous stones covered with &#8220;verglass,&#8221;
+over dangerous couloirs and all the other
+things talked of in the Alps but forgotten in
+the Rockies, to high elevations, where frozen
+snow combed over the beetling crags, and
+the avalanches roared and thundered down
+the rocks, dashing the fragments of stone over
+the lower ice fields. We were not roped
+together like mountain climbers in the Swiss
+or Tyrolean Alps; we got the real thrills by
+using our own hands and feet without ice pick,
+staff or hobnailed shoes.</p>
+
+<p>But Big Pete never hesitated and I followed
+him without a word, and when the trail led
+along the edge of a dizzy height I could look
+at the middle of Big Pete&#8217;s broad back and
+then my head would not swim. It required
+quick and good judgment to tell just how
+much of a slant made a loose stone unsafe to
+step upon. It was exciting and exhilarating
+work, and the violent exercise kept me so
+warm that I carried most of my clothes in a
+bundle on my back. Presently our path led<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+us into a goat trail, one of those century old
+paths made by shaggy white Alpine animals,
+and used by them as regular highways.
+There were plenty of fresh goat signs, and the
+broad path led us over a saddle mountain
+to the verge of a cliff, beyond which it seemed
+impossible for anything but birds to pursue
+the trail. Here we sat down to rest and to
+make a cup of tea over a tiny fire, although
+wood was plentiful at this place, it being in the
+timber line.</p>
+
+<p>Below us lay a valley, into which numerous
+small glaciers emptied their everlasting supply
+of ice and blocks of stone, and horse-tail falls
+poured from the melting snow fields. It might
+have presented enchanting prospects to an
+iceman or a bighorn, or a Rocky Mountain
+goat, but for two tired men it was a gloomy,
+dangerous and desolate place and I felt
+certain that even a witch-bear would not
+choose such a dangerous place as a camping
+ground. We had finished our tea and I was
+feeling somewhat refreshed when I noticed a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+peculiar stinging sensation about my face; I
+felt as if I had been attacked by some peculiar
+form of insect. But there were none in sight.</p>
+
+<p>Pete, at this time, was some distance away
+prospecting the &#8220;lay of the land.&#8221; I saw
+him suddenly pull the cape of his wamus over
+his face, and reasoned that he also had been
+attacked by these invisible insects.</p>
+
+<p>To my surprise, the big fellow seemed very
+much alarmed, and every time I shouted to
+him it greatly excited him. As he was
+hurrying to me as rapidly as possible, I
+desisted from further inquiry. When Big
+Pete reached my side he pulled a handkerchief
+from around my neck and put it over my
+mouth, making signs which I did not comprehend.
+At last he put his muffled mouth
+to my ear and shouted through the cape of
+his wamus. &#8220;Shut yer meat-trap or you&#8217;re
+food for the coyotes. It is the WHITE
+DEATH!&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+
+<p>Clothes and stage trappings can neither
+add nor detract from our respect for death.
+He is the same grim old gentleman, be his
+mouldy bones naked, or clothed in robes of
+the most gaudy or brilliant hues. A blue
+death, a red death or a yellow death is just as
+grizzly and awe-inspiring as one of any shade
+of gray. Even a black death excites no
+emotions not touched by the first name, for
+it is the dread messenger himself whom we
+respect and not his fanciful robes of office.</p>
+
+<p>As far as I am personally concerned, I
+confess that Big Pete&#8217;s painful suggestion
+about the coyotes had more to do with keeping
+my mouth shut than any terror inspired by
+the lily-like purity of the garments of the
+white death; what made my bones ache was
+the thought of the wolves gnawing them.</p>
+
+<p>Overhead the sun shone with an unusual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
+brilliancy, and the atmosphere had that peculiar
+crystalline transparency which kills space
+and brings distant objects close to one&#8217;s feet.
+Where then was the terrible white messenger?
+Why must my head be muffled like a mummy?
+Why must I keep my mouth shut, while the
+curiosity mill within me was working overtime
+grinding out questions I should dearly love
+to ask?</p>
+
+<p>Again and again I looked around me to see
+where this ghostly white terror might lurk,
+and now, as I gazed at the mountains, I was
+surprised and annoyed to discover that the
+distant peaks were gradually disappearing,
+being blotted out of the landscape before my
+eyes; a ghost-like mantle was creeping over
+and enshrouding the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>Like Big Pete, the witch-bear, the ptarmigan
+and the stinging insects, the mountains themselves
+had joined in the weird game and were
+donning their fernseed caps of invisibility.
+Now the air around and about me seemed to
+be filled with powdered dust of mica that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+glinted, sparkled and scintillated in the sunshine.
+The breeze which was tossing about
+the bright atoms loosened the handkerchief
+which swathed my nose and mouth, and I
+was seized with a violent fit of coughing.</p>
+
+<p>It was no gentle hand which Big Pete laid
+on my shoulder before he again bound the
+handkerchief around my face and motioned
+for me to follow him.</p>
+
+<p>Evidently my guide had been making good
+use of his time while I was engaged in idle
+speculation, for he led me to a point about
+fifty yards from the goat trail where there was
+a possible place to descend the cliff to a ledge
+fifty feet below. By this time I had become
+enough of a mountaineer to follow my guide
+over trails which a few weeks previous would
+have seemed to me impossible to traverse,
+and after a hasty and daring descent we
+reached the ledge, where I discovered the
+black mouth of a cavern; into this hole Pete
+thrust me and led me back some twenty yards
+into the darkness, ordered me to disrobe to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
+the waist, then he began a most vigorous
+and irritating slapping and rubbing of my
+chest; so insistent and persevering was he
+that I really thought my skin would be peeled
+from shoulders to waist. At last he desisted
+and ordered me to put on all my clothes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you mad, Pete? Has the rarefied air
+of the mountains upset your brain? If not,
+will you kindly tell me what on earth all this
+means and why we are hiding in this gloomy
+hole?&#8221; I asked as soon as I got the breath
+back in my body.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Le-loo, you be a baby, and need a keeper
+to prevent you from committing susancide
+several times a day. Tenderfoot? Well, I
+should say so. No one but a short-horn from
+the East would keep his mouth open gulping
+in the frozen fog, filling his warm lungs with
+quarts of fine ice. I reckon it would be
+healthier to breathe pounded glass, fur it
+hain&#8217;t sharper nor half as cold. Why, Le-loo,
+tha&#8217; be a dose of fever and lung inflammation
+in every mouthful of this frozen fog.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>He held my face between his two strong
+hands so that the faint light that filtered
+through the murky darkness from the cavern&#8217;s
+mouth dimly illuminated my countenance,
+and as he watched the streams of perspiration
+falling in drops from the end of my nose his
+frown relaxed and a broad grin spread over
+his handsome features.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re all right this time,&#8221; he added
+&#8220;I calculate that I&#8217;ve melted all the ice in
+your bellows, so just creep up tha&#8217; and sweat
+a bit more to make it slick and sartin that
+we&#8217;ve beat the White Death this trip.&#8221;
+I did as he said, not because I wanted to
+sweat but because habit made me obey the
+commands of my guide.</p>
+
+<p>Evidently this cavern had been in constant
+use by some sort of animals as a sort of stable
+for many, many years, and I have had sweeter
+couches, but by this time my rough life had
+transformed me into something of a wild
+animal myself, and it was not long before I
+was comfortably dozing. During the time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
+that I slept I was dimly conscious of being
+surrounded by a crowd of people; as the
+absurdity of this forced itself through my
+sleep-befuddled brain and I opened wide my
+eyes, what I saw made me open my eyes
+still wider.</p>
+
+<p>I was about to start to my feet when I felt
+Big Pete&#8217;s restraining hand on my shoulder,
+and not until then did I realize that the cave
+was crowded with the shaggy white Rocky
+Mountain goats, and not weird, white-bearded
+old men. Few persons can truly say that
+they have been within arm&#8217;s length of a flock
+of these timid and almost unapproachable
+animals; but we had invaded their secret
+place of refuge, and they had not, as yet,
+taken alarm at our presence in their castle.
+It may be that the frozen fog had driven
+the goats to the cavern for shelter, and it is
+possible that never having been hunted by
+man, these animals feared the White Death
+more than they did human beings, and did
+not realize the dangerous character of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+present visitors; whatever the cause of their
+temerity, the fact remains that men and
+goats slept that night in the cavern together.</p>
+
+<p>I did not awake next morning until after
+the departure of the goats and opened my
+eyes to find myself alone in the cavern.</p>
+
+<p>Having all my clothes on, no time was
+wasted at my toilet, but I made my way
+directly to the doorway and was gratified to
+discover that Big Pete was roasting some kid
+chops over the hot embers of a fire.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfasting on the remains of the
+kid, Big Pete arose and scanned the sky, the
+horizon and the mountain tops, and turning
+to me said, &#8220;Now, Le-loo, that Wild Hunter-b&#8217;ar-wolf
+man has fooled us by doubling on
+his trail an&#8217; as it hain&#8217;t him we&#8217;re after now
+but the trail out of the mountains, I mean to
+go by sens-see-ation, but you must keep yer
+meat-trap shut and not speak, &#8217;cause soon
+as I know I&#8217;m a man I hain&#8217;t got no more
+sense than a man. I must say to myself,
+&#8216;Now, Pete, you&#8217;re a varmint and varmints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+know their way even in a new country.&#8217;
+Then I just sense things and trots along &#8217;til
+I come out all right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I had often heard of this wonderful instinct
+of direction, the homing instinct of the
+pigeon, which some Indians, Africans, Australian
+black boys and a few white men still
+possess; I say still possess because it is evident
+that it was once our common heritage, a sort of
+sixth sense which has been lost by disuse.
+That Big Pete possessed this sixth sense I
+little doubted, and it was with absorbing interest
+that I watched the man work himself into
+the proper state of mind.</p>
+
+<p>For quite a time he stood sniffing the air
+and looking around him while his body swayed
+with a slow motion. Then suddenly, as if
+he had seen something or as if answering the
+call of something, he started off almost at
+right angles to our trail, acting very much like
+a hound on an old scent, but keeping up a
+pace that tried my endurance.</p>
+
+<p>It was truly wonderful the way this man, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+a trance-like state, was guided by an invisible
+power over the most dangerous ground, but
+no one, after a careful survey, could have
+selected a better trail than that chosen by
+Big Pete. On and on we went, scrambling
+over rock-skirting precipices and crumbling
+ledges. A dense fog settled around us, making
+each step hazardous, but with an instinct as
+true and apparently identical with that of
+our four-footed brothers, my guide kept the
+same rapid pace for hours, and then, all of a
+sudden, came to an abrupt stop.</p>
+
+<p>For several seconds he stood in his tracks,
+his body keeping the same swaying motion,
+but after a short while he crept cautiously
+forward in the fog, with me at his heels, and
+we found ourselves at the edge of a giant
+fault, similar to the one in Darlinkel Park,
+but there was apparently no pass to let us
+down the towering precipices to the valley
+below.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, that was a wonderful trip,&#8221; I cried.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shut up!&#8221; shouted Pete savagely, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+I had spoken and the spell was broken;
+reason, not instinct, must now lead us.</p>
+
+<p>Vapor and clouds concealed the low grounds
+from our view; however, we were determined
+not to spend another night in the mountains,
+so while I rested and regained my breath,
+Big Pete went on to explore the ledges.</p>
+
+<p>Presently my guide hove in sight and
+motioned me to follow him; he led me to a
+place where another goat trail went over the
+edge of the precipice, this time not in ten and
+fifteen feet jumps, but by a steep diagonal
+path. Down the treacherous trail we slipped
+and slid with a wall of rocks on one side and
+death in the form of a bluish white space on
+the other side.</p>
+
+<p>As we were clambering carefully around
+the face of a big rock Pete suddenly whispered
+that he smelt a &#8220;Painter,&#8221; and upon peering
+around the corner we found ourselves face to
+face with a large cat; the animal was crouching
+upon a flat-topped projecting stone immediately
+in our path. That it was not the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
+puma of the low-lands, its reddish-colored
+coat and great size proclaimed. It was a
+so-called mountain lion and a grand specimen
+of its kind.</p>
+
+<p>The cat&#8217;s small head lay between its muscular
+forepaws, its hair adhered closely to its
+body, its long tail was full and round and
+waved slowly from side to side, while its eyes
+gleamed like electric sparks.</p>
+
+<p>We were in a most awkward position; our
+guns were swung by straps over our backs,
+so that we might use our hands, and we were
+clinging to the face of the big rock while our
+toes were seeking foothold in the treacherous
+shale of the trail. To loosen our hands was to
+fall backwards into the bluish white sea of
+unknown depths, and to retrace our steps
+was out of the question.</p>
+
+<p>Pete often expressed the opinion that no
+predaceous creature, from a spider up to a
+cougar, will attack its prey while the latter is
+immovable.</p>
+
+<p>As a corollary to this proposition he said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
+that when a person is suddenly confronted
+by a dangerous wild beast, the safest plan to
+pursue is to remain perfectly quiet, or, as he
+quaintly put it, &#8220;to peetrify yourself in the
+wink of an eye.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Truth to tell, on this occasion I found no
+difficulty in following his directions. I was
+&#8220;peetrified&#8221; by fear; my feet were cold and
+numb, chills in wavelets washed up and down
+my spine, a sudden rash seemed to be breaking
+out all over my body and the skin on my back
+felt as if it had been converted into goose-flesh.</p>
+
+<p>Had we been able to travel a few feet
+further we would have both found a comparatively
+safe footing and had our arms
+free and a fighting chance with the big
+catamount in place of hanging suspended to
+the face of the rock like two big, helpless,
+terrified bats.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+
+<p>With an imperceptible movement, as steady
+and almost as slow as that of a glacier, my
+guide twisted his neck until his face was
+turned from the puma and the side of the
+mouth pressed against the flat surface of his
+rock. I was crowded up against Big Pete,
+who occupied a position but slightly in advance
+and a little above me. My agony of fear
+having somewhat subsided I ventured to steal
+a momentary glance at my comrade&#8217;s face.
+To my unutterable surprise I discovered a
+whimsical twinkling at the corners of his eyes
+and a mirthful expression of mischief in his
+countenance. This was incomprehensible to
+me, for I could imagine no more awe-inspiring
+position than the one we then occupied.</p>
+
+<p>While my thoughts were still busy trying
+to fathom the cause of Pete&#8217;s untimely
+mirth, the long-drawn howl of the big timber
+wolf floated over the valley and sent a new lot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
+of shivers down my back. It was the rallying
+call used by the wolves to call the band together
+when game is in sight. The sound
+increased in volume until it reverberated
+among the crags like the voice of a winter&#8217;s
+storm, and then it gradually died away.
+Big Pete was not only a good mimic but he
+proved himself to be a ventriloquist of no
+mean ability; by the help of the rock against
+which his cheek was pressed he had been able
+to throw his voice off into space in such a
+manner that it baffled me for several moments.</p>
+
+<p>The gray wolves are old and inveterate
+enemies of the panther or cougar, hunting
+the cats on all occasions. Consequently all
+panthers know the meaning of that wild
+lonesome howl, the assembling call, as well
+as the oldest wolf in the pack, and its effect
+upon the lion in our path was instantaneous.
+The hair, which had a moment before been as
+slick as if it were oiled, now rose upright until
+the fuzzy hide gave the animal&#8217;s body the
+appearance of being twice its original size.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>Scarcely had the big cat vacated the path
+before we scrambled to the firm foothold and
+I breathed a great sigh of relief when it was
+reached. But Big Pete was convulsed with
+suppressed laughter at the practical joke he
+had played on the mountain lion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gosh darn my magnolia breath! That
+painter went as if he had a ball of hot rorrum
+tied to his tail,&#8221; cried my guide.</p>
+
+<p>It was difficult for me to realize that it was
+Big Pete himself who had given vent to that
+shuddering howl, and now the danger was over
+I pleaded with him to give another exhibition
+of his skill in wolf calls.</p>
+
+<p>The good-natured fellow at first seemed
+reluctant to repeat his performance, but at
+length consented and put his hands to his
+mouth, forming a trumpet, then bent forward
+his body, stooping so low that his face was
+was below his waist, after which he began again
+that wild cry which so closely resembles in
+sentiment and tone the shriek of the wind.
+As the sound increased in volume the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+waved his head from side to side; continuing
+the movement he gradually assumed an
+upright pose, and ended by making a low
+obeisance as the sound died away.</p>
+
+<p>The imitation was perfect and I was expressing
+my delight and appreciation when my ear
+caught a distant sound which put a sudden
+stop to our conversation.</p>
+
+<p>Was it the wind which I now heard? No!
+there was not a breath of air stirring, neither
+was it an echo. There could be no doubt
+about it, the long-drawn sepulchral howl
+which filled and permeated the shivering air
+was an answering cry to Big Pete&#8217;s call.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had the sound waves faded away
+when in the mysterious distance came another
+and another answer, until it seemed as if a
+troop of lost souls were vocalizing their
+misery. I unslung my gun and loosened my
+revolvers in their fringed holsters, but Big Pete
+only shrugged his shoulders and said,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come, let&#8217;s be moseying. &#8217;Taint nothin&#8217;
+but wolves.&#8221; A fact of which I was as well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+aware of as Pete, but I, tenderfoot that I was,
+could not treat howling of wolves with the
+same unconcern as did my guide.</p>
+
+<p>We soon reached a point where the goat
+trail turned again up the mountain and we
+forsook that ancient path for a diagonal
+fracture very similar to the one by which we
+had ascended, which led down the face of the
+precipice &#8220;slantendicularwise,&#8221; Big Pete said,
+and soon plunged into the bluish gray sea
+which filled the valley. We were now enveloped
+in a dense fog, which added materially
+to the dangers of the journey. I had had so
+many thrills in the last few moments that my
+nerves were becoming dull and failed to vibrate
+on this occasion, so that descending the cliff
+in a fog by a diagonal fracture in the rock
+became only an incident of our journey; this
+trail, however, was wider than the one by
+which we ascended.</p>
+
+<p>The Rocky Mountains are full of new
+sensations and I got a new one when I
+discovered that the fog through which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+we had been traveling was in reality a cloud,
+and, all unexpectedly, we emerged into the
+clear mellow light below the floating vapor.
+It was an enchanting scene which met our
+eyes; below us stretched a beautiful valley.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in months I saw a human
+habitation. The blue smoke from the chimney
+ascended slowly in a tall column and then
+floated horizontally in stratified layers. There
+were fields of ripe grain, orchards, groves,
+pasture lands and a winding stream fringed
+with poplars, which flowed in a tortuous
+course across the valley. As I feasted my eyes
+on the peaceful scene a great longing took
+possession of my soul.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete, too, was lost in thought, conjured
+up by the scene below us. He stood leaning
+on his rifle with his eyes fixed on the enchanting
+picture; so full of unconscious dignity
+was his pose, so immovable stood the mountain
+man that he looked like a grand statue
+done by a master hand.</p>
+
+<p>But what thoughts were conjured up in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+guide&#8217;s brain by the unexpected sight of
+this ranch could not be interpreted from the
+expression of his countenance, for that showed
+no more trace of emotion than an American
+Indian at the torture stake, or the marble
+face of a Greek god. Presently he shifted
+his pose, threw back his head, and Big Pete&#8217;s
+eyes were fixed on the valley in front of us, as
+with distended nostrils he sniffed the mountain
+air, his brows contracted to a frown, his
+eyes lost their gentle angelic look and seemed
+to change from China blue to a cold steel
+color, and his tightly closed mouth had a
+stern expression about the corners which
+appeared altogether out of keeping with the
+occasion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Rot my hide!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;if I hain&#8217;t
+had a neighbor all these years and never
+knowed it. Waugh! Some emigrant&mdash;terrification
+seize him!&mdash;has found another park
+an&#8217; squatted, t&#8217;ain&#8217;t more&#8217;n eight miles as a
+crow flies from mine, nuther, Le-loo.&#8221; He
+looked at the sun and muttered. &#8220;Hang me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+but &#8217;tis t&#8217;other end of my own park,&#8221; then
+he paused a moment and added fiercely,
+&#8220;if these geysers know when they are well off,
+they&#8217;ll steer shy of Darlinkel Park. If I
+catch &#8217;em scoutin&#8217; &#8217;round my claim, I&#8217;ll send
+&#8217;em a-hoppin&#8217;.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bless me, you are neighborly,&#8221; exclaimed a
+voice in smooth, even tones.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What!&#8221; said Pete, looking sternly at me.
+&#8220;Did you speak?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I said nothing,&#8221; I replied.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete&#8217;s countenance changed and he ran
+his hands over the cartridges in his belt in
+the old familiar manner, and with a motion
+quicker than I can describe it, whipped out
+his revolvers and wheeled about face, at the
+same time snapping out the words, &#8220;Throw up
+your hands!&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+
+<p>We were standing on the surface of a flat
+table-rock, which jutted out from the face
+of the towering cliff and overhung the valley
+that was spread out like a map beneath us.
+About twenty feet back from the edge of the
+rock was a pile of debris heaped up against
+the face of the cliff; but the remaining surface
+of the stone was clean bare and weather-beaten.
+The talus against the cliff was
+composed of loose fragments of stone and
+other products of wash and erosion. This
+was overgrown with a thicket of stunted
+shrubs, wry-necked goblin thistles and murderous
+devil&#8217;s clubs. These bludgeon-shaped
+plants, thickly covered with sharp thorns,
+reared aloft their weapons as if in menace to
+all living things; the unstable ground and
+thorny thicket formed the only shelter where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+we could be ambushed in the rear, and it was
+not a likely spot to be chosen for such a
+purpose by man or beast.</p>
+
+<p>When Big Pete wheeled about face with his
+trusty revolvers in hand, I quickly followed
+his example, and our mutual surprise may be
+imagined when we found ourselves gazing in
+the faces of a semicircle of gigantic wolves.
+The animals were squatting on their haunches
+at the foot of the talus, their wicked slant
+eyes fixed upon us and their red tongues
+lolling out from their cavernous mouths.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot tell why, whether it was the state of
+my nerves or the effect of the rare air of the
+high altitude, or what, but I felt no fear at
+facing this strange wolf pack. Indeed, to me
+they appeared all to be laughing and their
+red tongues lolled from their open mouths in
+a very humorous fashion.</p>
+
+<p>The whole scene appeared to me to be
+exceedingly funny and, in a spirit of utter
+reckless bravado, I doffed my fur cap, with
+exaggerated politeness made a low bow, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+addressing the largest and most devilish-looking
+wolf in the pack, exclaimed,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! this is Monsieur Loup-Garou, I
+believe. Pardon me, Monsieur, but did you
+speak a moment since?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Big Pete Darlinkel looked at the wolves,
+and great beads of sweat stood on his forehead.
+It was his turn to have the shivers. There
+was no more color in his face than in a peeled
+turnip. His gun shook in his left hand like a
+aspen, while the spangled gun in his right
+hand dropped its muzzle towards earth and
+there was scarcely strength enough in his
+nerveless fingers to have pulled a hair-trigger.</p>
+
+<p>Pete&#8217;s great baby-blue eyes turned helplessly
+to me; but it was now my innings, and
+with a cheery voice I cried,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, Pete, old fellow, what ails you?&#8221;
+Then meanly quoting his own words, I added,
+&#8220;They hain&#8217;t nothing but wolves!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There is not a shadow of a doubt that Pete
+expected the wolves to answer me with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+human voice, and I am willing to confess that,
+even to me, there seemed to be no other
+alternative for the slant-eyed bandits to
+pursue. But for the present they appeared
+to prefer to maintain a solemn silence.</p>
+
+<p>The middle wolf had been looking intently
+at us for some time before a well-modulated
+voice said,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have answered your call, gentlemen;
+how can I serve you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was more than half expecting some such
+answer, but if it had not been so evident that
+Big Pete was badly frightened and had lost
+all his self-possession, I should have thought
+he was again practising his art as ventriloquist.</p>
+
+<p>Of course I deceived myself. The wolves
+had no more power of speech than a house-dog.
+But I really thought the wolves were doing
+the talking until I caught sight of a tall man
+of handsome and distinguished appearance
+seated among the weird goblin-thistles just
+above the wolves. The stranger appeared
+to be a man of almost any age; he might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+young but, if old, he was wonderfully well
+preserved. He was clad in a light-colored
+buckskin suit of clothes, edged and trimmed
+with fur, a fur cap on his head and moccasins
+on his feet. And I noticed, with a start, that
+he had that same red porcupine quill ornament
+on his hunting shirt that the young Indian wore.</p>
+
+<p>When I saw how his dress blended perfectly
+with his surroundings I excused myself for
+not sooner detecting him. I could not help
+but admire his easy grace and the sense of
+reserved strength in his strong figure. The
+calmness and repose forcibly reminded me of
+the mountain lion we had lately encountered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You kin hackle me and card my sinews,
+if it hain&#8217;t the Wild Hunter himself an&#8217; his
+pack,&#8221; said Big Pete under his breath.</p>
+
+<p>The color now began to return to his face
+and at the recollection of his late rude words
+the big fellow blushed like a school girl.
+Gradually he recovered his self-possession,
+and, doffing his cap, made a low bow as graceful
+and as courtly as that of any polished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+courtier. This was an entirely new side to
+my friend&#8217;s character and I listened with
+interest when he said,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sir, whether you be loup-garou, werwolf,
+witch-b&#8217;ar or all them to onct, I do not care.
+What I want ter say is ef that tha&#8217; ranch
+yander be your&#8217;n, you may hamstring me ef
+I hain&#8217;t proud to have such a man for a neighbor.
+Whatever else you be yore no shavetail
+or shorthorn, an&#8217; that&#8217;s howsomever. I don&#8217;t
+mind sayin&#8217; that yore a better shot an&#8217; all
+around hunter an&#8217; mountain man than Daniel
+Boone, Simon Kenton, Davy Crockett, Kit
+Carson, Bison McClean and Jim Baker all
+rolled in one. Yore the slickest woodsman
+on the divide. I&#8217;m powerful proud of you as
+a neighbor and would be still prouder ef I
+might call you my friend.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Our strange visitor displayed a beautiful
+white set of teeth as a frank smile played
+over his smooth face. But his only answer
+at that moment was an inclination of his
+head and a muttered command to the wolves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
+which they instantly obeyed by silently
+disappearing in the underbrush.</p>
+
+<p>After a pause the tall stranger came forward,
+and, removing his own cap, made a bow even
+more courtly than that of Big Pete, as he thus
+replied: &#8220;Sir, I feel highly honored at this
+flattering expression of commendation. I can
+honestly say that it is the greatest compliment
+I have ever received from a stranger, and,&#8221; he
+added with another winning smile,
+&#8220;you are the first stranger with whom I have
+held converse in nearly twenty years. That
+I am not unfriendly I have already proved by
+some trifling services, but the honor of the
+acquaintance is mine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>After the formalities of our meeting were
+over the stranger stood for a few moments with
+his chin resting on his breast. He was evidently
+thinking over some serious subject.
+His head was bare, his fur cap being in his
+hands, and his hands locked behind his back.
+A mass of light colored hair fell over his
+forehead and shoulders.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>Presently he looked at us again, with that
+same grave smile on his face, and said that
+if we would consent to be blindfolded and
+trust ourselves implicitly to his care, he would
+be glad to take us to his home and would feel
+honored if we should choose to visit him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can proceed no further on this trail
+for it ends here, and not even a goat can go
+beyond the rock on which we stand, therefore
+we must retrace our steps a few hundred
+yards,&#8221; he explained, as he apologized for his
+strange proposition. He securely bandaged
+our eyes with our own handkerchiefs, and
+after turning us around until I at least had
+lost all sense of direction, he placed thongs in
+our hands, and then we discovered that we
+were to be led by some sort of animals, presumably
+wolves. Whatever else they were,
+they proved to be careful and sagacious
+leaders.</p>
+
+<p>After a short distance of rough climbing
+where we constantly needed the personal help
+of our mysterious host, we began to descend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
+and soon our feet told us that we were traveling
+on a comparatively smooth though steep trail.
+Now and again our guide would speak to warn
+us of stones or other obstructions in our path,
+but, with the exception of these necessary
+words of caution and brief words expressing
+approval or reproof to the animals, we made
+the journey in silence and in due time reached
+the bottom, and our feet told us that we were
+walking on a level shale-covered path.</p>
+
+<p>At this point the creatures leading us were
+dismissed and we could hear them scrambling
+back over the trail. We heard the bleating
+of sheep, the lowing of cattle and all the
+multiplicity of noises so familiar on a well-stocked
+farm, and we could easily detect the
+different odors as familiar and characteristic
+as the noises. We enjoyed to its fullest
+extent the novelty of the homely sensations
+aroused by the smell of new-mown hay and
+the familiar medley of sounds peculiar to the
+farm.</p>
+
+<p>In due time we found ourselves at the foot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+of a couple of wooden steps, which we ascended,
+and, crossing a broad veranda, entered
+a doorway. Here we stood awaiting further
+commands in utter ignorance of our surroundings.
+Of course, we surmised we were in the
+ranch house which we saw from the table rock,
+but this was only a surmise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gentlemen,&#8221; said the strange old man,
+&#8220;you are welcome to my home, and allow me
+to add that you are the only white men who
+have ever crossed the threshold of this house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As he ceased speaking he removed the
+bandages from our eyes.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was a strange place, indeed, in which
+I found myself. Our eyes were unbandaged
+after we entered the portal of the ranch house,
+and when Big Pete and I turned toward our
+guide, we were facing in a direction that gave
+us a sweeping view of the entire ranch. And
+what we saw made us marvel.</p>
+
+<p>This farm, between the towering, almost
+insurmountable mountains, had evidently
+been wrenched from what two decades before
+had been as much of a wilderness as the Darlinkel
+Park across the divide. Timber clothed
+the mountains on either hand but the fertile
+valley bottom was as rural as a district of the
+middle west. On one hand stretched acres
+and acres of ripened grain. Beyond was
+pasture land dotted with strange whitefaced
+animals, which later proved to be hybrid
+buffalos, a strange cross between wild and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
+domestic cattle.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> In other pastures and on
+the hillsides I could see goats and sheep, and
+these too were evidently a cross breed of wild
+and domestic stock, the goats having a very
+strange resemblance to the fleet-footed shaggy
+old fellows we had seen on the mountains,
+while the sheep closely resembled usual domestic
+sheep.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Since that time the late Buffalo Jones has bred buffalo and
+domestic cattle and called the offspring &#8220;catelow.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>There were stables, too, and corrals, all
+made of logs, as was the ranch house, but what
+seemed very strange to me was the fact that
+there were no horses in sight. All of the animals
+at work in the fields were those strange
+hybrid buffalo-oxen, all save one, a single,
+lame and apparently almost blind burro that
+I saw lying in the sun. From his grayness
+about the head I had little doubt that he was
+of great age.</p>
+
+<p>There were hordes of strange poultry too,&mdash;strange
+to me at least, for never had I expected
+to find flocking together wild turkeys, Canadian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+geese, black ducks, wood ducks, and
+mallards (all with wings clipped so that they
+never again could fly), sage hens, quail,
+spruce-grouse, partridge, ptarmigan and western
+mountain quail. All seemed perfectly
+at home and comfortably domesticated.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the poultry houses was still another
+outhouse, a long, low, log building before
+which was a lawn. On the lawn were all
+manner of perches and roosts and on these,
+sunning themselves and preening their feathers,
+were several types of predaceous birds,
+ranging from huge and powerful female eagles
+to smaller hawks and true falcons. This
+evidently was the Wild Hunter&#8217;s falconry.</p>
+
+<p>Another thing that made an instant impression
+upon me was the number of men
+at work about the place. The workmen were
+all, without an exception, Indians, and as they
+moved about silently, their stoic, almost
+expressionless faces held a decided look of
+contentment, a few of them turned toward the
+porch with a frank, honest stare. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+no evidence of fear or restraint in their actions
+but they always gave the wolf dogs plenty
+of room as they passed them. These black
+beasts were ugly, snarling things that showed
+no love for anyone; on the least provocation
+menacing growls rumbled in their throats.</p>
+
+<p>What manner of place was this that we had
+permitted ourselves to be led into? Indeed,
+what manner of man was this strange host of
+ours? I shot a sidelong glance at him and it
+seemed to me as if I caught a strange, hunted
+look in his eyes, and a sad smile on his handsome
+but grim countenance. A slight feeling
+of fear crept into my heart. Could this
+strange man be my father? For some reason
+he certainly did attract me and excite my
+sympathy, yet I stood in awe of him. The
+strangeness of my surroundings, too, settled
+upon me. I turned toward Pete and I had a
+premonition of evil. I could see that he too
+was affected the same way. The valley was
+an earthly paradise, the Wild Hunter a kindly
+gentleman, what then was it that gave me an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+uncomfortable and uneasy feeling? I was
+eager to be alone with Pete for I knew that he
+would have some interesting observations to
+make.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am disappointed, gentlemen, you say
+nothing. Isn&#8217;t my ranch interesting to you?&#8221;
+demanded the Wild Hunter, with a smile.
+In a low smooth voice he gave some orders to a
+young Indian who was walking toward the
+stables. The Indian instantly snapped into
+action and hurried away as if one of the black
+wolf dogs were snapping at his heels, and I felt
+certain that it was the youth whom we had
+been trailing.</p>
+
+<p>A hurried and very unpleasant thought
+flashed through my mind: What was the
+source of the power the Wild Hunter held over
+these Indians? They were not slaves in this
+mountain-surrounded prison; this grim, forceful
+but kindly wild man did not hold them
+through fear. He always smiled when he
+greeted them, but he never smiled at his
+wolves; when giving them orders or even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
+looking at them, the expression of his face
+was stern and almost fierce. But the man
+had asked a question. He was expecting an
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a wonderful place,&#8221; I managed to
+stammer; &#8220;who could conceive of such a
+remarkable ranch buried here in the heart of
+the wilderness?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a ring-tailed snorter, hamstring me if
+it hain&#8217;t,&#8221; said Big Pete in an attempt to be
+enthusiastic.</p>
+
+<p>The man&#8217;s face glowed with pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are the first white men to see it. I
+think I have achieved something here in the
+wilds, thanks a great deal to Pluto and his
+strain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eh, what?&#8221; exclaimed Big Pete in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To&mdash;to&mdash;whom,&#8221; I gasped, for to have the
+man actually confess an alliance with Satan
+rather startled me also.</p>
+
+<p>The Wild Hunter chuckled in an amused
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks to Pluto, I said. But Pluto is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
+that black wolf-dog over there, nevertheless.
+I think that the name &#8216;Pluto&#8217; fits his character
+to a nicety.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to the massive, deep-chested,
+long-haired, long-limbed, vicious looking leader
+of his black wolf pack where it was chained to
+a post. The great animal glared at his
+master when his name was mentioned. He
+crouched twenty feet away with his slanting
+green eyes fixed constantly on his master&#8217;s
+face and in them ever flared a fierce, wicked
+fire.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you son of Satan, you and your
+hybrid whelps have helped me do all this in
+spite of the fact that you hate me, and would
+love to tear me limb from limb. You splendid,
+ugly brute, you are insensible to kindness!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I noticed that whenever he looked the wolf
+in the face his own countenance became grim
+and his eyes exceedingly fierce and not unlike
+the wolf itself in expression.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width:290px;"><a name="illo3" id="illo3"></a>
+<p><a href="images/illo3.jpg"><img src="images/illo3_th.jpg"
+alt="&#8220;I think the name &#8216;Pluto&#8217; fits his character to a nicety&#8221;"
+title="&#8220;I think the name &#8216;Pluto&#8217; fits his character to a nicety&#8221;" /></a></p>
+<p class="caption">&#8220;I think the name &#8216;Pluto&#8217; fits his character to a nicety&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;He hates me,&#8221; he continued, turning to
+us, &#8220;because of his ancestors. In him is the
+blood of a Great Dane noted for its strength,
+size and ferocity, a fierce brute which I brought
+over the mountains with me many years ago.
+Pluto&#8217;s mother was a pure black wolf of a
+mean disposition, and his father the half-breed
+son of a Great Dane and a she-wolf.
+He is the fiercest and most bloodthirsty beast
+in the whole pack, he hates me with the intense
+hatred of his wolfish nature, he hates me because
+he knows that I am the master of the
+pack, the real leader, and he is jealous.
+Since his puppy days he has watched for a
+chance to kill me; twice he nearly succeeded&mdash;the
+time will no doubt come when it will be
+his life or mine. Yet because of his wonderful
+strength, endurance and sagacity, I could
+almost love him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;His breed does not want to recognize any
+master. But <i>I am</i> his master!&#8221; cried the
+Wild Hunter as his eyes flashed and he struck
+himself on his chest, &#8220;and he knows it. The
+only way, however, that I keep my power
+over him and his pack is by forcing myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+to think every time I speak to them, now I
+am going to <i>kill you</i>, and brutes though they
+are they can read my mind and fear me.
+Besides which self-interest helps a little towards
+their loyalty. With me for a leader
+there is always a kill at the end of the hunt,
+and they know that they come in for a share
+of the food.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes I fear the wolves will break
+loose and attack my Indians, which I would
+very much regret, for the Redmen are faithful
+fellows and we form a happy community.
+The Indians look upon me as Big Medicine
+because I can control these medicine wolves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete looked at the man with open
+admiration, a man who by the sheer power
+of his will could control a band of wolves,
+any one of which was powerful enough to kill
+an ox, certainly was a man to please the wild
+nature of Big Pete. &#8220;But,&#8221; said Pete, &#8220;you
+say Pluto has helped you. How?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How,&#8221; exclaimed the Wild Hunter, &#8220;why,
+gentlemen, by governing the pack as savage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
+as himself. The pack is the secret of my
+whole success; my power over them first won
+the allegiance of the Indians, won their admiration
+and their respect. They know that I
+could turn those wolves upon them at any
+moment, but they also know that I would not
+think of doing such an act and they are human
+and love me; the wolves are brutes and not
+susceptible to kindness. The wolves hate
+the Redmen as they hate me, but they supplied
+us all with food, they secured for us our winter
+meat while the men worked to build houses
+and clear the land, and thus made it possible
+for us to start this settlement. They even
+acted as pack animals for us, each of them
+carrying as much as seventy pounds in weight
+on their backs. But be on your guard,
+gentlemen, be on your guard! Remember
+that you are strangers to the wolves and they
+will not hesitate, if the opportunity offers, to
+rend you and even devour you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A moment later his expression changed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Enough of this,&#8221; he exclaimed in pleasanter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
+tones, &#8220;come, dinner is served,&#8221; and turning,
+he led the way through the broad doorway
+of the log ranch house into an almost sumptuously
+furnished dining room where two
+silent, soft-footed Indians began immediately
+to serve a truly remarkable meal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may be lo-coed,&#8221; whispered Pete to me
+as we took our places at the table, &#8220;but I&#8217;ll
+tell the folks, he is a master looney alright.
+He knows how to make Injuns love him and
+varmints fear him, he kin pack all his duffle
+in my bag, he need not cough up eny money
+when he&#8217;s with me. Reckon we be alright
+here, but waugh! we&#8217;ve gotter watch tha&#8217;
+black wolf pack!&mdash;yes and also that young
+Indian whose ram you shot; it seems he looks
+after the wolves and sees to it that they are
+fastened up in their corral. I wouldn&#8217;t want
+him to be sort of careless, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+
+<p>What a dining room that was! All of logs,
+high ceilinged, with smoked rafters stained
+like an old meerschaum pipe. It reminded me
+of a wealthy man&#8217;s hunting lodge in Maine,
+perhaps, rather than the abode of a wild man.
+There was a huge yawning fireplace at one
+end, above which was the finest specimen of
+an elk&#8217;s head I have ever seen. There were
+other heads, too, prong-horned antelope,
+beautiful bison heads, remarkable specimens
+of bighorn sheep and mountain goats, there
+were buffalo robes and wolf robes strewn over
+the floor, and there were abundant well
+stocked gun cases on every hand.</p>
+
+<p>But conspicuous among the collection of
+firearms was one, kept apart, polished and
+cleaned, and on a rack made of elk horns
+handily placed just above the big mantle.
+It was beautifully though not elaborately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+made, with a fine damascus barrel of tremendous
+length, a lock and set trigger that
+showed expert handicraft, and stock of beautifully
+polished birds-eye maple. An expert
+would have known immediately that it was a
+first-water product of an expert gunsmith.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete noticed it as soon as I did and he
+could not keep his eyes from roving to it
+occasionally during the meal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may scalp me, stranger, fer sayin&#8217; it,
+but I&#8217;d like mightily well to heft that tha&#8217;
+shooting iron o&#8217; your&#8217;n and examine it when
+we git through with chuck,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>Our strange host looked up at the rifle, then
+searchingly at Big Pete.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t mind showing it to you, but you
+must not touch it,&#8221; he said finally.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I reckon I wouldn&#8217;t hurt it none. I&#8217;ve
+handled guns before,&#8221; said Big Pete shortly,
+and I could see that he was piqued at the
+man&#8217;s attitude.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Guess you wouldn&#8217;t, but I&#8217;ve made it a
+rule never to let strange hands touch that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+rifle,&#8221; said the strange man, and there was a
+grimness about his tone that forbade quibbling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Huh, well I can&#8217;t say as perhaps yore not
+right about yore shootin&#8217; hardware at that,&#8221;
+said Pete. Then after glancing at it again,
+he added, &#8220;a hunter&#8217;s gun and a woodsman&#8217;s ax
+should never be trusted in strange hands. Bet
+a ten spot it&#8217;s a Patrick Mullen. Hain&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The name of my kinsman, the famous
+gunsmith, brought a sudden realization that
+Mullen was my own family name.</p>
+
+<p>The mention of the gunsmith seemed also
+to have a curious effect on the old man.
+His face grew red under the tan and his brow
+wrinkled and I could see his cold blue eyes
+scrutinizing Big Pete closely. Finally he
+said bluntly,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is, and it&#8217;s worth a thousand dollars.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A thousand dollars!&#8221; I exclaimed, &#8220;a
+thousand dollars?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; cried the old man almost fiercely,
+&#8220;yes, yes, and it is my gun. He gave it to
+me, he did&mdash;to me and not to Donald. He&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>He stood up suddenly as if he intended to
+stride over and seize the gun, to protect it from
+us but as quickly sat down again and buried
+his face in his hands, and I could see him biting
+his lips as if he were attempting to control his
+feeling.</p>
+
+<p>As for me, quite suddenly a great light
+seemed to dawn. This strange old man was
+mentioning names that were familiar&mdash;that
+meant worlds to me. I leaned toward him
+eagerly. Big Pete stood quietly listening, a
+silent but interested spectator.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you know Donald Mullen, a brother
+to the famous gunsmith? Tell me, did you
+know him? I have come all the way&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I stopped in wonder. Never in all my life
+do I ever expect to witness such a pitiful
+expression of anguish pictured so vividly on
+the human countenance as it was on the face
+of the Wild Hunter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What,&#8221; he whispered, &#8220;did you know
+him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He was my father,&#8221; I answered simply.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>For a moment the Wild Hunter looked at
+me intently, then said, &#8220;I believe you, you
+favor him somewhat.&#8221; He then came forward
+as if to shake my hand, but changed
+his mind and sat down with a forced and
+wan smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did I know Don Mullen? Did I? He
+was my partner, my bunkee for many years
+and on many prospecting trips, a better
+bunkee no man ever had, but he is dead now,
+dead! dead! dead! been dead for a dozen years.
+He was killed by an avalanche. A better
+partner no man ever had,&#8221; he murmured and
+relaxed into silence.</p>
+
+<p>My efforts to get more information of my
+parents were of no avail. The Wild Hunter
+turned the conversation in other directions.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, the knowledge that my real
+father was dead, had been dead a long time,
+caused me a feeling of sadness, yet strangely
+enough the little knowledge that I had gleaned
+from this strange old man brought a sense of
+relief to me. I think that it must have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+a certain sense of satisfaction to know that
+this queer man was not my father.</p>
+
+<p>But if he was not Donald Mullen, who was
+he? That question kept me pondering and for
+the rest of the meal I was silent, speculating
+on this strange situation, nor did I have an
+opportunity to note, as Big Pete did, the
+tearful, kindly glances that the Wild Hunter
+shot at me now and then.</p>
+
+<p>Still, for all, he was sociable, extremely
+sociable, and talkative, too, but I fancy now
+as I recall it, he was simply keeping the conversation
+in safe channels, for it was very
+apparent that the rifle and his former mining
+partner were painful subjects.</p>
+
+<p>Dinner over, we all went out onto the porch
+of the ranch house, where we talked while
+the twilight lasted. At least Big Pete and the
+Wild Hunter talked as they smoked two of
+those mysterious long cigars, but I was still
+silent because of the many strange thoughts
+that were romping through my mind.</p>
+
+<p>Soon darkness settled down and Big Pete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+began to yawn. I also was heavy-eyed, and
+presently the Wild Hunter clapped his hands
+and summoned a leather-skinned old Indian
+to whom he gave brief low command in the
+Mewan Indian tongue, as I was afterwards
+informed by Big Pete, then turning to us he
+said in his fascinating soft voice:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will probably be a novelty for both of
+you gentlemen to again sleep in a bed between
+sheets and under a roof. I doubt whether you
+will enjoy it even though the sheets are clean
+linen which were spun and woven by my noble
+Indians. Moose Ear, here, will conduct you
+to your rooms and I will take a turn about
+the place before retiring to see that all is well,
+and also to see that my black wolf pack is
+securely confined within the wolf corral. This
+is a precaution, gentlemen, which I take every
+night, because a wolf is a wolf no matter
+how well trained he may be upon the surface,
+and night is the time wolves delight to run.
+These beasts are especially dangerous to
+strangers and it is for that reason I am putting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
+you in the house in place of allowing you to
+camp outdoors, as I know you would prefer to
+do. Good-night, gentlemen, see that the
+doors are closed. Pleasant dreams.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As we said good-night to him I wondered
+vaguely if the wolf pen was securely built, for
+it seemed to me that I detected a suggestion
+of doubt in the mind of the Wild Hunter
+himself. I little realized, however, the horrors
+the darkness had in store for us.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+
+<p>Moose Ear, the silent, wrinkled old Indian,
+with lighted candles made of buffalo tallow,
+guided Big Pete and me up the broad
+skilfully built puncheon stairway to the upper
+story of the surprisingly large ranch house,
+where he showed us to our rooms, rooms
+which were a joy to look upon. Each was
+furnished with a heavy, hand-made four-posted
+bedstead, which in spite of the massiveness
+was beautifully made, and I wondered
+at the patience of the Wild Hunter in teaching
+the Indians their craftmanship.</p>
+
+<p>The other furniture in the room was also
+hand wrought, as were the fiber rugs on the
+floor and the checked homespun blankets on
+the beds. There was a harmonious and
+pleasing effect; the rooms were cheerful,
+abounding in evidences of Indian handicraft.
+Beadwork and embroidery of dyed porcupine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
+quills were prevalent, even the tester which
+roofed the four-post bedstead was ornamented
+with fringes of buckskin and designs made of
+beads and porcupine quills. The chairs and
+floors were plentifully supplied with fur rugs,
+and the quaint, old-fashioned appearance of
+the room in nowise detracted from its comfort
+or even luxury.</p>
+
+<p>If it had not been for the uncomfortable
+thought of that pack of black wolves outside,
+I am sure I would have been supremely happy
+at the prospect of once more spending a night
+between clean and cool sheets and a real
+feather pillow on which to rest my head.
+Eagerly and almost excitedly I threw off my
+clothes and donned the long, linen nightshirt
+with which old Moose Ear had provided me.
+Then I put the buckhorn extinguisher over
+the candle and dove into the feather bed as
+gleefully as a child on Christmas Eve.</p>
+
+<p>I expected to immediately fall asleep, but
+there is where I made a mistake; my mind
+would not cease working, the wheels in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
+head kept buzzing and would not stop. I was
+as wide awake as a codfish; the bed was comfortable,
+too comfortable, but tired though I
+was I felt no inclination to sleep. I thought
+it was the strangeness of my surroundings
+which kept me tossing from side to side, but
+I soon realized that the trouble was to be
+found in the fact that for months I had only
+had the sky for my roof, never using our tents
+or open faced shack except in bad weather;
+but here, the ornamented tester of the bed
+and the ceiling itself seemed to be resting on
+my chest; in spite of the wide open windows
+the room seemed stuffy and oppressive. I felt
+as if I would suffocate.</p>
+
+<p>Twice I got up and sat by the open window
+and gazed out at the black landscape. The
+sky was cloudy and there were no stars; this
+combined with the pine trees about the
+ranch house made the darkness so black and
+thick that it seemed as if one might cut it in
+chunks, with a knife. The air felt good to
+breathe but I did not propose to sit by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
+window all night so at last I arose, put moccasins
+on my feet and, taking my blankets with
+me, stole stealthily down the stairs, opened
+the front door and made my bed on the floor
+of the broad piazza. I had not forgotten
+the warning to keep indoors, but I thought I
+would rather risk the wolves than to smother
+all night.</p>
+
+<p>In the darkness I discovered another occupant
+of the piazza also rolled up in a blanket
+taken from a bed in the house. Feeling with
+my hands I discovered that it was Big Pete.
+Comfortably settling myself in my blanket I
+felt the breeze from the mountain blowing
+over my face and through my hair, and it
+soothed me until I dropped off into gentle
+slumber; but during the months I had been
+sleeping in the open I had learned the art, as
+the saying is, of sleeping with one eye open.
+In this case, however, if the eye had really
+been wide open it could have seen nothing
+because of the darkness, but the darkness
+did not interfere with my ability to hear, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
+after I had been sleeping awhile I found
+myself suddenly sitting bolt upright in my
+blankets with beads of perspiration on my
+forehead and that terrible sensation of horror
+which one experiences in a nightmare. I
+knew that I had heard something, but what?</p>
+
+<p>The oppressive silence of the wilderness
+made the valley appear as if Nature was
+holding her breath for a moment before giving
+voice to an explosion of sound. I sensed
+impending disaster of some sort. What it
+was I could not guess, but was convinced that
+something was about to happen.</p>
+
+<p>As I held my breath and listened, the ranch
+house was silent; even Pete had not, apparently,
+awakened, but I could not hear his regular
+breathing. Now I thought I could detect
+a soft and very faint noise as of some large
+body creeping over the puncheon steps. I also
+imagined I detected the noise of padded
+feet and the scraping noise of claws on the
+wood. A shudder ran through me. Was a
+panther, a mountain lion, about to spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+upon me? No, I abandoned the thought
+and instinctively I knew that it must be one
+of the black wolf pack. Then I remembered
+hearing the cracking and breaking of sticks
+or timber while I was trying to sleep in the
+bedroom, and I felt that Pluto had broken out
+of the pen and was creeping up on us slowly
+and stealthily as I have seen a fox creep up on
+a covey of quail.</p>
+
+<p>Would the beast presently hurl its terrible
+form upon me, or on Big Pete? I attempted
+to warn my friend, but my tongue clung to
+the roof of my mouth and for the moment I
+was powerless and speechless, subdued by a
+combination of fear of the real beast and
+superstitious fear of the fabulous werwolf
+or loup-garou,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> but the next moment I pulled
+myself together, mastered my trembling limbs,
+rolled softly out of my blankets, and gun in
+hand wormed my way toward the spot where
+Big Pete lay, determined to sell my life
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>dearly. With Big Pete beside me, now that
+I was thoroughly awake, I would fight all
+the werwolves of the old world and all the
+loup-garous of Canada. I reached out and
+felt for Pete but he was not there, the blankets
+were empty; once or twice I thought I detected
+the glint of the wolves&#8217; eyes, but the
+night was very dark and in the shadow of
+the roof I could really see nothing.</p>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> A werwolf, or loup-garou, is a legendary man who, it was formerly
+believed, could at will take on the form and nature of a wolf.</p></div>
+
+<p>Closer and closer sounded the stealthy,
+dragging noise, and I heard a hand feel softly
+for the latch of the front door and could hear
+fingers scraping ever so softly over the wood
+surface of the other side. A slight rattle
+told me that the hand had found the latch
+and that presently the door would be flung
+open. With my revolver ready I waited
+developments and braced myself for the
+attack.</p>
+
+<p>The door flew open wide, and the voice of
+the Wild Hunter cried,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pluto, you fiend, down! down! I say!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But this time the huge brute did not obey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+and the command was answered by a low
+rebellious growl, a scratching of feet on the
+puncheons, and a heavy thud of someone
+falling told me that the final struggle for the
+leadership of the black wolf pack had begun.</p>
+
+<p>Then burst upon the stillness of the night
+such an uproar that for a moment I thought
+the whole pack was mixed in the fight, but
+at length I heard Pluto&#8217;s snarling, rumbling
+growl, answered by the distant howl of the
+wolf pack, followed immediately by a close-by
+yell that chilled my blood; after this came
+Big Pete&#8217;s war cry, then the crash of falling
+objects, shrieks and growls and savage yells.</p>
+
+<p>I had flung myself forward, and there in the
+pitch darkness of the doorway of the hall I
+felt and heard rather than saw the lean twisting
+bodies of the Wild Hunter and Pluto
+clasped in a life and death struggle on the
+floor. I feared to use my revolver, as it would
+have been impossible to tell whether I was
+shooting the hunter or the wolf.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a light burst upon the scene.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+Big Pete&#8217;s absence was explained; he had
+secured a lantern and holding it aloft with his
+left hand, with a six-shooter in his right, he
+paused a moment over the struggling figures.
+By the light of the lantern one could see that
+the Wild Hunter was on his back struggling
+with the giant beast which he was trying to
+choke with his two hands, while the wolf&#8217;s
+teeth were seeking the throat of the man. It
+was a terrible scene but it was no time to waste
+in horror. The efforts of the hunter to free
+himself from his terrible assailant would have
+been of little avail but for the assistance
+of Big Pete, for the wolf was shaking the wild
+man from side to side with terrific force,
+very much the same as a bull-terrier might
+shake a cat.</p>
+
+<p>Pete wasted no time but placing the muzzle
+of his gun against the wolf&#8217;s head he fired,
+then shouted to me, &#8220;Look behind you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As I wheeled about I found that I was facing
+the rest of the pack. Pluto reared upon his
+hind legs, clawed the air frantically in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+death struggle, and fell with a thud across
+his master&#8217;s body, but Pete and I were now
+concentrating our fire on the snarling, leaping
+bodies of the wolf pack. Fortunately the
+death of Pluto and the silence of the Wild
+Hunter seemed to discourage the pack, they
+evidently missed their leaders and this gave
+us the advantage, for if they had rushed us we
+undoubtedly would have fallen victims to
+their savage teeth.</p>
+
+<p>In the melee the lantern was upset and the
+struggle ended in darkness as it began, but
+when things quieted down and Pete relit the
+lantern there were only two wolves which
+were alive and they were fiercely attacking
+each other. We soon dispatched them, however,
+and then devoted our attention to the
+Wild Hunter over whose body Big Pete was
+now bending.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By the great horn spoon, Le-loo!&#8221; cried
+he, looking up for a moment, &#8220;we&#8217;ve wiped out
+the pack, and now that the scrap is over here
+comes the Injuns. I calculate our friend here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+is a dead one; Pluto has chewed him to pieces.
+Come, lend a hand and we will see what we
+can do for the poor old man; he certainly did
+put up a glorious fight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Reaching down I gathered the old man&#8217;s
+legs in my arms, and with Big Pete supporting
+his head and shoulders, we carried him into
+my room and laid him on the feather bed
+under the savagely ornamented tester.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete was all action then, and I helped
+as best I could. The Scout ripped one of the
+homespun sheets into ribbons and with these
+made bandages and proceeded to stay the
+flow of blood from the old man&#8217;s lacerated
+throat. He worked hard and long and now
+and then he would shake his head dubiously.
+Presently he muttered, &#8220;&#8217;Taint much use,
+Ol&#8217; Timer, I guess yore a goner. Yore goneta
+pass over t&#8217; Divide this time, I guess. That
+tha&#8217; Pluto fiend done chewed you up fer
+further orders.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At this the old man opened his eyes, and a
+grim smile wrinkled his now ashen face.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>&#8220;I knew he&#8217;d do it some day, and I think
+he got me this time. The Mewan Indians
+call the giant wolf &#8220;Too-le-ze&#8221; and that is also
+the name they gave me, but I am not a werwolf,
+a loup-garou or a Too-le-ze. I was only
+their master but now their victim.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I feared that Pluto, as I call him, or Too-le-ze,
+was strong and treacherous and that
+is why I ruled him with an iron hand. He&#8217;s
+got me this time. I guess it had to end this
+way&mdash;give me a cup of water.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He then fixed his gaze on me and I noticed
+that he no longer had that worried, haunted
+look which had heretofore characterized him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you are Donald&#8217;s son&mdash;well, when I
+heard Pluto stalking you I knew that it was
+you or your uncle that the beast would get;
+it was fate that made me slip and fall, and
+once down the wolf saw his long-looked-for
+opportunity and instantly availed himself of it.
+But the good Lord was not going to allow me
+to bring bad luck to both you and your father,
+boy. Yes, I am Fay Mullen and I caused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+the death of your father, and my brother.
+I bear the brand of Cain.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We were crossing a steep bank of snow at
+the foot of a cliff, and being both tired and
+hungry we were bickering and quarreling over
+nothing. I should have remembered that
+your father was but just recovering from an
+attack of nervous prostration, but I did not;
+we had been months in the mountains prospecting
+and the unprofitable toil and loneliness
+must have got on my nerves. At any rate,
+after some hot, unbrotherly language, we
+agreed to part company.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We sat down on the snow and divided our
+outfit by lot. I got the flint-lock Patrick
+Mullen, the fierce Great Dane and the gentle
+little donkey; your father got the packhorse
+and the Winchester rifle.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&mdash;we&mdash;parted without saying good-bye,
+and just then an elk came out on the snow
+bank. Instantly your father fired and I fired,
+the elk fell, but the simultaneous concussion
+of the reports of the two rifles started the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+snow to moving. The Great Dane and the
+donkey sensed the danger and fled to the
+right. I turned to warn your father and
+motioned him back, but he came on a run
+toward me and I fled at the heels of my outfit.
+The burro and dog escaped to safety, I was
+caught in the edge of the slide, knocked unconscious
+and buried in snow, from which the
+dog rescued me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A fragment of stone struck me on the head
+and I have never been the same since then.
+Your father and his outfit are buried under
+five hundred feet of snow and rocks. I camped
+nearby for days but could find no trace of my
+brother and all the time a voice seemed to cry,
+&#8216;You killed your brother; you are marked
+with the brand of Cain.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This thought has haunted me night and day
+and I have never quarreled with a man since
+then; for fear that I might do so, I have
+avoided white men ever since and buried
+myself in these mountains. I found this
+valley and I hid here and with the aid of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+Great Dane and the wolf dogs I bred, as
+beasts of burden, I built this ranch. I&mdash;I&mdash;was
+afraid&mdash;all the time, though&mdash;afraid someone
+would&mdash;find out about&mdash;Donald&#8217;s death
+and blame it on me. When you&mdash;said&mdash;you&mdash;were&mdash;Donald&#8217;s
+son I was frightened&mdash;I
+thought you&#8217;d come to get me&mdash;for killing
+your&mdash;father and&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;I was going to kill
+myself. But Pluto got&mdash;me&mdash;and saved me
+from further guilt. I&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He said more, but neither Big Pete nor I
+could understand him. Indeed, he kept mumbling
+incoherently for an hour or more while
+we watched over him and did all that we could
+to make him comfortable until the death
+rattle in his throat put an end to his mumbling.
+But despite our efforts, he passed on at dawn.
+Just as the first warm light of the sun glowed
+above the mountains, he breathed his last.</p>
+
+
+<p class="newsection">Now you know why my private den is just
+cram full of the things you fellows like. You
+may also guess where I procured the black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+wolfskin rugs and the rare bead and porcupine
+quill decorations. Yes, that long-barrelled
+rifle hanging on the buckhorn rack
+is the famous Patrick Mullen gun. It is a
+rifle that Washington, Boone or Crockett would
+have almost given their scalps to possess,
+because it is the same pattern as the ones
+they themselves used but more scientifically
+and skillfully made. It&#8217;s a flint-lock, too, and
+that is the funny part about it that interests
+all the Scouts of our Troop. It is my good-turn
+mascot, for as long as it hangs there I am
+under the influence of my wild uncle and can
+quarrel with no man.</p>
+
+<p>Now you know why the gun is preserved
+as a trophy for my old Scouts and is an object
+of veneration upon which they love to gaze
+when they sit cross-legged on the skins of the
+black wolf pack before the crackling fire of
+their Scoutmaster&#8217;s private den.</p>
+
+<p>Big Pete? Oh, he now runs the Pluto
+Ranch in Paradise Valley.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="advertisements">
+<h2><a name="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_BOYS" id="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_BOYS"></a>THE BEARD BOOKS FOR BOYS</h2>
+
+<p class="adauthor"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Dan C. Beard</span></p>
+
+
+<h3>THE AMERICAN BOY&#8217;S HANDY BOOK. Or, What
+to Do and How to Do It</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">Gives sports adapted to all seasons of the year, tells boys how to make all
+kinds of things&mdash;boats, traps, toys, puzzles, aquariums, fishing-tackle; how
+to tie knots, splice ropes, to make bird calls, sleds, blow-guns, balloons; how
+to rear wild birds, to train dogs, and do the thousand and one things that
+boys take delight in.</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE OUTDOOR HANDY BOOK. For Playground,
+Field, and Forest</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;How to play all sorts of games with marbles, how to make and spin more
+kinds of tops than most boys ever heard of, how to make the latest things
+in plain and fancy kites, where to dig bait and how to fish, all about boats
+and sailing, and a host of other things ... an unmixed delight to any
+boy.&#8221;&mdash;<i>New York Tribune.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>THE FIELD AND FOREST HANDY BOOK. Or, New
+Ideas for Out of Doors</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;Instructions as to ways to build boats and fire-engines, make aquariums,
+rafts, and sleds, to camp in a back-yard, etc. No better book of the kind exists.&#8221;&mdash;<i>Chicago
+Record-Herald.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>SHELTERS, SHACKS, AND SHANTIES</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">Easily workable directions, accompanied by very full illustration, for over
+fifty shelters, shacks, and shanties.</p>
+
+
+<h3>BOAT-BUILDING AND BOATING. A Handy Book
+for Beginners</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">All that Dan Beard knows and has written about the building of every simple
+kind of boat, from a raft to a cheap motor-boat, is brought together in
+this book.</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE JACK OF ALL TRADES. Or, New Ideas for
+American Boys</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;This book is a capital one to give any boy for a present at Christmas, on
+a birthday, or indeed at any time.&#8221;&mdash;<i>The Outlook.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>THE BOY PIONEERS. Sons of Daniel Boone</h3>
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;How to become a member of the &#8216;Sons of Daniel Boone&#8217; and take part in
+all the old pioneer games, and many other things in which boys are interested.&#8221;&mdash;<i>Philadelphia
+Press.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>THE BLACK WOLF-PACK</h3>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;A genuine thriller of mystery and red-blooded conflicts, well calculated to
+hold the mind and the heart of its boy and, for that matter, its adult
+reader.&#8221;&mdash;<i>Philadelphia North American.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="advertisements">
+<h2><a name="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_GIRLS" id="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_GIRLS"></a>THE BEARD BOOKS FOR GIRLS</h2>
+
+<p class="adauthor"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Lina Beard</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Adelia B. Beard</span></p>
+
+
+<h3>THE AMERICAN GIRL&#8217;S HANDY BOOK. How to
+Amuse Yourself and Others</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>With nearly 500 illustrations</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;It is a treasure which, once possessed, no practical girl would willingly
+part with.&#8221;&mdash;<span class="smcap">Grace Greenwood.</span></p>
+
+
+<h3>THINGS WORTH DOING AND HOW TO DO THEM</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>With some 600 drawings by the authors that show exactly how they should
+be done</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;The book will tell you how to do nearly anything that any live girl
+really wants to do.&#8221;&mdash;<i>The World To-day.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>HANDICRAFT AND RECREATION FOR GIRLS</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>With over 700 illustrations by the authors</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;It teaches how to make serviceable and useful things of all kinds
+out of every kind of material. It also tells how to play and how to
+make things to play with.&#8221;&mdash;<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>WHAT A GIRL CAN MAKE AND DO. New Ideas
+for Work and Play</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>With more than 300 illustrations by the authors</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">&#8220;It would be a dull girl who could not make herself busy and happy
+following its precepts.... A most inspiring book for an active-minded
+girl.&#8221;&mdash;<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p>
+
+
+<h3>ON THE TRAIL</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the authors</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">This volume tells how a girl can live outdoors, camping in the woods,
+and learning to know its wild inhabitants.</p>
+
+
+<h3>MOTHER NATURE&#8217;S TOY SHOP</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>Profusely illustrated by the authors</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">How children can make toys easily and economically from wild
+flowers, grasses, green leaves, seed-vessels, fruits, etc.</p>
+
+
+<h3>LITTLE FOLKS&#8217; HANDY BOOK</h3>
+
+<p class="contents"><i>With many illustrations</i></p>
+
+<p class="contents">Contains a wealth of devices for entertaining children by means of
+paper building-cards, wooden berry-baskets, straw and paper furniture,
+paper jewelry, etc.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 90%;" />
+
+<p class="publisher">CHARLES SCRIBNER&#8217;S SONS, NEW YORK</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,4515 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Black Wolf Pack
+
+Author: Dan Beard
+
+Release Date: July 19, 2007 [EBook #22109]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK WOLF PACK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                            BLACK WOLF PACK
+
+                                  BY
+
+                              DAN BEARD
+
+                  NATIONAL SCOUT COMMISSIONER, B.S.A.
+
+
+                              ILLUSTRATED
+
+
+                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+                               NEW YORK
+
+
+
+[Illustration: It was a shadowy figure yet it moved]
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
+CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY BOYS' LIFE
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+_All rights reserved. No part of this book
+may be reproduced in any form without
+the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons_
+
+
+
+                             DEDICATED TO
+
+                           BELMORE AND FRED
+             (BELMORE BROWNE)      (FREDERICK K. VREELAND)
+
+                     NO BETTER WILDERNESS MEN EVER
+                            WORE MOCCASINS
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+After numerous visits to a number of remote and unfrequented places in
+the Rocky Mountains, from Wyoming to Alberta, the writer was deeply
+impressed with the awesome mystery of the wilderness and the weird
+legends he heard around the camp fires, while the bigness of the things
+he saw was photographed on his brain so distinctly and permanently as to
+act as a compelling force causing him, aye, almost forcing him to write
+about it.
+
+When the spell came upon him, like the Ancient Mariner, he needs must
+tell the story, and thus the tale of the Black Wolf Pack was written
+with no thought, at the time, of publishing the narrative, but primarily
+for the real enjoyment the author derived from writing it, and also for
+the entertainment of the author's family and intimate friends.
+
+The tale, however, pleased the members of the Editorial Board of the Boy
+Scouts of America, and Mr. Franklin K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian,
+asked permission to have it edited for the Scout Magazine, which request
+was cheerfully granted.
+
+The author hereby freely and cheerfully acknowledges the useful changes
+and practical suggestions injected into the story by his friend and
+associate, Mr. Irving Crump, Editor of Boys' Life, in which magazine the
+Black Wolf Pack, in somewhat abbreviated form, first appeared.
+
+DAN BEARD.
+
+Flushing,
+June 1st, 1922.
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+It was a shadowy figure yet it moved          _Frontispiece_
+                                                 FACING PAGE
+The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt
+... and struck the bull                                   36
+
+More than once while I clung to the chance projection
+... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt             92
+
+"I think the name 'Pluto' fits his character to a
+nicety"                                                  192
+
+
+
+
+The Black Wolf Pack
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+It was a terrible shock to me (said the Scoutmaster as he fingered a
+beaded buckskin bag). Old Blink Broosmore was responsible. It was a
+malicious thing for him to do. He meant it to be mean, too,--wanted to
+hurt me,--to wound my feelings and make me ashamed. And all because he
+nursed a grudge against dad--I mean Mr. Crawford.
+
+It started because of that defective spark-plug in the engine of the
+roadster. Strange what a tiny thing such as a crack in a porcelain
+jacket around an old spark-plug can do in the way of changing the course
+of a fellow's whole life.
+
+My last period in the afternoon at high school was a study period and I
+cut it because I had several things to do down town. I hurried home and
+took the roadster, and on my way out mother--I mean Mrs. Crawford--gave
+me an armful of books to return to the library and a list of errands she
+wanted me to do. While motoring down town I noticed that one cylinder
+was missing occasionally and I told myself I would change that
+spark-plug as soon as I got home.
+
+I made all the stops I had planned and even drove around to the church
+because I wanted to look in at the parish house where some of my scouts
+(I was the assistant scoutmaster of Troop 6, of Marlborough) were
+putting up decorations for the very first Fathers and Sons dinner ever
+given which we were to have on Washington's birthday. That was in 1911.
+
+As I was leaving I looked at my new wrist watch and discovered that it
+was a quarter of five.
+
+"Just in time to catch dad and drive him home from the office," I said
+to myself, for I knew that he left the office of his big paper-mill
+down at the docks at five o'clock.
+
+I jumped into the car and bowled along down Spring Street and the Front
+Street hill and arrived at the mill office at exactly five. Dad wasn't
+in sight so I decided to turn around and wait for him at the curb. That
+is how the trouble started. I got part way around on the hill when that
+cylinder began missing a lot and next thing I knew the motor stalled and
+there was I with my car crosswise on the hill, blocking traffic--and
+traffic is heavy on Front Street hill about five o'clock, because all
+the mills are rushing their trucks down to the piers with the last loads
+of merchandise before the down-river boats leave, at six o'clock.
+
+In about two minutes I was holding up a line of trucks a block long and
+those drivers were saying a lot of things that were not very
+complimentary to me and not printed in Sunday-school papers. And old
+Blink Broosmore was right up at the head of the line with a truck load
+of cases from the box factory and the look on his face was about as ugly
+as a mud turtle's. Then, to make matters worse, my starter wouldn't work
+at the critical moment, and I had to get out to crank the engine. What a
+howl of indignation went up from those stalled truck drivers! I felt
+like a bad two-cent piece in a drawer full of five-dollar gold pieces.
+Guess my face was red behind my ears.
+
+And then old Blink made the unkindest remark of all--no, he didn't make
+it to me; he just yelled it out to a couple of other truck-drivers.
+
+"That's what happens with these make-believe dudes," he shouted. "That's
+the kid old Skin Flint Crawford took out of an orphan asylum. He's a kid
+that old Crawford took up with because he was too mean t' have t' Lord
+bless him with one o' his own. That's straight, fellers. I was
+Crawford's gardener when it happened an'--"
+
+Old Blink stopped and got red and then white, and I could see the other
+truck men looking uncomfortable. I looked up and there was Dad Crawford
+on the curb boring holes into Blink with those cold gray eyes of his and
+looking as white as marble. No one said a word. It seemed as if the
+whole street became hushed and silent. I got the car around to the curb
+somehow and dad got in and the line of trucks trundled by with every
+driver looking straight ahead and some of them grinning nervously and
+apparently feeling mighty uncomfortable.
+
+But that wasn't a patch to the way I felt, and I could see by the lack
+of color and set expression of dad's face and the way he stared straight
+ahead of him without saying a word that he was feeling very unhappy
+about it too. There was something behind it all--something that raised
+in my mind vague doubts and very unpleasant thoughts.
+
+Dad never spoke a word all the way home, and, needless to say, I did not
+either--I couldn't; my whole world seemed to have been turned upside
+down in the space of half an hour. Was it true that I was not Donald
+Crawford? Was it possible that Alexander Crawford, this fine, big,
+broad-shouldered, kindly man beside me was not my real father? Was it a
+fact that that noble, generous, happy woman whom I called mamma was not
+my mother at all? Each of those questions took shape in my mind and each
+was like a stab in the heart, for Blink Broosmore had answered them all,
+and Alexander Crawford, though he must know how anxious I was to have
+Blink denied, did not speak to refute him.
+
+We rolled up the drive and dad stepped out, still silent, but he did
+smile wistfully at me as he closed the car door.
+
+"Put it away, Don, and hurry in for dinner," he said and I felt certain
+I detected a break in his voice. I felt sorry--sorry for him and sorry
+for myself, and as I put the car in the garage, I had a hard time trying
+to see things clearly; my eyes would get blurred and a lump would get
+into my throat in spite of me.
+
+As I dressed for dinner I felt half dazed. I hardly realized what I was
+doing, and I had to stop and pull myself together before I started
+downstairs to the dining room, for I knew if I did not have myself well
+in hand I would blubber like a big chump.
+
+Mother and dad were waiting for me and I could see by mother's sad
+expression and the troubled look in her eyes that dad had told her of
+the whole occurrence. And that only added to my unhappiness because I
+felt for a certainty that all that Blink Broosmore had shouted must be
+true.
+
+For the first time in my memory dad forgot to say grace, and none of us
+ate with any apparent relish and none of us tried to make conversation.
+It was a painful sort of a meal and I wanted to have it over with as
+soon as I could. It seemed hours before Nora cleared the table and
+served dad's demi-tasse.
+
+I guess I then looked him full in the eyes for the first time since the
+occurrence on Front Street.
+
+"That was a very unkind thing for Blink Broosmore to do," said dad, and
+I knew by the firmness and evenness of his voice that he had gained full
+control of his feelings.
+
+"Is--is--oh, did he tell the truth, dad?" I gulped helplessly and for
+the life of me I could not keep back the tears.
+
+"Unfortunately, Donald, there is just enough truth in it to make it
+hurt," said dad and I could see mother wince as if she had been struck,
+and turn away her face.
+
+"They why--why? Oh! who am I?" I cried, for the whole thing had
+completely unnerved me.
+
+"Don dear, we do not know to a certainty," said mother struggling with
+her emotions.
+
+"But now that you are partly aware of the situation, I think there is a
+way you can find out, at least as much as we know," said dad, getting up
+and going into the library.
+
+Through the doorway I could see him fumbling at the safe that he kept
+there beside the desk. Presently he drew out a battered and dented red
+tin box and a bundle of papers. These he brought into the dining room
+and laid on the table. Then he drew up a chair, cleared his throat,
+rather loudly it seemed to me, and began.
+
+"Don, we always wanted a child, and why the Lord never blessed us with
+one of our own we do not know. Anyway, we wanted one so badly that we
+decided to adopt one. That was seventeen years ago, wasn't it, mother?"
+
+Mother nodded.
+
+"Doctor Raymond, the physician at the county institution, knew our
+desires and, being an old friend of the family, he volunteered to find
+us a good healthy baby that we could adopt and call our own. Not a week
+later you appeared on the scene. Dr. Raymond told us that a wagon drawn
+by a raw-boned horse, and loaded with household goods, drew up to the
+orphanage and a tired and worn-out looking old lady got out with a lusty
+year old child in one arm and this box and these papers under the
+other.
+
+"At the office of the asylum she explained how she and her husband were
+moving from a Connecticut town to a little farm they had bought in
+Pennsylvania. Somewhere at a crossroad near Derby, Connecticut, they had
+found the baby and this box and bundle of papers in a basket under a
+bush with a card attached to the basket requesting that the finder adopt
+and take care of the baby.
+
+"Of course, they could not pass the infant by, but the woman explained
+that they were too poor and too old to adopt the child so they had gone
+miles out of their way to find an orphanage and leave the baby there,
+along with the box and papers.
+
+"When Dr. Raymond heard the story and saw you, for you were the baby, he
+got me on the telephone and told me all about you. And that night he
+brought you here, and you were such a chubby, bright, interesting little
+fellow that mother and I fell in love with you immediately and decided
+to adopt you, which we did according to law. So you are our legal
+child, Don, and all that, although we are not your real parents."
+
+Somehow that made me feel a little happier. Dad and mother did have a
+claim on me at least. That was something.
+
+"It was not until after Dr. Raymond had left," went on father, "that
+mother and I examined the box and papers that had come with you. Here
+they are."
+
+Dad took up a worn and age-yellowed envelope addressed in a bold hand:
+
+    To the Finder
+
+Inside was the following brief message:
+
+    TO THE FINDER:--
+
+    The mother of this child, Donald Mullen, is dead. I, his father,
+    cannot give him the care he should have. Will you, the finder,
+    adopt him, care for him, and bring him up to be an honest,
+    trustworthy man, and win the eternal gratitude of his dead
+    mother and
+
+    DONALD MULLEN,
+    his father.
+
+"Then my name is--or was Mullen," I exclaimed.
+
+"According to that," said dad softly, "but when you became our son we
+kept your first name and discarded the family name of course."
+
+"But--but what has become of my father, Donald Mullen?" I asked.
+
+"My boy, we have tried both for your sake and for our own to find out.
+We have followed up and searched every possible clue and--but wait, here
+are other papers of interest and after you have read them I will tell
+you all we have done to locate your real father and afterwards we will
+talk the whole situation over." As dad was speaking he passed over the
+battered tin box. On the lid was inscribed the simple lines--
+
+    The contents of this box belong to the boy. If you are honest
+    you will see that it comes into his hands at the proper time. If
+    you are dishonest, then God help the boy and God help you!
+
+    D. MULLEN.
+
+It was some time before I could make up my mind to force the lid. When I
+did the first thing that my eyes fell upon was this buckskin bag of
+unmistakable Indian design, beautifully decorated with bead work and
+highly colored porcupine quills cunningly worked into a good luck
+design. As I picked up the bag I saw that it was sealed with wax and to
+it was attached a card on which was penned:
+
+    To my son:--
+
+    Here is all the wealth I possess. It isn't much. The bag with
+    its contents was sent to me by my brother, Fay, who is out in
+    the Rockies. He gave it to me to pay my expenses out there to
+    join him. I am leaving it for you. It may help you over some
+    rocky places if it ever gets into your hands, and I trust the
+    good Lord that it does.
+
+    Lovingly,
+    YOUR FATHER.
+
+The bag gave forth the unmistakable clink of gold coins as I dropped it
+on the table.
+
+That message from my father, whom I had never seen, made my heart heavy
+and again that lump gathered in my throat, for I could feel the
+heartaches that the writing of that note must have caused him. I had not
+the courage to break the seal of the bag and examine its contents. I
+pushed it aside and took from the box another time-yellowed envelope
+addressed to
+
+    MY SON DONALD
+
+Inside I found the following:
+
+    Dear Boy:--
+
+    I cannot determine whether I am giving you a mean deal or
+    whether this is all for your good. Your mother, Barbara Parker
+    Mullen, is dead, God bless her! She has been dead now six
+    months. It seems to me like eternity. I have tried to take care
+    of you as she would have cared for you but I am afraid I have
+    lost heart, and my courage, and I am afraid my faith has slipped
+    from me. I fear that I am a broken-spirited failure. The passing
+    of your mother has taken everything from me. I am no longer fit
+    or able to care for you and I must pass you on to someone else
+    and trust your welfare to God. For neither your mother nor I
+    have any relatives left who are able to take care of you.
+
+    What will become of you I cannot guess. I can only hope for the
+    best. But by the time you are old enough to read and understand
+    this message you will, I hope, have forgiven me or praised me
+    for my effort to find you a home.
+
+    What will become of me I do not know. I have one brother left in
+    the world, Fay Mullen, and he is out in Piute Pass in the
+    Rockies grubbing for gold. I am going out to join him for I know
+    the only way I can forget my grief and get hold of myself once
+    more is to bury myself in the wilderness.
+
+    Fay has sent me a bag of double eagles to pay my expenses west.
+    That is all the money I have in the world. I am not going to use
+    it. I will work my way west and leave the gold for you. It is
+    the least and probably the last that I can do for you.
+
+    If, when you read this you have any desires to know who you
+    really are, I will leave you the following information:
+
+    Your mother, a wonderful woman, was Barbara Parker of
+    Litchfield, Connecticut, daughter of Judge Arnold Parker of
+    Litchfield, now deceased. I am Donald Mullen, the eldest of
+    three brothers; Fay Mullen is the next of age and Patrick
+    Mullen, the gunsmith of Maiden Lane, New York, is the youngest.
+    We were born in Byron Bridge, Ireland, and we three came to this
+    country after our parents died. You come of an honest,
+    worthwhile people on my side, and of the best American blood on
+    your mother's, Donald, and I ask only that you live an honest,
+    honorable life and have faith in your country and your God, and
+    He will be with you to the end.
+
+    Good-bye, boy.
+
+    Lovingly,
+    YOUR FATHER.
+
+I read the letter aloud but I confess that my voice broke toward the end
+and I choked up until reading was difficult.
+
+For some time after I finished, we three sat in silence. The thoughts
+and mental pictures of that broken man parting with his baby son
+seventeen years before made me most unhappy.
+
+Dad broke the silence.
+
+"Well, now you are acquainted with the whole situation, what do you
+think?"
+
+"I scarcely know what to think," said I. "It does not appear natural for
+a man to abandon his own son in the manner he did. It seems heartless
+and cruel. I cannot understand it; yet I wish I could see my poor
+father. I wonder if he is still alive. Certainly with the information at
+hand it should not be impossible for me to trace him or some relatives
+of my mother. Don't you think so?"
+
+"That is what I thought, Don, for when you were three years old I began
+to wonder about your father's whereabouts. I wanted to meet him and
+perhaps help him if I could. Do not think that your poor father was
+cruel, for it is evident that the man was suffering from a nervous
+breakdown and consequently more or less irresponsible; I think he acted
+wonderfully well under the circumstances. In order to help him I began a
+search and for ten years I have had detectives and private individuals
+following up every possible lead. Yet, with all my efforts, the search
+has amounted to nothing. Your father's trail ended at a Spokane
+outfitting store. I could not locate anyone nearer to you than an old
+maiden great-aunt of your mother's although I have had every clue
+investigated.
+
+"The only relative of your father's that I could get any information
+about was his youngest brother, Patrick Mullen, your uncle and a famous
+gunsmith of Maiden Lane, New York. He is dead now but his reputation for
+making an exceptionally fine hand-forged gun lives on even to-day.
+Patrick Mullen died just before I began my search for your father, but
+in digging around for facts about him, I learned that he had made a
+limited number of very fine guns, on each of which he had stamped his
+full name, 'Patrick Mullen.' Other guns of an inferior quality that he
+made bore the simple stamp of 'P. Mullen.' The old man was very proud of
+each 'Patrick Mullen' that he turned out and like the true artist that
+he was he kept track of each one, sold them only to men he knew and when
+the owner died he bought the gun back himself so that he always knew its
+whereabouts.
+
+"In that way all of the 101 'Patrick Mullen's' he made came back to him,
+save one. There is one of the complete number still missing and no one
+seems to know where it is. This is more remarkable because the missing
+gun is a flint-lock rifle of the style of seventy years ago. That gun
+has always struck me as being a valuable clue in our search, because it
+is the only rifle ever made by the old gunsmith and I have a feeling
+that that missing 'Patrick Mullen' may have been given to your father by
+the brother, and that may account for the fact that among the papers of
+Patrick Mullen there is no record of its whereabouts; this is in a
+measure confirmed by the report that the man outfitting at Spokane had a
+long old-fashioned rifle, and collectors say there used to be an expert
+in antique arms by the name of Mullen."
+
+The suggestion made me tremendously excited. Beyond a doubt in my mind
+that missing "Patrick Mullen" was my father's gun. I imagined him
+parting with everything else save the unique gun his famous brother had
+made for him. Why he should wish for a flint-lock rifle was an
+unanswerable question, but someone wanted that sort of a gun or it would
+not have been made, and my father's letters showed him to be a man of
+sentiment, and impractical, just the sort of fellow to use a flint-lock
+when he might just as well have had a modern breech-loading high-power
+rifle.
+
+"I believe you've hit it, dad. Hot dog!" I exclaimed. "Bet a cookie that
+that gun does belong to my father and if we can find it we will probably
+find him too--would not that be bully?"
+
+"I feel the same way too, Don. But finding that missing gun will be as
+difficult as finding your father. I have searched the country over for
+it and made a wonderful collection of flint-lock guns, as you see by
+looking at yonder gun-rack; I have had dozens of arms collectors and
+detectives looking for guns of that description, but no Patrick Mullen
+rifle has turned up anywhere. There have, of course, been many false
+clues and many queer rifles offered to me and I have put a great many
+thousands of dollars into the search, and my collection of flint-locks
+is the best in the land, Don. But so far nothing but failures seem to
+have rewarded my search--no, I'm wrong, there is one man out west--out
+in the little jerk-water town of Grave Stone, who insists that there is
+a wild man living in a lonely, almost inaccessible valley in the
+mountains, who shoots a gun which looks like the one for which I am
+searching. For a number of years this man of mystery, it seems, has been
+appearing and reappearing, according to Big Pete Darlinkel, my
+informant, but even Pete has never got in personal touch with this
+eccentric hermit. Neither have several detectives I have sent out there
+for that purpose. The detectives seem to be all right in towns or cities
+and are undoubtedly brave men, but something out there appears to
+frighten them and they lose interest the moment they cut the trail of
+the wild hunter. I begin to think this wild man is a myth, too.
+Strange, though, that just a week ago I received another letter from
+Pete Darlinkel. Wait, I'll find it."
+
+He returned from the library presently with a letter which he opened and
+passed over to me. It read:
+
+    DEAR MR. CRAWFORD:--
+
+    Maybe you hain't interested no more but thet tha' ole Dopped
+    ganger, the Wild Hunter, the spooky old critter, has been seen
+    agin. i wuz on the top of the painted Butte yesterday squinten
+    one i in the valley look'n for elk and look'n up with tother i
+    for Big horn on the mountain, when i staged the old duffer
+    snoop'en along in one of the parks an' he had the same long hair
+    and long rifle he uster have. He sure is a ghost or else he's a
+    nut or an old timer gone locoed. He sends the chills down my
+    backbone every time i sots my eyes on him.
+
+    Your obedients sarvent,
+    BIG PETE.
+
+There was something about that crude letter that stirred me deeply.
+
+Could this strange freak that Big Pete saw from the top of the painted
+Butte possess that Patrick Mullen rifle? If so did he know anything
+about the whereabouts of my father? It is not uncommon for people
+suffering from a mental breakdown to flee to the country or wilderness
+and there live the life of a recluse, and from my father's last letter
+it was evident that he had had a nervous breakdown from anxiety and
+brooding over the loss of my mother, to whom he evidently was devotedly
+attached. It might, therefore, be possible that this strange, wild man
+himself was my father, an unpleasant possibility. At any rate, I felt
+that I could not rest, at least until I discovered to a certainty the
+name of the maker of the long rifle said to be carried by the wild
+hunter and I told dad just how I felt about it.
+
+"I knew you would feel that way, son," said he. "I have often wanted to
+go west for the very same purpose and I knew that when I told you
+everything you would want to go too. I intended to lay all the facts
+before you when you were twenty-one but now that Blink Broosmore has
+taken it upon himself to inform you and his truck-driving friends of the
+mystery surrounding your real parentage, I guess it is best you know all
+there is to be known about the situation. The rest I'll leave to you. In
+fact, it would please me a great deal if you would run down this last
+vague clue to see if your father really is still alive. Go, Donald, and
+God bless you, and take that bag of gold with you, unopened, for it may
+now stand your father in good stead, and if you do find him, bring him
+here and I promise you he will never want for a thing, nor will you, my
+son, for you are still my boy whatever your real parentage may be."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The stage pulled up in front of a typical western saloon, post office
+and general store. There was the usual crowd of prospectors, gamblers,
+cow punchers and trappers assembled to meet the incoming stage. When I
+scrambled off the top of the old-fashioned coach, and before I had time
+to shake the alkali dust from my clothes, or moisten my dry and cracked
+lips, a typical western bully approached me roaring the verses of a song
+with which he evidently intended to terrify me,
+
+    "He blowed into Lanigan swinging a gun
+    A new one,
+    A blue one,
+    A colt's forty-one,
+    An' swearing
+    Declaring
+    Red Rivers 'ud run
+    Down Alkali Valley,
+    An' oceans of gore
+    'ud wash sudden death
+    On the sage brush shore,
+    An' he shot a big hole--"
+
+He got no further with the song. Another man stepped out from the crowd,
+a very tall, powerful man who would have attracted attention in any garb
+in any place by his distinguished appearance, who with little ceremony
+rudely brushed the roughneck to one side, and my instinct told me the
+handsome stranger could be no other than Big Pete Darlinkel.
+
+My! my! what a man he was! Looked as if he just stepped out of one of
+Fred Remington's pictures, or Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, or slipped
+from between the leaves of a volume of Captain Mayne Reid's "Scalp
+Hunters"--Big Pete was evidently a hold-over from another age. He would
+have fitted perfectly and with nicety in a picture of Davy Crockett's
+men down in old Texas. He seemed, however, perfectly at home in this
+border town, and I noted that the most hard-boiled and toughest men in
+the crowd treated him with marked respect and deference.
+
+Pete was a wilderness fop and a dandy, and evidently was as careful of
+his clothes as a West Point cadet. In dress he affected the
+old-fashioned picturesque garb of the mountains. His appearance filled
+me with wonder and admiration; he stood six feet two or three inches in
+his moccasins, straight as an arrow and lithe as a cat.
+
+His costume consisted of a tunic of dressed deer skin, smoked to the
+softness of the finest flannels. He wore it belted in at the waist, but
+open at the breast and throat where it fell back like a sailor's collar
+into a short cape covering the shoulders. Underneath was the undershirt
+of dressed fawn skin; his leggins and moccasins were of the same
+material as his hunting shirt, and on his head he wore a fox skin cap;
+the fox's head adorned with glass eyes ornamented the front and the tail
+hung like a drooping plume over the left shoulder.
+
+Big Pete Darlinkel was a blonde, and his golden hair hung in sunny curls
+upon his massive shoulders; a light mustache, soft yellow beard, with a
+pair of the deepest, clearest, most innocent baby-like blue eyes, all
+made a face such as an angel might have after years of exposure to sun
+and wind.
+
+Not only are Big Pete's revolvers gold mounted, but the shaft of his
+keen-edged knife is rich with figures, rings, and stars filed from gold
+coins and set in the horn. The very stock of his long, single-barreled
+rifle is inlaid like an Arab's gun, and, as for his buckskin hunting
+suit, it is a mass of embroidery and colored quills from his beaded
+moccasins to the fringed cape of his shirt.
+
+Big Pete was a dandy, fond of color, fond of display; yet in spite of
+all this he wore absolutely nothing for decoration alone, but every
+article of use about his person was ornamented to an oriental degree.
+Gaudy and rich as his costume was when viewed in detail, as a whole it
+harmonized not only with Pete, his hair, his complexion, his weapons,
+but with whatever natural objects surrounded him.
+
+Big Pete also seemed to know me instinctively and approached with a
+graceful and swinging step; holding out his hand he greeted me in a low,
+soft, well-modulated voice with, "Howdy, kid; yes, I'm Big Pete and
+allow you are the tenderfoot dude from New York what wants to shoot big
+game, an' reckon you'd like to meet the wild mountain man? Well, he's a
+queer one, I tell you. He's got us all buffaloed out this-a-way, most of
+us don't care to meet him close up and we give him wide range when we
+cut his trail."
+
+That was Big Pete's greeting. Of course, I had not told him of my real
+interest in this mysterious man of the mountains, only suggesting that I
+would like to do some big game shooting and see the spooky hunter.
+
+"Well," I answered, "I would like to get a record elk head to take home
+to dad. As for the mountain wildman, I wish you'd tell me more about
+him, he is awfully interesting."
+
+"Tell you more? Well, sho, I reckon I can tell you more than most people
+round these parts for he makes my game park his stampin' grounds every
+onct in a while, an' let me tell you he hunts some peculiar, he do, he's
+half man and half wolf--but shucks, I won't spoil the show, you will see
+how he hunts for yourself if you stay here long. Glory be, but he's got
+me some bashful and shy. But mosey along and I'll hist yore stuff on
+this here cayuse while you let them tha' dogs out of their chicken coop
+boxes. You can cache your dude duds in the Emporium general store over
+yonder next to Squinty Quinn's saloon, an' then we're off for the hills.
+I'll yarn about this Wild Hunter while we hit the trail."
+
+An hour spent in Grave Stone gave me an opportunity to wash myself and
+change my clothes for some that would be more substantial for
+out-of-door wear, start several letters east telling of my safe arrival,
+buy the things I had overlooked, store my surplus clothes with the
+postmaster at the general store, and repack my kit for pony travel.
+Then, after watching Big Pete skilfully throw the diamond hitch, we were
+off for the hills and our first camp. I hoped that I was on my way to
+find my real father and unravel the mystery that surrounded my strange
+babyhood. But I little guessed what adventures I was to have or the
+strange things I was to see before my quest was ended.
+
+We traveled fast all the remaining portion of the afternoon and toward
+evening we made camp and for the first time in my life I slept under the
+sky. At the end of the fifth day we reached the secret and narrow
+opening of a big valley or "park" in the midst of a wild tumble of
+mountains. Big Pete said we would pitch our tent in the park.
+
+"Tha's plenty of signs 'round too an' if we loosen t' dogs p'raps we kin
+stir up a mountain lion or collar some fresh meat t' start camp with,"
+said he as he slid off his horse and took the leashes off the dogs.
+
+It took us but a short time to arrange our camp, then Big Pete followed
+by the frisking dogs slipped silently into the woods. He was gone
+scarcely a quarter of an hour when he reappeared again without the dogs,
+motioned for me to get my gun and follow him.
+
+"Tha's elk signs all bout," he said, "an' the muts broke away on a fresh
+trail. Now you an' me'll climb through that draw yonder and hide out on
+the runway till they drive an elk in gun shot. Come along."
+
+I followed eagerly and presently we had climbed through a thickly grown
+poplar grove and found a suitable hiding place among the small poplars.
+We had the wind right and a clear view of most of the open park. Big
+Pete stooped down and motioned for me to do likewise.
+
+I quietly crouched beside him and waited--waited until my legs were
+cramped, waited until the dampness from the moss struck through the
+heavy soles of my tenderfoot shoes and chilled my feet; waited until my
+arm was so numb that it felt like a piece of lead--then, in spite of the
+danger of incurring Big Pete's displeasure and in spite of my dread of
+being thought a dude tenderfoot, I changed my position, rubbed life into
+my arm and assumed an easier pose.
+
+In front of us was a small lake, deep, dark and unruffled. All around
+the edge was a natural wharf formed from the gigantic trunks of trees
+which had fallen for ages into the lake and been washed by wind and
+waves and forced by winter ice into such regular order and position
+along the shore that their arrangement looked like the work of men. Back
+of this wharf and all about was the wilderness of silent wood; a
+wilderness enclosed by a wall of mountains, whose lofty heads were
+uplifted far above the soft white clouds that floated in the blue sky
+overhead and were mirrored in the lake below. An eagle, on apparently
+immovable wings, soared over the lake in spiral course. As I watched the
+bird its wings seemed suddenly endowed with life. At the same instant my
+guide gave a low grunt of warning.
+
+"What is it?" I asked in a whisper, for there was a strange expression
+in my companion's eyes.
+
+"It's--it's him, so help me!--Keep yer ears open and yer meat-trap
+shut!" growled Pete.
+
+I did so. The trained ear of the hunter had detected the sound of
+crackling twigs and swishing branches made by some animals in rapid
+motion.
+
+"Ah!" I exclaimed, "the dogs. You startled me; I thought it was
+Indians."
+
+"I wish it was nothing wuss," muttered my guide, as he examined his
+weapons with a critical eye and loosened the cartridges for his
+revolvers in his belt to make sure that they would be easy to pluck out.
+
+"Those hain't our dogs, mister," he remarked after he had examined his
+whole arsenal.
+
+As I again fixed my attention on the noise, in place of the resonant
+voice of the hounds, I heard nothing but the crackling of branches, with
+an occasional half-suppressed wolf-like yelp.
+
+Big Pete turned pale and muttered, "It's them for sartin; it's them
+agin! And I hain't been drinkin', nuther!"
+
+Big Pete Darlinkel remained crouching in exactly the same pose he had
+first assumed, but his face looked sallow and worn. I marveled. Was this
+big westerner really awed by the situation we were facing? What disaster
+impended?
+
+My guide's eyes were fixed upon an opening in the woods and I knew that
+something would soon bound from that spot. I could hear the crashing of
+brush and half-suppressed wolf-like yelps, followed by a pause, then a
+rushing noise, and out leaped as beautiful a bull elk as I had ever
+seen--in fact the first I had ever seen at close range in his native
+wilderness. I had only time to take note of his muscular neck, clean cut
+limbs, his grand branching antlers, and--not my dogs but a pack of
+_immense black wolves_ at his heels before I instinctively brought my
+gun to my shoulder. But before I could draw a bead Big Pete struck it,
+knocking the muzzle up.
+
+"Hist!" he exclaimed, pointing to the bird.
+
+The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt and skilfully avoiding
+the branching antlers, struck the bull, driving one talon into the neck
+and the other into the back, flapping its huge wings as it tore with its
+beak at the body of the elk like a trained "_bear coote_."
+
+I was thunderstruck. The evident partnership of the wolves and bird
+needed explanation and it was not long in coming. A shrill whistle
+pierced the air, the black wolves immediately ceased to worry the elk,
+the eagle soared overhead, and for an instant the elk stood confused,
+then leaped high in the air and fell dead. The next moment I heard the
+crack of a rifle and saw a puff of blue smoke across the lake.
+
+"That's no ghost," I said, when partly recovered from my astonishment.
+
+"Wait," said Pete laconically.
+
+[Illustration: The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and
+struck the bull]
+
+Not long afterward there was a movement among the wolves and,
+noiselessly as a panther the figure of a man lithe and youthful in every
+movement slipped to the side of the dead elk. He made no noise, uttered
+no word to the fierce black animals that sat with their red tongues
+hanging from their panting jaws, but without a moment's hesitation
+whipped out a knife and with a dexterity and skill that brought the
+color to Big Pete's face, proceeded to take the coat off the wapiti,
+while the great eagle perched upon the branching antlers. The skin was
+removed and with equal dexterity all the best parts of the meat were
+skilfully detached and packed in the green hide, after which, removing a
+large slice of red flesh, the strange hunter held up one finger. One of
+the wolves gravely walked up to him, received the morsel, gulped it down
+and retired. Each in turn was fed, then the great bird flopped on his
+shoulder and was fed from his hand, and before I could realize what had
+happened the man, the wolves and the eagle had disappeared, leaving
+nothing but the dismembered carcass of the elk to remind us of the
+strange episode.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+To say that the whole spectacle that I had just witnessed startled me
+would be stating it mildly indeed. The strange appearance of this big,
+powerful, smooth shaven man in a buckskin hunting costume with a retinue
+of black wolves and a trained eagle, the mysterious manner of his
+hunting and his coming and going, aroused in me great interest and
+curiosity and I could realize the effect it evidently had upon Big
+Pete's superstitious mind in spite of the fact that the big fellow was
+accustomed to facing almost any sort of danger. As for me, I could not
+myself prevent the creeping chills from running down my spine whenever I
+thought of the wild man.
+
+Could it be possible that this strange, half-wild man of the mountains,
+this killer, this master of a wolf pack, could be in any way connected
+with my father? I wondered, and as I wondered I found that a vague fear
+of this mad man who despite his reputed age seemed as youthful and as
+agile as a man in his thirties, was gripping me. Perhaps the strangeness
+of the wilderness park added to my awe, for certainly one could expect
+almost anything supernatural to happen in the twilight of the forest of
+giant trees, whose interlacing branches overhead shut out the light of
+heaven.
+
+Recovering somewhat from my astonishment and surprise, I realized that
+what I had witnessed, strange though it appeared, was not a supernatural
+occurrence. I knew that it was a real gun I had heard, real smoke I had
+seen, real man, real bird, real elk, and real wolves.
+
+"But, Pete," I exclaimed, as a sudden thought struck me, "what's become
+of our dogs?"
+
+"Better ask them black fiends up the mountains. I reckon you won't see
+them tha' hounds of yours agin."
+
+And I never did, but having hunted the wolf with cowboys and having been
+a witness to their extraordinary biting power, I knew the fate that must
+necessarily befall a couple of ordinary hounds when overtaken by half a
+dozen full-grown wolves. On such occasions we do not spend much time in
+grief over a loss of any kind, "it taint according to mountain law,"
+Pete would say.
+
+"Reckon we had better swipe some of that elk before the coyotes get at
+it," growled Pete. "The wild mountainman knows the good parts, but an
+elk is an elk, and one wild man, even if he is a giant, can't carry off
+all the good meat, not by a long shot."
+
+"He may come back," I suggested.
+
+"Not he," said Pete. "He's too stuck up for that. When he wants more,
+them tha' black demons and that voodoo bird of his'n will get 'em for
+him, and he's a hanging his long legs off'ner a rock some whar smoking a
+long cigar."
+
+"Dod rot him," growled Pete. "Why couldn't he leave a piece of hide to
+carry the meat in and the stomach to cook it in? That's the fust time I
+ever stayed long 'nough to see him collar his meat, though they say he
+do eat the game raw, but I reckon that's a lie, leastwise he didn't do't
+this time."
+
+With a good square meal of the locoed hunter's elk under our belts and a
+rousing camp fire before which to toast our shins, both the big
+westerner and I felt a little more natural and comfortable, but our
+conversation turned again to this wild hunter of the mountains.
+
+I could see that the mysterious old man with his wolf pack and eagle
+aroused almost every possible form of superstition in Big Pete and I
+confess that I was not free from some of it myself. The guide was
+certain that the man was either a ghost or a reincarnated devil, and he
+displayed no uncertain signs of awe.
+
+"I tell you," said Pete, "he's a devil. He's over a hundred years old,
+for my dad says he seed him, an' an Injun before dad's time told him
+about him. They are all skeered t' death o' him. An' I don't blame 'em.
+He's a shore enough hant and them tha' houn's o' his'n is devils in wolf
+skins. Jumping Gehoosaphats, ef they shed ever cut my trail I reckon I'd
+just lay right down an' die," and Big Pete actually shuddered at the
+possibility.
+
+"Why, young feller," he went on, "that ol' man shoots gold bullets out
+o' a real Patrick Mullen gun."
+
+"A Mullen gun, Pete?" I cried, "how do you know, man; speak for goodness
+sake!"
+
+"I don't know it's a Patrick Mullen and guess it tain't one 'cause a
+Patrick Mullen rifle would cost a thousand or more. But the old Injun,
+Beaver Tail, says, someone told his father and his father told him that
+et is a Patrick Mullen gun an' is a special make inlaid with gold and
+silver, an' all ornamented up, an' built for an ol' muzzle-loadin'
+flint-lock. Now Mullen never made no flint-lock rifles that I hear'n
+tell of, his specialty be shotguns an' if he made this rifle I'm
+ganderplucked if I cud tell how this spook got it."
+
+"Unless the wild Hunter might be a relative of old Patrick Mullen," I
+said, thinking aloud, and gasping at the thought, for the description of
+the rifle somehow impressed me again with the possibility that this wild
+man of the mountains might himself be Donald Mullen, and _my own
+father!_
+
+"Why do you say that, kid?" asked Big Pete with a queer look in his
+eyes.
+
+"Oh, I don't know, I was just wondering to myself. But what makes you
+think he's a supernatural being, and, Pete, does this wild loony hunter
+look at all like me?"
+
+"Super what? Say when did you swallow a dictionary?--Oh, you mean what
+makes me think he's a devil. No, he don't favor you none," he added with
+a grin, "he's a _handsome_ devil, although he's done terrified every
+white man, an' Injun, in these parts half t' death, so most of 'ems
+afeared to come back here at all. Men have gone in the park jest to get
+this wild man's scalp, but they've done come back scared yaller an' they
+ain't opened their trap much about him since nuther. They do say he
+spits fire an' chaws his meat offen the bone an' then cracks the bones
+like a dog an' swallers it all. They do say, too, that he roars like
+forty devils with their tails cut off when he gits mad an' some say as
+when he wants t' git som wha' in a hurry he jest grabs aholt o' the feet
+o' tha' there thunder bird and she flies off with him and draps him
+anywha' he asks her to--Nope, I hain't seen none of these things myself
+but others say they has, an' believe me, I'm plumb cautious when
+travelin' these parts alone. Howsomever, he hain't yet skeered me 'nough
+to make my ha'r come out by the roots," said Pete with a yawn. "There,
+kick that back log over so's the fire can lick at t'other side; now
+let's turn in."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Big Pete and I spent several weeks in our charming little camp at the
+lower end of the park, for my guide decided that despite the recent
+presence of the wild hunter, here would be a good place to get a shot at
+some black-tail deer. In fact we saw signs of those animals all about
+and my guide was only looking for fresh indication to start out on our
+last hunt before we made our way deeper into the wilderness.
+
+On the third day of our stay I was returning to camp with my shotgun
+over my shoulder and a brace of sage grouse in my hand, when I came upon
+Big Pete in a swail about a mile from camp. He was bending low and
+examining fresh signs when he saw me.
+
+"Howdy, kid, here's some doin's. Shall we foller him?"
+
+"Of course, Pete; what are we here for, the mountain air?" I answered.
+
+"No," answered Pete, in his deep, low voice, "we're here for game," and
+off he started, but slowly and with great caution. I felt impatient, but
+restrained myself, saying nothing and continued to follow my big guide
+who now moved with the most painstaking care. Not a twig broke beneath
+his moccasins as with panther-like step and crouching form he led me
+through a lot of young trees over a rocky place until we struck a small
+spring with a soft muddy margin. Here Pete came to a sudden halt. I
+asked him why he did not go on, and he pointed to a ledge of rock that
+ran up the mountain side diagonally with a flat, natural roadbed on top,
+graded like a stage road but unlike a traveled road, ending in a bunch
+of underwood and brush about a hundred yards ahead.
+
+Above the ledge of the rocks was a steep declivity of loose shale
+sprinkled over with large and small boulders of radically different
+formations, and in no manner resembling the friable, uncertain bed upon
+which they rested.
+
+These boulders undoubtedly showed the result of the grinding and
+polishing of an ancient, slow-moving glacier, but some other force had
+deposited them in the present position.
+
+"He's in tha'," whispered Pete.
+
+"Who, the wild mountain man?" I asked.
+
+"No," answered my guide, "th' grizzly."
+
+"The what?" I almost shouted.
+
+"Th' grizzly," answered Pete; "what do you think we've been following?"
+
+"Black-tailed deer," I said softly, with my eyes glued on the thicket.
+
+"Well, tenderfoot, here's the trail of that tha' _deer_, and he hain't
+been gone by here mor'n nor a week ago, nuther."
+
+I looked and there in the soft mud was the print of a foot, a
+human-looking foot, but for the evenness in the length of the toes and
+the sharpness and length of the toe nails. Yes, there was another
+difference, and that was the size. It was the footprint of a savage
+Hercules, the track of an enormous grizzly bear, and the soft mud that
+had dripped from the big foot was still undried on the leaves and grass
+when Pete pointed it out to me.
+
+"Well, Pete, don't forget your promise that I am to have first shot at
+all big game," I whispered with my best effort at coolness, but my heart
+was thumping against my ribs at a terrific rate.
+
+"But--why, bless you old man!" I whispered excitedly as I looked at my
+gun, "I am armed only with a shotgun."
+
+"Tha's all right," replied the big trapper complacently; then, with a
+quick motion, he whipped out his keen-edged knife and snatching one of
+my cartridges he severed the shell neatly between the two wads which
+separated the powder and shot; that is, a wad in each piece of the
+cartridge was exposed by the cut.
+
+Guided by the faint longitudinal seam where the edges of the colored
+paper join on the shell, Big Pete carefully fitted the two parts of the
+cartridge together exactly as they were before being cut apart. Breaking
+my gun, he slipped the mutilated ammunition into the unchoked barrel.
+
+"Tha'," he grunted, "tha's better than a bullet at short range, an'll
+tar a hole in old Ephraim big enough to put your arm through."
+
+He cut two more in the same manner, saying, "Be darned kerful not to get
+excited and put them in your choke barl, or tha' may be trouble."
+
+Hunting a grizzly with a shotgun and bird shot was not my idea of safe
+sport, but I was too much of a moral coward to acknowledge to Pete that
+I was frightened. Pete examined his gun, ran his finger over the
+cartridges in his belt, and went through all the familiar motions which
+to him were unconscious but always foretold danger ahead.
+
+"You drap on your prayer hinges behind that tha' nigger head," said
+Pete, "and you will have a dead shot at the brute, an' I'll go up and
+roll a stone down the mountain side and follow it as fast as I kin, so
+as to be ready to help you if you need it; but you ought to drap him at
+first shot at short range. Yer must drap him, yer must or I allow tha'll
+be a right smart of a scrap here, and don't yer forget it!"
+
+"This is no Christmas turkey shooting, young feller, so look sharp," and
+with a noiseless tread Pete vanished in the wood, while I with beating
+heart and bulging eyes watched the thicket at the end of the ledge. I
+had not long to wait before I heard a blood-curdling yell and then
+crash! crash! crash! came a big boulder tearing down the mountain side.
+It reached a point just over the thicket, struck a small pine tree,
+broke the tree and leaped high into the air, then crashed into the
+middle of the brush.
+
+Following with giant leaps came Big Pete Darlinkel down the rocky
+declivity, but I only looked that way for one instant, then my eyes were
+again fixed on the thicket, and in my excitement I arose to a standing
+position. There was but a momentary silence after the fall of the
+boulder before I heard the rustling of sticks and leaves, saw the top of
+the bushes sway as some heavy body moved beneath, then there appeared a
+head, and what a head it was! Bigger than all outdoors! I aimed my gun,
+but my body swayed and the end of my shotgun described a large circle in
+the air. I knew that my position was serious, but my nerves played me
+false.
+
+I had never before faced a grizzly. I heard Big Pete's voice calling to
+me to drop behind the rock, but I only stood there with a dogged
+stupidity, trying to aim my gun at a mark which seemed to me as big
+almost as a barn-door.
+
+I heard Pete give a sudden cry then there was a rattle of stones and
+dirt on the ledge in front of the mountain of brownish hair that was
+advancing in sort of side leaps or bounds like a big ball.
+
+The bear came to a sudden stop, and to my horror I saw the form of my
+friend shoot over the edge of the overhanging rock right in the path of
+the grizzly. It all flashed through my mind in a moment. Pete in his
+haste to reach me had lost control of himself and slid with the rolling
+stones and dirt over the mountain side, a fall of at least twenty-five
+feet!
+
+Instantly my nerve returned and I rushed madly up the incline to rescue
+my companion. I bounded between the branches of some stout saplings,
+they parted as my body struck them but sprung together again before my
+leg had cleared the V-shaped opening.
+
+My foot was imprisoned and I fell with a heavy thud on my face. For an
+instant I was dazed, but even in my dazed state I was fully conscious of
+Pete's impending peril, and I kicked and struggled blindly to free
+myself. My gun had been flung from my hand in my fall and was out of my
+reach. Then to my horror I heard the howl the wolf gives when game is in
+sight, and even half blind as I was I saw dark, dog-like forms sweep by
+me; I heard the scream of an eagle; I heard a snarling and yelping, the
+sounds of a struggle--I ceased to kick, wiped the blood from my eyes and
+looked ahead.
+
+There lay Big Pete Darlinkel, dead or unconscious, and within ten feet
+of him stood the giant bear surrounded by a vicious pack of gaunt
+red-mouthed wolves. The bear made a rush and a shadow passed over the
+ground; I heard the sound of a large body rushing swiftly through the
+air, and an immense eagle struck the bear like a thunderbolt; at the
+same instant the wolves attacked him from all sides; then there was a
+whistle keen and clear; the wolves retreated; the bird again soared
+aloft; the bear made several passes in the air in search of the bird,
+fell forward again on all fours, rose on its hind legs and killed a wolf
+with one sweep of its great paw.
+
+The bear now made a dash at the giant leader of the pack, only to fall
+forward, dead, with its ugly nose across Big Pete's chest.
+
+Then I remembered hearing the crack of a rifle, and knew that the Wild
+Mountain Man had saved our lives. I tried to rise but found my ankle so
+badly sprained that I could not stand on it.
+
+Suddenly a low voice with a hint of an Irish accent said, "Sit down,
+stranger, while I look to your mate," and I saw the tall lithe figure of
+a man clothed in buckskin bending over Pete.
+
+"Only stunned, friend," said he, and I heard no more. The blow on my
+head, combined with the pain from my ankle was too much for me, and now
+that the danger was over it was a good time to faint, and I took
+advantage of it.
+
+How long I remained unconscious I do not know, but when my eyes opened
+again it was night; through the interlacing boughs overhead the stars
+were shining brightly, my head was neatly bandaged and so was my foot
+and ankle. I could hear our horses cropping grass near by. I raised my
+head and there lay Pete; he was alive I knew by his snores that issued
+from his nose, and we were in our own camp; but--what are those animals
+by our camp fire? Wolves! gaunt, shaggy wolves!
+
+I hastily arose to a sitting posture, but my alarm subsided when in the
+dim light of the fire I could trace the outline of another man's figure,
+and on a stick close to the stranger's head roosted a giant bird.
+
+Could it be that this wild man of the mountain--possibly my own
+father--was camping with us?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"Moseyed, by gum! I'll be tarnally tarnashuned if that terri-fa-ca-cious
+spook hain't pulled out!" was the exclamation that awakened me the
+morning after our adventure with the bear.
+
+Lazily opening my eyes I gazed a moment at the sun just peeping over the
+mountain, then closed them again; but when I attempted to change my
+position a sharp pain in my ankle thoroughly awakened me. Still I lay
+quiet because it was some time before I could collect my scattered
+senses and separate in my mind the real incident and the dream
+phantasms.
+
+The pain in my ankle, the swelled and irritated condition of my nose
+plainly proved to me that there was no dream about my injuries, but I
+discovered that my head and leg were neatly bandaged with strips of fine
+linen. I sat for a while busily collecting the incidents of the past
+twenty-four hours, arranging them in my mind in their proper order and
+place. I cut out the dream portion from the realities with very little
+trouble until I reached the part where I had awakened in the night and
+had seen the wolves, the eagle and the Wild Hunter. I could not be sure
+whether that was a dream or reality. Had I seen this strange old man
+with his eagle and his wolf pack beside our camp fire or had I dreamed
+it? Had this hobgoblin man, who might be my own father, rescued me from
+death at the claws of the grizzly and bound my wounds for me, or was
+that but a dream too? Had not Big Pete saved me perhaps and cared for me
+afterward?
+
+"Pete, old fellow," I said presently, rising to my elbow, "who brought
+me to camp? Who killed that bear? Who saved our lives?"
+
+"The Wild Hunter," replied Pete gravely. "He bathed my head with some
+sort of good smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a dead
+buffaler, toted me to camp; he 'lowed that I was all sort of shuk up and
+a little hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched you in on his
+shoulders just as if you was a dead antelope, fixed you up with bandages
+torn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave you a drink which you
+didn't seem to appreciate, but just swallowed like you were asleep, then
+he laid you out. I had my eye peeled on him but he said nary a word, an'
+when we wuz both all comfortable he pulled out a long cigar, sot down by
+the fire and was smoking tha' with his bird and his wolves around him
+when I went to sleep.
+
+"He cut his bullets out, as he allus does," muttered Pete a little while
+later.
+
+"Who cut what bullets?" I asked.
+
+"Whomsoever cud I mean but th' Wild Hunter, and wha's tha' been any
+bullets lately but in th' b'ar?" queried my companion.
+
+"Yes, of course," I admitted, "but why do you suppose he cut out the
+bullets?"
+
+"Wal, I reckon tha' might be right scarce and he haster be kinder
+sparing with them. I calculate you'd like to have a hatful of them
+balls, leastwise most folks would; cause the Wild Hunter don't use no
+common low-flung lead for his bullets, no-sir-ree bob-horsefly! Tain't
+good 'nuff for a high-cock-alorum like him--_he shoots balls of virgin
+gold!_"
+
+But I was more interested in what had become of this strange man than in
+the sort of projectiles rumor said that he used in his gun and so
+dismissed the subject with a request for further information about our
+rescuer.
+
+"This morning when I opened my peepers," Pete continued, "I t'ought
+maybe the Wild Hunter had only gone off on a tramp; but he's done clared
+out for good, and tuk his wolves and bird with him. I'm some glad he
+took th' wolves, I don't sorter like the look of their mean eyes; they
+do say that he is a wolf himself and the head of the pack."
+
+"What's that, Pete? Steady, old man, now let's go slow."
+
+"All right; tha's wha' I mean ter do. 'Cause it hain't a varmint natur'
+to help men folks, and he done helped us, and no mistake, and left us
+the bulk of the b'ar too,--only took the claws, teeth and tenderloin or
+two for himself and pack; that is, if he be a wolf. But we will settle
+that if your foot will let you walk a bit."
+
+"How far?" I asked.
+
+"Only over yan way to the first piece of wet ground, and the trail leads
+down to tha' spring tha', and tha' is quite a right smart bit of muddy
+swail beyont."
+
+"All right, I'll try it," I exclaimed. But I could not touch my foot on
+the ground, and it was not until my guide had made me a crutch of a
+forked branch, padded with a piece of fur, that I was able to go limping
+along after Big Pete.
+
+We followed the trail left by the Wild Hunter to the spring. The trail
+after that was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes; and when we reached
+the muddy spot the print of the moccasined feet and the dog-like tracks
+of the wolves were distinctly visible.
+
+But look at Big Pete!
+
+As motionless as a statue, with a solemn face he stoops with a rigid
+figure pointing to the trail! I hastened to his side and saw that the
+moccasin prints ceased in the middle of an open, bare, muddy place and
+beyond were nothing but the dog-like tracks of the wolves.
+
+I looked up and all around; there were no overhanging branches that a
+man could swing himself upon, no stones that he could leap upon--nothing
+but the straggling bunches of ferns; but here in this open spot the Wild
+Hunter vanished.
+
+We walked back in silence, for I had nothing to say, and Pete did not
+volunteer any further information.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+To have one's nose all but broken, both eyes blackened and a twisted
+ankle is a sad misfortune wherever it occurs, but when such a thing
+happens to a fellow many weary miles from the nearest human habitation
+and in a howling wilderness it might be considered anything but
+pleasant. Yet, strange as it may appear, among the most pleasant and
+precious memories I have stored away in my mind, only to be tapped upon
+special occasions, is the memory of the glorious days spent nursing my
+bruises and lolling around that far-away camp. Sometimes I listened to
+the quaint yarns of my unique and interesting guide or idly watched the
+changing colors and effects which the sun and the atmosphere produced on
+the snow-capped mountains of Darlinkel's Park. I made friends with our
+little neighbors the rock-chuck, whose home was in the base of the cliff
+back of the spring, and became intimate with the golden chipmunk and its
+pretty little black and white cousin, the four-striped chipmunk, both of
+which were common and remarkably tame about camp.
+
+Back of the camp in the dark shade of the evergreens there was a bark
+mound composed entirely of the fragments of the conifera cones, which
+Pete said was the squirrel's dining room. This mound contained at least
+four good cart-loads of fragments and all of it was the work of the
+impudent little blunt-nosed red squirrels, which were plentiful in the
+woods.
+
+How long it took these small rodents to heap such a mass of material
+together I was unable to calculate, but the mound was as large as some
+of the shell heaps made by the ancient oyster-eating men and left by
+them along our coast from Florida to Maine.
+
+The numerous magpies seemed to be conscious of my admiration of their
+beautiful piebald plumage and to take every opportunity to show off its
+iridescent hues to the best advantage in the sunlight.
+
+Pete evidently thought I was a chap of very low taste, with a great lack
+of discrimination in the choice of my friends among the forest folk, and
+he could see no reason for my intimacy with "all th' outlaws and most
+rascally varmints of the park."
+
+Truth compels me to admit that the pranks of some of my little friends
+were often mischievous and annoying, but they were also humorous and
+entertaining and I laughed when the "tallow-head" jay swooped down and
+snatched a tid-bit from Pete's plate just as he was about to eat it, and
+when the irate trapper threw his plate at the camp robber it was a
+charming sight to see a number of birds flutter down to feast upon the
+scattered food.
+
+The loud-mouthed, self-asserting fly-catcher in the cottonwood tree
+learned to know my whistle, and whenever I attempted to mimic him he
+would send back a ringing answer. The charming little lazulii buntings
+were tamer than the irritating dirty English sparrows at home.
+
+It was interesting to notice how quickly all our little wild neighbors
+learned to know that the sound produced by banging on a tin plate meant
+dough-god and other good things at our camp, and as they came rustling
+among the grasses or fluttering from bush and trees they showed more
+fear of each other than they did of Pete and me.
+
+When the myriads of bright stars would twinkle in the blue black sky or
+the great round-faced moon climb over the mountain tops to see what was
+doing in the park, the birds and chipmunks were quiet, but then the big
+pack-rats, with squirrel-like tails, would troop out from their secret
+caves and invade the camp.
+
+In the gray dawn, while sleeping in a tent, I often awakened to hear
+something scamper up its steep side and then laughed to see the shadow
+of a comical little body toboggan down the canvas. Our pocket-knives,
+compasses and all other small objects were never safe unless securely
+packed away out of reach of these nocturnal marauders.
+
+Our conversations around the camp fire evenings were highly interesting
+too, for Big Pete was a fluent talker with a wealth of stories of the
+Great West at his tongue's end. Indeed, the story of his family and
+their migration west was one that fascinated me. His father had been a
+trapper in the old days; he had done his share of roaming the mountains,
+prospecting and making his strikes, small and large, fighting Indians
+and living the strenuous life of the border pioneer. He had found the
+woman he afterward married unconscious under an overturned wagon of an
+emigrant train that had been raided by the Indians, and after nursing
+her back to health in his mining shack, had married her. With money he
+had worked from the "diggin's" he had acquired, by grants from the
+government, the beautiful and expansive mountain park where he had
+planned to develop a ranch. He never went very far with his project,
+however, for a raiding party of Indians caught him alone in the
+mountains and his wife found his body pinned to the ground with arrows.
+The shock of his tragedy killed Big Pete's mother soon after, and the
+young Peter Darlinkel, then three years old, went to a nearby settlement
+to be brought up by an uncle and a squaw aunt. Pete became prospector,
+scout, trapper and hunter, using this beautiful park that became his as
+a result of the passing of his father, as a private game preserve, so to
+speak. That is, it was private except for the intrusion of the Wild
+Hunter and his black wolf pack.
+
+In a fragmentary way Big Pete told me this story and other interesting
+tales of this wild western country, but mostly our conversation turned
+to this old man of the mountains who was such a mystery to everyone,
+even to Big Pete, but who, despite the lugubrious reputation, had
+proved a kindly gentleman and a good friend to me.
+
+There were no visible signs of a change in the weather which had been
+clear for weeks, and the sky was otherwise clear blue save where the
+white mares' tails swept across the heavens. But when we sat down to
+supper that evening I could hear the rumbling of distant thunder. I knew
+it was thunder for, although the fall of avalanches makes the same
+noise, avalanches choose the noon time to fall when the sun is hottest
+and the snows softest. Soon I could see the heads of some dark clouds
+peering at us over the mountains and before dark the clouds crept over
+the mountain tops and overcast our sky.
+
+It rained all that night in a fitful manner and came to a stop about
+four A. M. The wind went down and the air seemed to have lost its
+vivacity and life; it was a dead atmosphere; we arose from our blankets
+feeling tired and listless.
+
+While we were eating our breakfast dark clouds again suddenly obscured
+the heavens and before we had finished the meal big drops of rain set
+the camp fire spluttering and drove us to the shelter of our tent; then
+it rained! Lord help us! the water came down in such torrents that on
+account of the spray we could not see thirty feet; then came hailstones
+as large as hen's eggs. There was some lightning and thunder, but either
+the splashing of the water drowned the rumbling or the electric fluid
+was so far distant that the reports were not loud when they reached us.
+Suddenly there was a ripping noise, followed by a sort of subdued roar
+which stampeded our horses from their shelter under a projecting rock
+and made the earth shudder.
+
+"Earthquake!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Wuss," said Pete, "hit's a landslide."
+
+Instantly a thought went through my brain like a hot bullet and made me
+shudder.
+
+"Pete," I shouted.
+
+"I'm right hyer, tenderfut, you needn't holler so loud," he answered,
+and calmly filled his pipe.
+
+I flung myself impulsively on my companion, grasped his big brawny
+shoulders, and with my face close to his I whispered, "Pete, I believe
+the slide occurred at the gate."
+
+"Well, hit did sound that-a-way," admitted Pete composedly.
+
+"Pete," I continued, "that butte has caved in on our trail!"
+
+"Wull, tenderfut, we ain't hurt, be we? Tha's plenty of game here fur
+the tak'n of it and plenty of water, as fine as ever spouted from old
+Moses' rock, right at hand. If the Mesa's cut our trail we can live well
+here for a hundred years and not have to chew wolf mutton neither. I
+don't reckon I can go to York with you just yet," drawled my comrade in
+a most provokingly imperturbable manner, as he slowly freed himself from
+my grasp and made for the camp fire, which being to a great extent
+sheltered by an overhanging rock, was still smouldering in spite of the
+drenching rain. Raking the ashes until he found a red glowing coal, Pete
+deftly picked it up and by juggling it from one hand to the other, he
+conducted the live ember to his pipe-bowl, then he puffed away as calmly
+as if there was nothing in this world to trouble him.
+
+"If the gate be shut," he resumed, "it will keep out prospectors, tramps
+and Injuns." With that he went to smoking his red-willow[1] bark again.
+
+  [Footnote 1: The trappers and Indians made Kil-i-ki-nic, or
+  Kinnikinick, by mixing tobacco with the inside bark of red
+  willow, which is the common name for the red osier of the
+  dogwood family. EDITOR.]
+
+But I could not view the situation so complacently, and when the rain
+had ceased as suddenly as it began, with some difficulty I caught my
+horse and made my way to the gate, to discover that my worst fears were
+realized; a large section of the cliff had split off the Mesa and slid
+down into the narrow gateway completely filling the space and leaving a
+wall of over one hundred feet of sheer precipice for us to climb before
+we could escape from our Eden-like prison.
+
+Again a wave of superstitious dread swept over me as I viewed the
+tightly closed exit, a dread that perhaps after all there was more to
+Big Pete's superstitions about the Wild Hunter than I dared to admit,
+else why should that cliff which had stood for thousands of years take
+this opportunity to split off and choke up the ancient trail?
+
+The longer I questioned myself, the less was my ability to answer. I sat
+on a stone and for some time was lost in thought. When at length I
+looked up it was to see Big Pete with folded arms silently gazing at the
+barricaded exit and the muddy pool of water extending for some distance
+back of the gateway into the park.
+
+"Well, tenderfut, you was dead right in your judication. The gate air
+shut sure 'nuff. Our horses ain't likely to take the back trail and
+leave us, that's sartin."
+
+"Oh, Pete," I exclaimed, "how will we ever get out? Must we spend the
+remainder of our lives here?"
+
+"It do look as if we'd stop hyer a right smart bit," he admitted, "maybe
+till this hyer holler between the mountains all fills with water agin
+like it was onct before, I reckon. Don't you think that we'd better get
+busy and build a Noah's Ark?"
+
+"Pete, you'd joke if the world came to an end. But seriously I think we
+might move our camp back to the far end of your park."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+One day after we had selected our new camp, I took my rod along and
+wandered into the wonderful forest of ancient trees. There I seated
+myself on a log to think over my experience. Somehow my own trials and
+ambitions seemed small, trivial and not worth while when I looked upon
+those grand trees standing silently on guard as they were standing when
+Columbus was busy smashing a hard-boiled egg to make it stand on end.
+Yes, naturalists tell us some of these same trees were standing before
+the New Testament was written and then as now their branches concealed
+their lofty tops and formed a screen through which the powerful rays of
+the noon-day sun are filtered, refined and subdued to a dreamy twilight
+below, a twilight in which the soft green mosses and lace-like ferns
+thrive into luxuriant growth.
+
+It was so still and quiet in that forest that the silence seemed to hurt
+my ears and I found myself listening to see if I could not hear the deep
+dark blue blossoms of the fringed gentians whispering scandals about the
+flaming Indian paint brushes that flourished in the opening in the woods
+where the sun's ray could reach and warm the dark earth. As I listened I
+could not help but speculate a great deal as to the possibilities of the
+odd old man of this forest being in some way connected with my father's
+history, but the story of the wolf-man as given to me by my big
+companion was so varied and so mixed with the superstitions of the
+Indians and trappers who had come in contact with him, or had seen him
+and his weird wolf pack roaming the mountains, that I could not in any
+way take it as the basis for a solution of the problem.
+
+Indeed, the more Big Pete told me the less I believed that this strange
+and probably mad man could be my father. In truth, the only real clue
+or even faint reason I had for believing that he owned the missing
+"Patrick Mullen" was because this gun at a distance seemed to correspond
+with the description of the Mullen's gun. It was a faint clue indeed and
+sometimes seemed not worth investigation. Yet when I began to doubt the
+possibility an unexplained impulse or force kept urging me on to believe
+that if I but persisted and found an opportunity to examine this gun it
+would prove to be the one I sought, and if I had a chance to talk to
+this strange Wild Hunter much of the mystery that surrounded my own
+babyhood would be cleared up, so I found myself earnestly longing for a
+real interview with this mysterious creature.
+
+The more I thought of it the more I was inclined to believe that I was
+on the right track, until at last convinced that this was so, I cried
+aloud, "I have found him!"
+
+"Who! Who!" queried a startled owl, as it peered down at me from its
+hiding place in the dense foliage of a cedar far above.
+
+"Never mind who, you old rascal," I laughingly replied, and picking up
+my fishing-rod I parted the underbrush to start on my way through the
+wood for some trout, but suddenly halted when I found myself staring
+into the face of a huge timber wolf. The beast's lips were drawn back
+displaying its gleaming fangs, its back hair was as erect as the cropped
+mane of a pony, its mongolian eyes shone green through their narrow
+slits and its whole attitude seemed to say, "Well, now that you have
+found me, what do you propose to do?"
+
+Now, boys, do not make any mistake about me, I am not a hero and never
+posed as one; in truth my timidity at times amounts to cowardice, a fact
+which I usually keep to myself, but I never was afraid of wolves until I
+so unexpectedly met this one. It is needless to say that I have no hair
+on my back, it is as bare as that of any other fellow's, nevertheless,
+on this occasion I could distinctly feel my bristles rise from the nape
+of my neck to the end of my spine, just the same as those on the
+oblique-eyed, shaggy monster whose snapping teeth were so near my face.
+
+Everybody is familiar with the fact that people who have had limbs
+amputated often complain of pains or itching in the missing members. My
+missing back hair, the hair which my ancestors lost by the slow process
+of evolution, the hair which grew on the back of the "missing link,"
+stood on end at the sight of this wolf. However, this fear was but
+momentary and when my courage returned I lifted my rod case in a
+threatening manner, and the wolf slunk away as noiselessly as a shadow,
+and like a shadow faded out of sight in the dim twilight of the ancient
+forest. When I reached the open land beyond the forest another surprise
+awaited me.
+
+Surely this is heaven, I thought as I waded knee-deep among the
+beautiful flowers of the prairie, starting the sharp pin-tailed grouse,
+prairie chickens and sage grouse from their retreats and sending the
+meadow-larks skimming away over flowering billows. Reaching an
+elevation where I could peer beyond the crests of one of the "ground
+swells" which furrowed the sea of nodding blossoms, I saw through the
+stems of the plants, a part of the prairie at first concealed from view,
+and there appeared to be numerous irregular boulders of dark brown stone
+scattered around among the vegetation, and the boulders were moving!
+
+Careful scrutiny, however, proved them to be not stones but live
+buffalo. Big Pete had often told me that these animals lived unmolested
+by him in the park; but when I realized that I was looking at between
+three and four hundred real buffalo my heart gave a great jump of joy. I
+tried to view them so as to take in their details, but the apparently
+shapeless masses of dark reddish brown wool appeared to have none,
+unless indeed the comical fur trousers with frayed bottoms on their
+front legs might be called detail.
+
+Even the faces of the beasts were so concealed by masks of knotted wool
+that at first I could distinguish neither eyes, noses, horns or ears;
+but in spite of their ragged trousers and their masked faces, the bison
+are sublime in their mighty strength and ponderous proportions, and as
+this was the first wild herd I had ever seen and one of the very few, if
+not the only one, then extant, I viewed them with the keenest interest.
+
+But the scattered bunches of antelope, which I now noticed were dotting
+the plains around the buffalo, appealed to my love of the beautiful.
+Knowing that in other localities these charming little creatures are
+rapidly being slaughtered and steadily decreasing in numbers and that
+all attempts to breed them in captivity have so far failed, they at once
+absorbed my attention to the exclusion of their larger neighbors.
+
+When we moved our camp to the far side of the lake, Big Pete told me
+that I could find plenty of trout streams beyond the timber belt, and he
+also informed me that I could there see the walls of the park and
+satisfy myself that there was but one trail leading into the preserve.
+
+I do not now recall the sort of walls that were pictured in my mind or
+know what I really expected to see enclosing Darlinkel's Park, but I do
+know that when I suddenly emerged from the dark forests into the sunlit
+prairie, the scene which greeted my vision was not the one painted by my
+imagination.
+
+Before me stretched an open plain surrounded by mountains arising
+abruptly from a bed of many colored flowers; they were the same ranges
+whose snow-covered peaks formed a feature of the landscape at the lake
+and at our first camp.
+
+Here, however, their appearance was different, as different as the dark
+forest from the open sunlit prairie. The scene at first did not seem
+real, it had a sort of a drop-curtain effect that was as familiar to me
+as the row of footlights and gilded boxes, but never did I expect to see
+those delicate tints, that blue atmosphere, the fresco colored rocks and
+all the theatrical properties of a drop-curtain duplicated in nature,
+yet here it was before me, not a detail wanting, even the impossible
+mammoth bed of gaudy flowers at the foot of the mountain was here and
+the numerous cascades had not been forgotten. Well, it does seem
+wonderful to me that unknown theatrical daubers should know so much more
+of nature than the public for whom they paint.
+
+But, nature is a bolder artist than even the daring scenic painters; in
+front of me was a prairie of flowers, acres and acres of waving,
+undulating masses of color; thousands of Arizona wyetha (wild
+sunflowers) mingled with the brilliant tips of the fire-weed and clumps
+of odorous and delicately colored horsemint. There were other flowers
+unfamiliar to me and hundreds of big blossoms of what I took to be a
+member of the primrose family. It was in this garden that the buffalo
+and antelope were grazing.
+
+An old buck antelope saw me and I instantly dropped to the ground and
+was concealed by the flowering vegetation. I wanted to see the home
+life of these animals, but was disappointed because of the attention I
+had attracted. When first discovered the does were browsing with heads
+down and the kids were playing tag with one another, every once in a
+while spreading the white hair on their rumps and then lowering the
+"white flag" again, they apparently used it as a Morse signal system of
+their own. But now they were all alert and facing me; the bucks had seen
+something and that something had suddenly disappeared. This must be
+investigated, so they circled round hesitatingly; the apparition might
+be a foe but still they _must_ satisfy their curiosity and discover what
+it was of which they had had a moment's glimpse and thus they approached
+nearer and ever nearer to my place of concealment.
+
+Soon, however, I became aware of the fact that the antelope had
+unaccountably lost all thought of me and were deeply interested in
+something else which from their actions I concluded to be recognized as
+an enemy. It was now apparent that if Big Pete did not hunt the
+prong-horns someone or something else _did_ hunt them.
+
+As a bunch broke away from the scattered groups and came in my
+direction, making great leaps over the prairie, I detected the cause of
+their panic in the form of a huge eagle which was keeping pace with and
+flying over the fleeing prong-horns.
+
+The bird was not more than a dozen feet above the animals' backs and in
+vain did the poor creatures try to distance their pursuer. At length
+they scattered, each one taking a course of his own. Then the bird did a
+strange thing. It singled out the largest buck and persistently
+following him, it came directly towards me and passed within ten feet of
+my ambush, the broad wings of the antelope's relentless foe casting a
+dark shadow over the straining muscles of the beautiful animal's back. I
+was tempted to drive the bird away or shoot at it with my revolver, but
+the thought that I had seen that bird before restrained me and the fact
+that it pursued a strong, healthy buck instead of selecting a weaker and
+more easy prey convinced me that this eagle had been trained to the hunt
+and was not a wild[2] bird, for the immutable law that "labor follows
+the line of least resistance" holds good with all wild creatures. It was
+not long before I had to use my field glasses to follow the chase and
+then I discovered that the poor prong-horn was showing signs of fatigue.
+It had made a grave error in dashing up an incline and the eagle from
+his position above knew that the time had come to strike and, like a
+thunderbolt, it fell, striking its hooked talons in the graceful neck of
+the terror-stricken antelope.
+
+  [Footnote 2: The late Howard Eaton of Wolf, Wyoming, watched an
+  eagle hunt down a prong-horned buck.--EDITOR.]
+
+Hoping to get a nearer view of the last tragedy, I hastened towards the
+spot and before I was aware of my position, found myself close to the
+herd of buffalo. I then saw that these beasts being unaccustomed to
+man, did not fear him, but on the contrary meant to show fight. As I
+came to a sudden halt the old bulls began to paw the earth, throwing the
+dirt up over their backs and bellowing with a low vibrating roar that
+was terror-inspiring. Then they dropped to their knees, rolled on their
+backs, got up, shook themselves, licked their noses, "rolled up their
+tails" into stiff curves, put down their heads and came at me. The cows
+with their hair standing on end like angry elks and bellowing loudly
+were not behind their lords in aggressiveness and the comical little
+calves came bouncing along after their dame.
+
+Was I frightened? That depends upon one's definition of the word. I was
+not panic-stricken, but to say that I was not _excited_ when I saw those
+animated masses of dark brown wool come roaring and thundering at me
+would be to make boast that no one who has had a similar experience
+would believe.
+
+Fortunately, not far behind me was the hollow or gully already
+mentioned and I bolted over the edge of it. As soon as the bank
+concealed my person I ran as I never ran before taking a course at right
+angles to my original one and leeward of the herd, and at last, out of
+breath, I rolled over in the weeds and lay there panting and straining
+my ears to hear the snorting beasts.
+
+My chest felt dry, hot and oppressed from forced and labored breathing,
+and had the buffalo discovered me I do not think I could have run
+another step. But the big brutes halted at the edge of the bank and
+seeing no one in sight walked around pawing and throwing up great clouds
+of dust and in their rage apparently daring me to come forth. Like a
+small boy when he hears a challenge from a gang of toughs, I decided
+that I did not want to fight and lay as quiet as possible among the
+sunflowers until I had regained my breath. When the buffalo wandered
+back to their original pasture land I, like a coyote, slunk away and
+consoled myself with the thought that although I had had my run for my
+money, at least, I had seen the death of the antelope even if I did miss
+again seeing the Wild Hunter "collar his game," as Big Pete would have
+called the act of securing it. Besides this I had a real exciting
+adventure with good red-blooded American animals and learned the lesson
+that large horned beasts which have not been taught to fear man are
+exceedingly dangerous to man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Rising abruptly from the prairie was a frowning precipice a thousand or
+more feet high and above and beyond the top of this cliff, the
+mountains.
+
+When Big Pete told me that his park was "walled in" he told me the
+mildest sort of truth; the prairie is the bottom of a wide canyon, in
+fact everything seems to indicate that the whole park had settled,
+sunk--"taken a drop" of a thousand or more feet; forming what miners
+would call a fault.
+
+From the glaciers up among the clouds numerous streams of melted ice
+came dashing down the sides of the mountain range, fanciful cascades
+leaping without fear from most stupendous heights spreading out in long
+horse-tail falls over the face of the cliff, doing everything but
+looking real. At the foot of each of the falls there was a pool of deep
+water, in one or two instances the pools were smooth basins hollowed out
+of solid rock in which the water was as transparent as air and but for
+the millions of air bubbles caused by the falling water every inch of
+bottom could be plainly seen by an observer at the brink of the pool.
+
+The trout in these basins were almost as colorless as the water itself
+(the light color of the fish is due to their chameleon-like power of
+modifying their hue to imitate their surroundings)--this mimicry is so
+perfect that after looking into one of these stone basins, the rounded
+smooth sides of which offered no shade or nook where a trout might hide,
+I was ready to declare the waters uninhabited but no sooner had my brown
+hackel or professor settled lightly on the surface of the pool than out
+from among the air bubbles a fish appeared and seized the fly.
+
+My sprained ankle was now so much improved that upon discovering a
+diagonal fracture in the face of the cliff, which looked as if offering
+a foot hold, and feeling reckless, I determined to make the effort to
+scale the wall at this point.
+
+If the giant "fault" is of comparatively recent occurrence, geologically
+speaking, it seemed reasonable that there would be trout in the streams
+above the cliff and the memory of the fact that Pete had reported that
+both Rocky Mountain sheep and goats were up there decided me to attempt
+to scale the wall by the fracture. It was a long, hard climb and more
+than once while I clung to the chance projections or dug my fingers into
+small cracks and looked down upon the backs of some golden eagle sailing
+in spirals below me, I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt, but when
+the top was reached and I saw signs of sheep and had a peep at a white
+object I took to be a goat, I felt repaid for my arduous climb.
+
+The elevated prairie or table-land on which I found myself corresponded
+in every important particular with the park below; there were the same
+natural divisions of prairie and forests, the same erratic boulders, but
+on account of the difference in elevation there was a corresponding
+difference in plant life, and most interesting of all to me, there were
+the trout streams. The tablelands above the park were comparatively
+level in places where the stream ran almost as quietly as a meadow
+brook, but these level stretches were interrupted at short distance by
+foaming rapids, jagged rocks and roaring falls.
+
+My angler's instinct told me that the biggest fish lurked in the deep
+pools, to reach which it was necessary to creep and worm myself over the
+open flats of sharp stones and patches of heather, but once on the
+vantage ground the swish of a trout rod sounded there for the first time
+since the dawn of Creation.
+
+[Illustration: More than once while I clung to the chance projection
+... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt]
+
+There was an audible splash at my first cast. My, how that reel did
+sing! Before I realized it, my fish had reached rapid water and taken
+out a dangerous amount of line; still I dared not check him too severely
+among the sharp rocks and swift waters, so I ran along the bank,
+stumbling over stones, but managing to avail myself of every opportunity
+to wind in the line until I had the satisfaction of seeing enough line
+on my reel to prepare me for possible sudden dashes and emergencies.
+
+Ah! that was a glorious fight, and when at last I was able to steer my
+tired fish into shallow water I saw there were three of them, one lusty
+trout on each of my three flies. I had no landing net so I gently slid
+the almost exhausted fish onto a gravel bar and as I did so I
+experienced one of those delightful thrills which comes to a fellow's
+lot but once or twice in a life-time. But it was not because I had
+captured three at a strike, for I have done that before and since, but I
+thrilled because they were not only a new and strange kind of trout, but
+they were of the color and sheen of newly minted gold. Never before had
+any man seen such trout.
+
+I have since been informed that I had blundered on to water inhabited by
+the rarest of all game fish, the so-called golden trout, which has since
+been discovered and which scientists declare to be pre-glacier fish left
+by some accident of nature to exist in a new world in which all their
+original contemporaries have long been extinct.
+
+Think of it! Fish which had never seen an artificial fly nor had any
+family traditions of experiences with them. It is little wonder that
+they would jump at a brown hackle, a professor or even a gaudy salmon
+fly. Why they would jump at a chicken feather! They were ready and eager
+to bite at any sort of bunco game I saw fit to play upon them. They were
+veritable hayseeds of the trout family, but when they felt the hook in
+their lips, the wisest trout in the world could not show a craftier nor
+half as plucky a fight. They would leap from the water like
+small-mouthed bass and by shaking their heads, try to throw off the
+hateful hook.
+
+The constant vigorous exercise of leaping water-falls and forging up
+boiling rapids had developed these sturdy mountaineer trout into
+prodigies of strength and endurance. Even now my nerves tingle to the
+tips of my toes as in fancy I hear my reel hum or see the tip of my five
+ounce split bamboo bend so as to almost form a circle.
+
+I fished that stream with hands trembling with excitement and had filled
+my creel with the rare fish before I began to notice other objects of
+interest. Suddenly I became aware of the presence of two birds hovering
+over and diving under the cold water. They were evidently feeding on
+some aquatic creature which my duller senses could not discern.
+
+Although they were the first of the kind that I had ever seen alive, I
+at once recognized the feathered visitors to be water ouzels. The birds
+preceded me on my way along the water course towards camp, and were
+never quiet a minute. They would hop on a rock in mid-stream and bob up
+and down in a most solemn but comical manner for a moment before
+plunging fearlessly into the cold white spray of the falls or the swift
+dashing current, where they would disappear below the surface only to
+reappear once more on another rock to bob again.
+
+A ducking did not trouble the ouzels, for as they came out of the water
+the liquid rolled in crystal drops from their feathers and their plumage
+was as dry as if it had never been submerged. The wilder and swifter the
+cold glacier water ran the more the birds seemed to enjoy it.
+
+The nearer I approached the edge of the precipitous walls, enclosing the
+valley comprising Big Pete's park, the rougher grew the trail, and as I
+was picking my way I paused to gaze at the distant purple peaks and
+watch the sun set in that lonely land as if I was witnessing it for the
+first time. As my eyes roamed over the stupendous distance and unnamed
+mountains I felt my own puny insignificance, as who has not when
+confronted with the vastness of nature.
+
+I turned from my view of the sunset to retrace my steps to the valley,
+and peeping over the top of a large boulder, saw seated upon an
+inaccessible crag directly in front of me, a gigantic figure of a man
+clad in a hunter's garb, and he was smoking a long cigar!
+
+When I thought of Big Pete's description of how the Wild Hunter was wont
+to sit with his long legs dangling from some rock while he smoked one of
+those unprocurable cigars, and when I realized that the figure before me
+was fully sixty feet tall, I must confess to experiencing a queer
+sensation.
+
+It was a shadowy figure yet it moved, arose, held out one hand, and a
+bird as large as the fabled roc alighted on the wrist of the
+outstretched hand.
+
+A slight breeze sprang up, the white mists from the valley rolled up the
+mountainside and drifted away and the man and bird disappeared from
+view.
+
+It was long after dark when I reached camp and was greeted by my friend
+and guide with "Gol durn your pictur tenderfut, if it hain't tuk you
+longer to get a pesky mess of yaller fish than it orter to kill a bar."
+
+"Little wonder," thought I, "that the Wild Hunter used golden bullets in
+a land where even the fish's scales seemed to be of the same precious
+metal"; but I said nothing as I sat down to clean my "yaller trout."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+It was always interesting to me when I could get Pete's theories and his
+brand of philosophy on almost any subject and it was my intention that
+night at supper to lead up to the apparition I had seen on the cliffs
+that day. With a substantial supper tucked away I was in a better frame
+of mind to realize that the illusion I had seen was not uncommon in
+mountain districts. I recalled that I had read of, and seen pictures of,
+a particular illusion of this nature that is often present in the Hartz
+Mountains in Germany and I knew full well that the setting sun, the mist
+and the atmospheric condition had all contributed to throwing a greatly
+enlarged shadow of the real Wild Hunter onto the screen made by the mist
+very much as today a motion picture increases the size of the small film
+image when it is thrown on the movie screen.
+
+I intended to get Big Pete's idea on the subject but I never did for I
+was not adroit enough to steer the conversation in that direction, for
+Big Pete seized my first statement and made it a subject for a veritable
+lecture.
+
+"There was a smashing lot of those trout up there, Pete. Bet I could
+have brought home all I could have carried if I had been a game hog," I
+said, as I stirred the fire with a stick and set the coffee pot nearer
+the flames to warm a second cup.
+
+"You see, tenderfut, it's like this," he said, "when a man goes out to
+kill a deer for the fun of blood-spilling or to get th' poor critter's
+head to hang in his shack, he's nothing more than a wolf or butcher;
+hain't half as good a man as the one who never shot a deer, but goes
+back home and lies about it. The liar hain't harmed nothin' with his
+lies. His fairy stories don't hurt game an' they be interesting to the
+tenderfuts in the States. The real sportsman is the pot-hunter. Yes,
+that's jist what I mean, a pot-hunter--he's out 'cause the camp kettle
+is empty, and it's up agin him to fill it or starve. Now then, this
+fellow is not after blood; nor trophies, nor is he hunting for the
+market. It's self-preservation with him, that's what it is. He's an
+animal along with the rest of 'em and he knows he's got jest as much a
+right to live as tha' have and no more! He's hustling for his living
+along with the bunch, forcing it from savage nature, and I tell you boy,
+there is no greater physical pleasure in life than holding old Mother
+Nature up and just saying to her, 'You've got a living for me, ole' gal,
+and I'm going to get it.'
+
+"Such talk pleases the old lady, makes her your friend 'cause she likes
+your spunk, and because of it she'll give you the wind of a grey wolf,
+the step of the panther, the strength of the buffalo and the courage of
+a lion. She is always generous with her favorites. Ah! lad, she kin make
+your blood dance in your veins, make fire flash from your eyes and give
+you the steady nerve necessary to face a she-grizzly when she is
+fightin' for her cubs."
+
+"Why? 'cause you see, you are a grizzly yourself when the camp kettle is
+empty!" And Big Pete relapsed into silence, turned his attention to his
+tin platter, examining it carefully, and then with a piece of dough-god,
+carefully wiped the platter clean and contentedly munched the savory
+bit.
+
+The reason, that being locked into Big Pete's park in the mountains
+struck me as being very serious, was because I realized that although
+the park was extensive it was completely surrounded by a practically
+unsurmountable barrier of rugged cliffs and mountains negotiable, as far
+as I knew, not even by the sure-footed mountain sheep and goats which we
+could occasionally see on the cliffs from the valley floor, but never
+saw in the park itself. I questioned Big Pete and found that he did not
+know of a trail up the cliffs.
+
+"Though," he said, "there must be some sort of a one for that tha' Wild
+Hunter gits in an' out and brings his wolf pack along too. He knows a
+trail all right an' ef he knows it why it's up to us to find it, too."
+
+"Maybe we can trail him," I suggested.
+
+"Trail him! Me? With that wolf pack clingin' to his heels? Not while I'm
+alive!"
+
+That was the last that was said about trailing the Wild Hunter for some
+time to come, but meanwhile we built a more or less open faced permanent
+camp and Big Pete initiated me into mysteries of real woodcraft, for it
+was up to us now to live on the land, so to speak.
+
+Although hard usage had made havoc with my tailormade clothes, neither
+time nor the elements seemed to affect the personal appearance of my big
+companion; his buckskin suit was apparently as clean and fresh as it was
+on the day I first met him. There was no magic in this. Big Pete knew
+how to clamber all day through a windfall without leaving the greater
+part of his clothes on the branches, a feat few hunters and no
+tenderfoot have yet been able to accomplish.
+
+As I have already said, Pete was a dude, but he was what might be called
+a self-perpetuating dude, who never ran to seed no matter how long he
+might be separated from the city tailor shops, for Pete was his own
+tailor, barber and valet, and the wilderness supplied the material for
+his costume.
+
+In the camp he was as busy as an old housewife, and occupied his leisure
+time mending, stitching and darning. Many a morning my own toilet
+consisted of a face wash at the spring, but my guide seldom failed to
+spend as much time prinking as if he expected distinguished visitors!
+
+Instead of "Tenderfoot," Big Pete now called me "Le-loo," which I
+understand is Chinook for wolf and I took so much pride in my promotion
+that I would not have changed clothes with the Prince of Wales; I
+gloried in my wild, unkempt appearance!
+
+Nevertheless, Big Pete announced that he was the Hy-as-ty-ee (big boss)
+and he forthwith declared that my costume was unsuitable for the
+approaching cold weather. There was no disputing that Big Pete was
+Hy-as-ty-ee and I agreed to wear whatever clothes he should make for me,
+and can say with no fear of dispute that if that ancient chump, Robinson
+Crusoe, had had a Big Pete for a partner in place of a man Friday, he
+would have never made himself his outlandish goatskin clothes and a
+clumsy umbrella.
+
+From a cache in the rocks Pete brought forth a miscellaneous lot of
+trappers' stores, bone needles made from the splints of deer's legs,
+elk's teeth with holes bored through them, and odds and ends of all
+kinds.
+
+Among his stuff was a supply of salt-petre and alum, and this was
+evidently the material for which he was searching for he at once
+preceeded to make a mixture of two parts salt-petre to one of alum and
+applied the pulverized compound to the fleshy side of the skins, then
+doubling the raw side of the hides together he rolled them closely and
+placed the hides in a cool place where they were allowed to remain for
+several days; when at length unrolled, the skins were still moist.
+
+"Just right, by Gosh," he exclaimed, as he took a dull knife and
+carefully removed all particles of fat or flesh which here and there
+adhered to the hide. After this was done to his satisfaction we both
+took hold and rubbed, and mauled and worked the skins with our hands
+until the hides were as soft and as pliable as flannel. Thus was the
+material for my winter clothing prepared.
+
+It took four whole deer-skins to furnish stuff for my buckskin shirt
+with the beautiful long fringes at the seams; but the whole garment was
+cut, sewed and finished in a day's time. It was sewed with thread made
+of sinew.
+
+When it came to making the coat and trousers Big Pete spent a long time
+in solemn thought before he was ready to begin work on these garments;
+at length he looked up with a broad smile and cried:
+
+"See here, Le-loo, I have taken a fancy to them 'ere tenderfut pants o'
+your'n. Off with 'em now an' I'll jist cut out the new ones from the old
+uns." In vain I pleaded with him to make my trousers like his own; he
+would not listen to me, he insisted upon having my ragged but stylish
+knickerbockers to use as a pattern.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Big Pete was an expert backwoods tailor, shoemaker and shirtmaker, but
+these were but few of his accomplishments, not his trade; he was first,
+last and aways a hunter and scout. No matter what occupation seemed to
+engage his attention for the time it never interfered with his ability
+to hear, see or smell.
+
+It was while I was going around camp minus my lower garments that I saw
+Pete suddenly throw up his head and suspiciously sniff the air, at the
+same time sharply scanning the windward side of our camp. Living so long
+with this strange man made me familiar with his actions and quick to
+detect anything unusual and I now knew that something of interest had
+happened. To the windward and close by us was a mound thickly covered
+with bullberry bushes and underbrush, and so far as could be seen there
+was nothing suspicious in the appearance of the thicket. Fixing my eyes
+on Big Pete, I saw a peculiar expression spread over his face which
+seemed to be half of mirth and half of wonderment, and I immediately
+knew that his wonderful nose had warned him of the presence of something
+to the windward.
+
+Slowly and quietly he laid aside my almost finished breeches and
+silently stole away. It was only a few minutes before he returned with a
+very solemn face.
+
+"Doggone my corn shucked bones, Le-loo, we've had a visitor but it got
+away mighty slick and quick. I hain't determint yit whether it wa' man
+er beast er both, er jist a thing wha' might change into 'tother. We'll
+hafter investigate later. Here git these duds on."
+
+When I put on my new elk-hide knickerbockers with cuffs of dressed
+buckskin laced around my calves, and my beautiful soft buckskin shirt
+tucked in at the waist I began to feel like a real Nimrod, but after I
+added my "Moo-loch-Capo," the shooting jacket with elk-teeth buttons,
+pulled a pair of shank moccasins over my feet and donned a cap made of
+lynx skin, I was as happy as a child with its Christmas stocking. It was
+a really wonderful suit of clothing; the hair of the elk hide was on the
+outside, and not only made the coat and breeches warmer, but helped to
+shed the rain. The buttons of the elk-teeth were fastened on with thongs
+run through holes in their centers, and my coat could be laced up after
+the fashion of a military overcoat. The elk's teeth served as frogs and
+loops of rawhide answered for the braid that is used on military coats.
+
+My shank moccasins were made by first making a cut around each of the
+hind legs of an elk, at a sufficient distance above the heels to leave
+hide enough for boot legs and making another cut far enough below the
+heels to make room for one's feet. The fresh skins when peeled off
+looked like rude stockings with holes at the toes. The skins were
+turned wrong side out, and the open toes closed by bringing the lower
+part, or sole, up over the opening and sewing it there after the manner
+of a tip to the modern shoe. When this novel foot-gear was dry enough
+for the purpose, Big Pete ornamented the legs with quaint colored
+designs made with split porcupine quills colored with dyes which Pete
+himself had manufactured of roots and barks.
+
+Dressed in my unique and picturesque costume I stood upright while Pete
+surveyed me with the pride and satisfaction of one who had done a fine
+piece of work. I had now little fear of being called a tenderfoot and
+when I viewed my reflection in the spring I felt quite proud of my
+appearance.
+
+"Come along now old scout," said Pete viewing me with the pride of an
+artist, "come along and let me test you on a real trail. I want to see
+what my teaching has done for you."
+
+Pete led me through the underbrush to a point among the rocks.
+
+"Tha'. A trail begins right under yore nose; let's see what you make of
+it," he said crisply.
+
+Down on all fours I crept over the ground and, to my surprise and joy, I
+found that I could here and there detect a turned leaf the twist of
+which indicated the direction taken by the party who made the trail. I
+noticed that the bits of wood, pine cones and sticks scattered around
+were darker on the parts next to the ground, and it only required simple
+reasoning for me to conclude that when the dark side was uppermost the
+object had been recently disturbed and rolled over.
+
+It was a day of great discoveries. I found that what is true of the
+sticks is equally true of the pebbles and a displaced fragment of stone
+immediately caught my eyes. With the tenacity of a bloodhound I stuck to
+my task until I suddenly found myself at the base of the park wall, at
+the foot of the diagonal fracture in the face of the cliff where I had
+climbed when I discovered the golden trout. As I have said, the
+fracture led diagonally up the towering face of the beetling precipice.
+
+For fear that I might have made some mistake I carefully retraced my
+steps backward toward the bullberry bushes near the camp. On the back
+trail I came upon some distinct and obvious footprints in a dusty place,
+but so deeply interested was I in hidden signs, the slight but tell-tale
+disturbances of leaf and soil, that I once passed these plainly marked
+tracks with only a glance and would have done so the second time had not
+their marked peculiarities accidentally caught my attention.
+
+When examining the trail of this mysterious camp visitor I suddenly
+realized that in place of moccasin footprints I was following bear
+tracks, my heart ceased to beat for a moment or two before I could pull
+myself together and smother the prehensile footed superstitious old
+savage in me with the practical philosophy of the up-to-date man of
+today.
+
+Taking a short cut I ran back to the foot of the pass and there, on
+hands and knees, ascended for a hundred feet or more--the bear steps led
+up the pass, and yet at the beginning of the trail the feet wore
+moccasins. This I knew because at one place the foot-mark showed plainly
+in the gray alkali dust which had accumulated upon a projecting stone a
+few feet below the ledge. Obviously whoever the visitor was, he had
+entered and left by this pass. Returning to camp I sat down on a log
+lost in thought. My reverie was at last broken by the voice of my guide
+quietly remarking. "Well, Le-loo, what's your judication?"
+
+"Pete," I said, "that bear walks on its hind-legs; there is not the sign
+of a forefoot anywhere along the trail. Now this could not be caused by
+the hind feet obliterating the tracks of the front feet, because in many
+places the pass is so steep that the forefeet in reaching out for
+support would make tracks not overlapped by the hind ones."
+
+"That's true, Le-loo; sartin true. If you live to be a hundred years
+you'll make as good a trailer as the great Greaser trailer of New
+Mexico, Dolores Sanchez, or my old friend Bill Hassler, who could follow
+a six-month-old trail," replied my guide. "But," he continued, "maybe
+witch-bears do walk on their hind legs same as people."
+
+"Witch be blamed!" I cried impatiently; "this is no four-legged witch
+nor bear either. That was a man and when he thought he would be followed
+he put on moccasins made from bears' paws to leave a disguised trail.
+And moreover I believe that man is none other than the Wild Hunter
+without his wolf pack. And that pass is the pathway he takes in and out
+of this park. I'm going to trail him whether you want to or not. Goodbye
+Pete, I'll come back for you," and picking up my gun and other necessary
+traps, I prepared to start immediately upon my journey, for I felt that
+to follow this trail would not only get us out of our park prison but
+would lead me to the abode of the Wild Hunter, where perhaps I could
+talk with him and learn some of the things I was so eager to know about
+my parents.
+
+Big Pete looked at me solemnly for a while, ran over the cartridges in
+his belt and went through all those familiar unconscious motions which
+betokened danger ahead, and said, "Le-loo, you are a quare critter;
+you're not afraid of all the werwolves, medicine ba'rs and ghosts in
+this world or the next, but tarnally afeared of live varmints like
+grizzly bars--one would think you had no religion, but, gosh all
+hemlock! If you can face a bear-man or a werwolf, even though all the
+Hy-as Ecutocks of the mountains show fight, I'll be cornfed if I don't
+stand by ye! Barring the Wild Hunter, I don't know as I ever ran agin a
+Ecutock yit; that is if he be a Ecutock. Maybe he's a Econe? Yes, I
+reckon that's what he is," continued Pete reflectively.
+
+"Maybe he is a pine cone," I laughed. Then added, "Whatever he is, he
+knows the way out of this park of yours and I am going to follow him," I
+emphatically answered.
+
+"That's howsomever!" exclaimed my guide approvingly; "but," he
+continued, "the mountains are kivered with snow, while it is still
+summer down here, so I reckon 'twould be the proper wrinkle for us to
+pull our things together, have a good feed and a good sleep before we
+start. White men start off hot-headed and I kinder like their grit, but
+Injuns stop and sot by the fire an' smoke an' think afore they start on
+a raid an' I kinder think they be wiser in this than we 'uns, so let's
+do as the Injuns would do. We can cache most of our stuff and turn the
+horses loose. Bighorn's mutton is powerful good, but tarnally shy and
+hung mighty high, an' billygoat is doggoned strong 'nless you know how
+to cook 'em. Yes, we'll eat an sleep fust an' then his for the land
+where the Bighorn pasture, the woolywhite goats sleep on the rocks, the
+whistling marmot blows his danger signal an' the pretty white ptarmigan
+hides hisself in the snow-banks, the home of the Ecutocks.
+
+"What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?" I asked.
+
+"An Injun devil, I reckon you'd call it; it's bad medicine," he answered
+soberly, and continuing in his former strain, he exclaimed:
+
+"Whar critters like goats, sheeps and rock-chucks kin live, you bet your
+Hy-as muck-a-muck we kin live too!"
+
+That night I rolled up into my blanket, filled with strange
+presentiments. Again the question came up: What is the source of the
+influence that this madman of the mountains, this wild hunter, this
+leader of the black wolf pack, had on me to impel me to trail him over
+the mountains? Was it mental telepathy? Could he really be my father?
+Somehow I felt convinced that soon I would be face to face with the
+riddle, soon I would know the facts and the truth about my parents. It
+seemed unthinkable that all these weeks of wilderness travel had been
+for naught and that the Wild Hunter was nothing but a strange, eccentric
+old fellow living alone in the mountains and of no interest to me
+whatsoever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+We made our start at daylight, loaded with all the necessities for a
+climb over the mountains. The rest of our supplies and equipment we
+cached, and Big Pete turned our horses loose assuring me that in the
+spring he would come back and rope them.
+
+The lower trail of the pass was quite well defined and we made famous
+progress, but the higher we climbed the more difficult the going became
+and more than once we were forced to pause on a ledge to rest and regain
+our breath.
+
+On one ledge I got my first really close view of a bighorn sheep, and I
+became so excited that nothing would do but I must stalk him, despite
+Big Pete's assurance that the wily old ram would not let me get within
+gun shot of him in such an exposed area.
+
+I crawled, and wriggled, and twisted over rock and boulders for what to
+me seemed miles, but always the sheep kept just out of accurate shooting
+distance ahead of me. It was an exasperating chase, but one cannot live
+in the mountains for any length of time without paying more or less
+attention to geology; the mountaineer soon learns that stratified rock,
+that is rock arranged like layer cake, resting in a horizontal position
+on its natural bed, makes travel over its top comparatively easy, but
+when by the subsidence or upheaval of the earth's crust huge masses of
+stone have been tilted up edgewise, it is an entirely different
+proposition.
+
+In this latter case the erosion, or the wearing away, caused by
+trickling water, frost and snow, sharpens the edge of the rock, as a
+grindstone does the edge of an ax, and traveling along one of these
+ridges presents almost the same difficulties that travel along the edge
+of an upturned ax would do to a microscopic man.
+
+But when a sportsman, for the first time in his life, has succeeded in
+creeping within range of a grand bighorn ram, and his bullet, speeding
+true, has badly wounded the game, hardships are forgotten, and if, on
+account of the miraculous vitality of the mountain sheep, there is
+danger of losing the quarry, all the inborn instinct of the predaceous
+beast in man's nature is aroused, and danger is a consideration not to
+be taken in account.
+
+A hawk in pursuit of a barnyard fowl will follow it into the open door
+of the farmhouse; the hound in pursuit of the fox cares not for the
+approaching locomotive--being possessed by the instinct to kill--nothing
+is of importance to them but the capture of the game in sight. A man
+following a buck is governed by a like singleness of purpose.
+
+For this reason I was scrambling along the knife-like edge of the ridge,
+with death in the steep treacherous slide rock on one side, death in the
+steep green glacier ice on the other side, and torture and wounds under
+my feet.
+
+But the fever of the chase had possession of me. I had tasted blood and
+felt the fierce joy of the puma and the wild intoxication of a hunting
+wolf!
+
+The cruel wounds inflicted by the sharp stones under my feet were
+unnoticed. Away ahead of me was a moving object; it could use but three
+legs, but that was one leg more than I had, and the ram had distanced
+me. After an age of time I reached the rugged, broader footing of the
+mountain side, and creeping up behind some sheltering rocks again fired
+at the fleeing ram. With the impact of the bullet the sheep fell
+headlong down a cliff to a projecting rock thirty feet below, where it
+lay apparently dead. A moment later it again arose, seemingly as able as
+ever, and ran along the face of the beetling rock where my eyes, aided
+by powerful field glasses, could perceive no foothold; then it gave a
+magnificent leap to a ledge on the opposite side of the narrow canyon
+and fell dead, out of my reach.
+
+Spent with my long, rough run, I naturally selected the most
+comfortable seat in which to rest; this chanced to be a cushion of
+heather-like plants along the side of a fragment of rock which
+effectually concealed my body from view from the other side of the
+chasm. Here, on the verge of that impassable canyon, I sat panting and
+looking at the poor dead creature upon the opposite side; its right
+front leg was shattered at the shoulder, a bullet had pierced its lungs.
+Yet, with two fatal wounds and a useless leg, the plucky creature had
+scaled the face of a cliff which one would think a squirrel would find
+impossible to traverse and made leaps which might well be considered
+improbable for a perfectly sound animal. The ram was dead and food for
+the ravens, and a reaction had taken place in my mind; I felt like a
+bloody murderer, and hung my head with a sense of guilt.
+
+Presently, becoming conscious of that peculiar guttural noise, used by
+Big Pete when desiring caution, and looking up I was amazed to see a
+splendid Indian youth climb down the face of the opposite cliff, throw
+his arms around the dead ram's neck and burst into deep but subdued
+lamentation. For the first time I now saw that what I had mistaken for a
+blood stain on the bighorn's neck was a red collar.
+
+Cautiously producing my field glasses I examined the collar and
+discovered it to be made of stained porcupine quills cleverly worked on
+a buckskin band. The field glasses also told me that the boy's shirt was
+trimmed with the same material, while a duplicate of the sheep's collar
+formed a band which encircled his head, confining the long black hair
+and preventing it from falling over his face, but leaving it free to
+hang down his back to a point below the waist line.
+
+So absorbed was I in this unique spectacle that I carelessly allowed my
+elbow to dislodge a loose fragment of stone which went clattering down
+the face of the precipice. This proved to be almost fatal carelessness,
+for, with a movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake, the lad
+placed an arrow to the string of a bow and sent the barbed shaft with
+such force, promptitude and precision that it went through my fur cap,
+the arrow entangling a bunch of my hair, taking it along with it.
+
+"Squat lower, Le-loo; arrows has been the death of many a man afore
+you," whispered Big Pete in my ear, but even as he spoke another arrow
+sang over our crouching bodies, shaving the protecting rock so closely
+that their plumed tips brushed the dust on our backs.
+
+"Waugh! Good shootin', by gum! I never seed it beat; if he onct sots
+them black eyes on our hulking carcasses he'll get us yit," muttered my
+guide, enthusiastically. "He's mighty slender, quick and purty--but so
+also be a rattlesnake!" he exclaimed, as another arrow slit the sleeve
+of his wamus as cleanly as if it were cut with a knife.
+
+"For God's sake, stop!" I shouted, in real alarm. The boy paused, but
+with an arrow still drawn to its head. His eyes flashing, head erect,
+one moccasined foot on the ram's body, the other braced against the
+cliff; his short fawn-colored skin shirt clung to his lithe body, and
+the fringed edges hung over the dreadful black chasm in front of him. It
+was a picture to take away one's breath. "Put down your weapon, and we
+will stand with our hands up," I cried. Slowly the bow was lowered and
+as slowly Big Pete and I arose, holding our empty hands aloft. "Now,
+young fellow, tell us your pleasure."
+
+There are a few gray hairs showing at my temples which first made their
+appearance while I was crouching behind that stone on the edge of the
+chasm.
+
+To my polite inquiry asking his pleasure, the wild boy made no reply but
+glanced at us with the utmost contempt when Big Pete went through some
+gestures in Indian sign language. The lad mutely pointed to the dead
+sheep, the sight of which seemed to enrage him again, for insensibly his
+fingers tightened on the bow and the wood began to curve after a manner
+which sent me ducking behind the sheltering stone again; but Big Pete
+only folded his arms across his broad chest and looked the boy straight
+in the eyes.
+
+Never will I forget that picture, the cold, bleak, snow-covered
+mountains towering above them, the black abyss of Sheol between them;
+neither would hesitate to take life, neither possessed a fear of death;
+but with every muscle alert and every nerve alive these two wild things
+stood facing each other, mutually observing a truce because of--what?
+Because, in spite of the fighting instinct or, maybe, because of it they
+both secretly admired each other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+The black chasm which separated us from the trail of the wild hunter was
+not as formidable a barrier as the unfathomable abyss which separates
+the reader from what he thinks he would have done had he been in my
+place, and what really would have been his plan of action.
+
+There were a lot of burning questions which I had privately made up in
+my mind to propound to the Wild Hunter, or the even wilder medicine
+bear, upon the occasion of our next meeting. But when the lad was
+standing before me, with bended bow and flashing eyes, the burning
+importance of those questions did not appeal to me as forcibly as did
+the urgent necessity of sheltering my body behind the friendly stone. To
+be truthful, it must be admitted that the proposed inquiries were, for
+the time, entirely forgotten, and I even breathed a sigh of relief when
+the boy suddenly clambered up the face of the cliff, turned, gave us a
+fierce look of defiance, made some quick energetic gestures with his
+hand and disappeared.
+
+He scaled that precipitous rock with the rapidity and self-confidence of
+a gray squirrel running up the trunk of a hickory tree, squirrel-like,
+taking advantage of every crack, cranny and projection that could be
+grasped by fingers or moccasin-covered toes.
+
+Not until the Indian had disappeared down a dry coulee did I venture
+from the shelter of the protecting rock, or realize that my carefully
+planned interview must be indefinitely postponed.
+
+With his arms folded across his chest, his blond hair sweeping his
+shoulders, his blue eyes fixed upon a rocky rib of the mountain behind
+which the boy had disappeared, Big Pete still stood like a statue. But
+gradually the statuesque pose resolved itself into a more commonplace
+posture, and the muscles of the face relaxed until the familiar twinkle
+hovered around the corners of his eyes. "What did he say when he made
+those motions, Pete?"
+
+"Waugh! he said he was not afraid of any whitefaced coyote like us." And
+bringing forth his pipe, Pete filled it from the beaded tobacco pouch
+which hung on his breast, and by means of a horn of punk, a flint and
+steel, he soon had the pipe aglow and was puffing away as calmly as if
+nothing unusual had occurred. Presently he exclaimed, "Gol durn his
+daguerrotype, what good did it do him to throw that sheep down the
+gulch? Reckon Le-loo and me could find a better grave for mutton chops
+than that canyon bottom. The mountains didn't need the sheep an' we did.
+But, I reckon it was his own sheep you killed, 'cause it had a porcupine
+collar same pattern as the trimmings of his shirt."
+
+Turning his great blue eyes full upon me, he suddenly shot this inquiry,
+"Be he bar, ecutock or werwolf?"
+
+"He is the finest adjusted, easiest running, most exquisitely balanced,
+highest geared bit of human machinery I ever saw," I answered
+enthusiastically.
+
+"Wall, maybe ye are right, Le-loo, an' maybe ye hain't; which is
+catamount to saying, maybe it is a man and maybe it tain't."
+
+"Steady, Pete, old fellow, let us go slow; now tell me at what you're
+driving?" I pleaded.
+
+"It looks to me this hea'-a-way," he explained. "I've seed his trail
+onct or twice, an' I've seed him onct, but I never yet seed his trail
+and the Wild Hunter's trail at the same time and place. 'Pears to me
+that a man who, when it's convenient, kin make a wolf of hisself, might
+likewise make a boy of hisself whenever he felt that way. Never heared
+tell on enny real laid who cud climb like a squtton and shoot a bow
+better nor a Robin Hood or Injun, and that's howsomever!"
+
+"Well, it does look 'howsomever,' and no mistake," I admitted, "and what
+makes it worse, our dinner is at the bottom of this infernal gulch.
+Come, let us be moving; the breeze from the snowfields chills me. Let us
+hit his trail now while it is fresh."
+
+This was a simple proposition to make, but a difficult one to carry into
+execution; for to all appearances that trail began upon the other side
+of the chasm, and there was no bridge in sight by which we could cross.
+Big Pete carefully put a cork-stopper in his pipe, extinguishing the
+fire without wasting the unconsumed contents; he then carefully put his
+briarwood away and began to uncoil a lariat from around his middle. As
+he loosened the braided rawhide from his waist his gaze was roaming over
+the opposite rocks. Presently he fixed his attention upon a pinnacle
+which reared its cube-like form above the top of the opposite side of
+the chasm; the latter was of itself much higher than the brink upon
+which we stood. Swinging the loop around his head he sent it whistling
+across the chasm, where it settled and encircled the projecting stone,
+the honda striking the face of the cliff with a sullen thud. The rope
+tightened, but when we both threw our weight on our end of the lariat to
+try it, the cube-like pinnacle moved on its base.
+
+"I oughter knowed better than to try to lasso a piece of slide rock,"
+said Pete in disgusted tones, as he cast the end of the braided rawhide
+loose and watched it for a moment dangling down the opposite side of the
+canyon.
+
+"Now, Le-loo, we must get over this hole or lose the best lariat in the
+Rocky Mountains. We kin look for that boy's trail on this side, for even
+if he be an Ecutock, I'll bet my crooker bone 'gainst a lock of his hair
+that he can't jump th' hole, an' I'll wager my left ear that he's got a
+trail an' a bridge somewhar--'nless he turns bird and flops over things
+like this," he added, with a troubled look.
+
+"Pete," said I, "never mind the bird business. I'll admit that there is
+a lot of explanation due us before we can rightly judge on the events of
+the past few weeks; still I think it may all be explained in a rational
+manner; but what if it cannot? We have but one trip to make through this
+world, and the more we see the more we will know at the end of the
+journey. I am as curious as a prong-horned antelope when there is a
+mystery, so put your nose to the ground, my good friend, and find the
+spot where this Mr. Werwolf, witch, or bear flies the canyon, and maybe,
+like the husband of 'The Witch of Fife,' we may find the 'black crook
+shell,' and with its aid fly out of this 'lum."
+
+"I believe your judication is sound, Le-loo; stay where you be an' if he
+hain't a witch I'll bet my front tooth agin the string of his moccasin
+that I'll find the bridge, and I'll swear by my grandmother's hind leg
+that that little imp will pay for our sheep yit."
+
+As Pete finished these remarks there was a sudden and astonishing change
+in his appearance. His head fell forward, his shoulders drooped, his
+back bowed and his knee bent. It was no longer the upright statuesque
+Pete the Mountaineer, but Peter the Trailer, all of whose faculties were
+concentrated upon the ground. With a swinging gait the human bloodhound
+traveled swiftly and silently along the edge of the crevasse, noting
+every bunch of moss, fragment of stone, drift of snow or bit of moist
+earth, reading the shorthand notes of Nature with facility which far
+excelled the ability of my own stenographer to read her own notes when
+the latter are a few hours old. But a short time had elapsed before I
+heard a shout, and, hurrying to the place where my big friend was
+seated, I inquired, "Any luck?"
+
+"Tha's as you may call it. Here is wha' tha' boy jumped," he replied,
+pointing to some marks on the stone which were imperceptible to me, "an'
+tha's wha' he landed," he continued, pointing to a slight ledge upon the
+face of the opposite cliff at least twenty feet distant. "He's a jumper,
+an' no mistake--guess I might as well have my front tooth pulled, fur
+I've lost my bet," soliloquized the trailer, as he sat on the edge of
+the cliff, with his legs hanging over the frightful chasm.
+
+The ledge indicated by Big Pete as the landing place of the phenomenal
+jumper might possibly have offered a foothold for a bighorn or goat, but
+I could not believe that any human being could jump twenty feet to a
+crumbling trifle of a ledge on the face of a precipice, and not only
+retain a foothold there, but run up the face of the rock like a fly on a
+window-pane. Yet I could see that something had worn the ledge at the
+point indicated and when I stood a little distance away from the trail I
+could plainly note a difference in color marking the course of the trail
+where it led over the flinty rocks to the jumping place.
+
+"Wull, Le-loo! What's your opinion of the Ecutock now? Do he use wings
+or ride a barleycorn broom?" asked Pete, with a triumphant smile.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Apparently there was no possible way by which we might hope to cross the
+canyon, and I threw myself prone upon the top of the stony brink of the
+chasm and peered down the awful abyss at the silver thread, shining in
+the gloom of the shadows, which marked the course of a stream, and
+wondered what the Boy Scouts of Troop 6 of Marlborough would do under
+the circumstances.
+
+I studied the face of the opposite cliff in a vain search for some hint
+to the solution of the problem before us, looking up and down from side
+to side as far as allowed by the range of my vision. At length my
+attention wandered to the perpendicular face of the cliff, on the top of
+which my body was sprawled; there was an upright crack in the face of
+the stone wall, and as I examined the fracture I saw that a piece of
+wood had lodged in the crack; a piece of wood in a crevice in a rock is
+not so unusual an occurrence as to excite remark; but when it occurred
+to me that we were then far above the timber line, my interest and
+curiosity were at once aroused.
+
+The end of the stick was within a short distance from my hand, and
+reaching down I grasped the wood and brought forth, not a short club or
+stick, as I thought to be concealed there, but a very long pole. The
+result of my investigations was so unexpected that I came dangerously
+near allowing the thing to slide through my fingers and fall to the
+bottom of the canyon. It was a neatly-smoothed, slender piece of
+lodge-pole pine which was brought to view, and it had a crooked root
+nicely spliced to one end and bound tightly in place with rawhide
+thongs. Big Pete was wholly absorbed in the trail, the study of which he
+had resumed, and when I looked up he was down on all fours, minutely
+studying the ground. Presently he cried, "Le-loo, tha' pesky lad ha'
+been over wha' you be after sompen and he took it back tha' again afore
+he made his jump! If you're any good you'll find what the lad was
+after."
+
+"He was after his barleycorn broomstick," I replied, proudly, "and here
+it is, although I must confess it is a pretty long one for a fellow of
+his size, and it looks more like a giant Bo-Peep's crook than a witch's
+broom."
+
+Big Pete eagerly snatched the pole from my hands and examined it
+carefully. At length he said, "This hyer is the end used for the handle;
+one can see by the finger marks, an' this crook is used to scrape stone
+with, one kin see, with half an eye, by the way the end is sandpapered
+off. Over tha' air some marks on the stone which look almighty like as
+if they'd been made by the end of this yer hook slipping down the face
+of the rock.
+
+"Now, I wonder wha' cud be up tha' on the top of the rock that the boy
+wanted," mused Big Pete, and for a moment or so he stood in silent
+thought; at length he exclaimed, "Why, bless my corn-shucking soul, if I
+don't believe he's got a lariat staked out tha' an' crosses this ditch
+same as we-uns aimed to do!" With that he began raking and scraping the
+top of the opposite rock with the shepherd's crook, and presently there
+came tumbling and twisting like a snake down the face of the cliff, a
+long braided rawhide rope with a loop at the bottom end.
+
+"Waugh, Le-loo! tha's no witchcraft 'bout this 'cep the magic of
+common-sense; but we hain't through with him yit!" By this time Pete had
+the end of the rawhide rope in his hands and was testing the strength of
+its anchorage upon the opposite cliff. The point where it was fastened
+projected some distance over the ledge, where the supposed landing-place
+was located, thus making it possible for one to swing at the end of the
+rope from our side without danger of coming into too violent contact
+with the opposite cliff.
+
+As soon as my big friend was satisfied that the rope was safe he
+grasped it with his two hands, and with one foot in the loop and the
+other free to use as a fender, he sailed across the abyss and landed
+safely upon the crumbling ledge opposite.
+
+Holding fast to the rawhide rope with his hands and bracing his feet
+against the rock, Pete could walk up the face of the cliff by going
+hand-over-hand up the cable at the same time. He had almost reached the
+top when I was horror-stricken to see a small hand and brown arm reach
+over the precipice; but it was neither the grace nor the beauty of this
+shapely bit of anatomy which sent the blood surging to my heart, but the
+fact that the cold gray glint of a long-bladed knife caught my eyes and
+fascinated me with the fabled "charm" of a serpent. The power of speech
+forsook me, but with great effort I succeeded in giving utterance to the
+inarticulate noise people gurgle when confronted in their sleep by a
+shapeless horror. Big Pete heard the noise, but he was not unnerved
+when he saw the knife, neither did he show any nightmare symptoms,
+although he was dangling over the terrible abyss with a full knowledge
+that it needed but a touch of the keen blade of that knife to sever the
+straining lariat and dash him, a mangled mass, on the rocks below. The
+danger was too real to give Pete the nightmare; there was nothing spooky
+to him in the glittering knife blade, and only ghosts and the
+supernatural could give Big Pete the nightmare. Calmly he looked at the
+hand grasping the power of death with its strong tapering fingers.
+Suddenly and in a firm, commanding voice he gave the order, "Drap tha'
+knife!"
+
+Ever since I had been in the company of this masterful forest companion
+I had obeyed his commands as a matter of course, and so was not
+surprised to see the fingers instantly relax their grasp and the knife
+go gyrating to the mysterious depths. In a few moments Big Pete was up
+and over the edge of the rock and hidden from my view.
+
+Seizing the long-handled shepherd's crook, I caught the dangling end of
+the lariat, and was soon scrambling up the face of the cliff, leaving a
+trail which the veriest novice would not fail to notice and sending
+showers of the crumbling stones down the path taken by the knife; it was
+several minutes before I had clambered over the face of the projecting
+crag and was safe across the black chasm which lay athwart our trail.
+
+If the Wild Hunter was indeed my father, he certainly was a woodcrafter
+and scout to bring pride to a fellow's heart, for I doubted not that the
+Indian boy was his retainer because the porcupine quill decorations on
+his buckskin shirt had the same peculiar pattern as that on the wamus of
+the Wild Hunter himself as well as on the collar of the pet sheep I had
+killed, and also on the buckskin bag of gold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Only those persons who have made solitary trips over snow-capped
+mountain ridges can appreciate the overwhelming feeling of solitude that
+I felt on looking about me. To whatever point of view I turned my eyes
+were greeted with a tumbled sea composed of stupendous petrified
+billows.
+
+The occasional fields of snow were the white froth of the stony waves
+and the turquoise colored glacial lakes between the crags rather added
+to the effect of an angry ocean than detracted from it.
+
+On a closer examination, some of the rocks appeared to be rough bits of
+unfinished worlds still retaining the form they had when poured from the
+mighty blast furnaces of the Creator. It was God's workshop strewn with
+huge fragments, still bearing the marks of His mallet and chisel; yet
+these cold barren wastes were the pasture lands of the shaggy-coated
+white goats and the lithe-limbed bighorned sheep.
+
+Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced the air and with a jump I
+instinctively looked for a vision of the Wild Hunter, but a moment later
+realized that the sound I heard was but the warning cry of a whistling
+marmot. Again the silence was broken, this time by a low rumbling sound
+which increased in volume until it roared like a broadside from an old
+forty-four-gun man-of-war, each crag and peak taking up the sound and
+hurling it against its neighbor, until the reverberating noise seemed to
+come from all points of the compass.
+
+Away in the distance I could see a white stream pouring from the
+precipitous edge of an elevated glacier; this seeming mountain torrent I
+knew was not water, but ice, thousands of tons of which having cracked
+and broken from the edge of the glacier, were now being dashed over the
+hard face of the rock into minute fragments.
+
+The white stream could be seen to decrease perceptibly in size, from a
+broad sheet to a wide band, a narrow ribbon, a line, a hair and then
+disappear altogether. While the distant mountains were still growling,
+mumbling and playing shuttlecock with the echoes a timid chief hare went
+hopping across a green half-acre of grass at the damp edge of a melting
+snow patch in my path. Overhead a golden eagle sailed with a small
+mammal in its talons; strange reddish-colored bumblebees busied
+themselves in a bunch of flowers growing in a crevice in the rocks at my
+feet.
+
+But my eye could discern no larger creatures in this Alpine pasture
+land; not only could I see no sheep or goats, but not a sign of my
+friend. He had vanished from the face of the picture as completely as if
+the master artist had erased him with one mighty sweep of his paint
+brush.
+
+When I viewed the lonely landscape with no human being in sight, I
+confess to experiencing a creepy sensation and a strong inclination to
+flee, but I knew not in what direction to run. I was in a rough
+basin-shaped depression among the mountain peaks, and I sat on a large
+rock with my back to a black chasm. From my elevated position I could
+see a long distance. Strange fancies creep into one's head on such
+occasions and play havoc with previous well-founded beliefs. To me, poor
+fool of a tenderfoot, Big Pete had melted into the thinnest of thin air,
+such as is only found in high altitudes, and somehow I wondered whether
+the Wild Hunter had had anything to do with it.
+
+How could I tell that I myself was not invisible?
+
+I hauled myself up short there for I realized that such folly was not
+good to have tumbling around in my brain. I figuratively pulled myself
+back to earth, and to steady my nerves reached into my pack and brought
+out several hard bits of bannock that I had stored there. I was
+dreadfully hungry and I munched these with enthusiasm, meanwhile
+keeping a sharp eye out for Big Pete, and between times making the
+acquaintance of the little chief hare who, as he scuttled about among
+the rocks, looked me over curiously.
+
+A short distance to my left was a huge obsidian cliff, the glassy walls
+of which rose in a precipice to a considerable height. On account of its
+peculiar formation, this crag of natural glass had several times
+attracted my attention, and on any other occasion I would have been
+curious enough to give it closer inspection. Once, as I turned my head
+in that direction, I thought I heard a wild laugh and later concluded
+that it was only imagination on my part, but now, as I again faced the
+cliff, I unmistakably heard a shout and was considerably relieved to see
+silhouetted against the sky the figure of Big Pete.
+
+"Hello, Le-loo," he shouted. "Through chasin' that 'ere spook Indian kid
+be you? It's about time. Gosh-all-hemlocks! I been breakin' my neck
+tryin' to keep up with you, doggone yore hide," shouted the big guide as
+he started to climb down toward me.
+
+"Hello, Pete! You bet I'm through and I'm blamed near all in. Where are
+we, do you know?" I called to him.
+
+"Top o' the world, my boy. Top o' the world, that's whar we be," he said
+with a grin.
+
+I had seen no game since I had lost the bighorn, and the sunball was now
+hung low in the heavens. It appeared to me that there was every prospect
+for a supperless night, too. But Big Pete evidently had no such idea,
+and he "'lowed" that he would "mosey" 'round a bit and kill some
+varmints for grub.
+
+There seemed to be plenty of mountain lion signs, and I was surprised
+that they should frequent such high altitudes, but Pete told me that
+they were up here after marmots, and were all sleek and fat on that
+diet. I would not have been surprised if my wild comrade had proposed a
+feast on these cats. But it was not long before Pete's revolvers could
+be heard barking and in a short time he returned with two braces of
+white ptarmigan, each with its head shattered by a pistol ball, and I
+confess these birds were more to my liking than cat meat. Up there 'mid
+the snow fields the ptarmigan apparently kept their winter plumage all
+year round, and their natural camouflage made them utterly invisible to
+me, but to Pete, a white ptarmigan on a white snowfield seemed to be as
+easy to detect as if the same bird had been perched on a heap of coal. I
+had not seen one of these grouse since we had been in the mountains and
+was not aware of their presence until my companion returned with the
+four dead birds.
+
+Without wasting time, Pete began to prepare them for cooking. He soon
+built a fire of some sticks which he gleaned from one or two twisted and
+gnarled evergreens that had wandered above timber line and cooked the
+birds over the embers. He gave a brace to me, and sitting on a boulder
+with our feet hanging over the edge we ate our evening meal without salt
+or pepper, and then each of us curled up like a grey wolf under the
+shelter of a stone and slept as safely as if we were in our bed rolls
+down in the genial atmosphere of the park in place of being in the
+bitingly cold air of the bleak mountain tops.
+
+I, at least, slept soundly, and, thanks to the clothes Pete had so
+kindly made for me, I do not remember feeling cold. When I awoke again
+it was daylight and I could scarcely believe that I had been asleep more
+than five minutes since my friend bade me good-night. Big Pete was up
+before me, of course, and when I opened my eyes I found him cooking
+breakfast and making tea in a tin cup over those economical fires he so
+loved to build even when we were in the park where there was fuel enough
+for a roaring bonfire. It's queer how difficult it is to make water boil
+on a mountain top.
+
+"Well, now fer the witch-b'ar track agin," said Big Pete, wiping his
+mouth.
+
+"Witch-bear!" I exclaimed. "Oh--yes--you don't mean to tell me you kept
+following the track of that two-legged bear this far, Pete?" I
+exclaimed, suddenly recalling that we had started out following a
+mysterious moccasin trail that had later turned into bear tracks.
+
+"Sartin' sure. Didn't you figger out that that tha' b'ar war the Injun
+or tha' Wild Hunter who put on moccasins made o' b'ar feet when he
+thought we'd foller him?" asked Pete.
+
+"Yes, I did, but I forgot--maybe that ram was the Wild Hunter
+himself--blame it. Nothing will astonish me in this country."
+
+"Yes, you fergot everything, even yore head when you started to foller
+that tha' ram yesterday. But I didn't. I jest kept peggin' away at them
+tha' rumswattel b'ar tracks and I followed 'em right up to yonder cliff.
+They go on from tha', but I left 'em last night to come over by you.
+Come on, we'll pick 'em up agin." And off he started.
+
+It was soon evident that it was an exceedingly active bear which we were
+following for it could climb over green glacier ice like a Swiss guide
+and over rocks like a goat. It led us a wild, wild chase over crevasses,
+friable and treacherous stones covered with "verglass," over dangerous
+couloirs and all the other things talked of in the Alps but forgotten in
+the Rockies, to high elevations, where frozen snow combed over the
+beetling crags, and the avalanches roared and thundered down the rocks,
+dashing the fragments of stone over the lower ice fields. We were not
+roped together like mountain climbers in the Swiss or Tyrolean Alps; we
+got the real thrills by using our own hands and feet without ice pick,
+staff or hobnailed shoes.
+
+But Big Pete never hesitated and I followed him without a word, and when
+the trail led along the edge of a dizzy height I could look at the
+middle of Big Pete's broad back and then my head would not swim. It
+required quick and good judgment to tell just how much of a slant made a
+loose stone unsafe to step upon. It was exciting and exhilarating work,
+and the violent exercise kept me so warm that I carried most of my
+clothes in a bundle on my back. Presently our path led us into a goat
+trail, one of those century old paths made by shaggy white Alpine
+animals, and used by them as regular highways. There were plenty of
+fresh goat signs, and the broad path led us over a saddle mountain to
+the verge of a cliff, beyond which it seemed impossible for anything but
+birds to pursue the trail. Here we sat down to rest and to make a cup of
+tea over a tiny fire, although wood was plentiful at this place, it
+being in the timber line.
+
+Below us lay a valley, into which numerous small glaciers emptied their
+everlasting supply of ice and blocks of stone, and horse-tail falls
+poured from the melting snow fields. It might have presented enchanting
+prospects to an iceman or a bighorn, or a Rocky Mountain goat, but for
+two tired men it was a gloomy, dangerous and desolate place and I felt
+certain that even a witch-bear would not choose such a dangerous place
+as a camping ground. We had finished our tea and I was feeling somewhat
+refreshed when I noticed a peculiar stinging sensation about my face; I
+felt as if I had been attacked by some peculiar form of insect. But
+there were none in sight.
+
+Pete, at this time, was some distance away prospecting the "lay of the
+land." I saw him suddenly pull the cape of his wamus over his face, and
+reasoned that he also had been attacked by these invisible insects.
+
+To my surprise, the big fellow seemed very much alarmed, and every time
+I shouted to him it greatly excited him. As he was hurrying to me as
+rapidly as possible, I desisted from further inquiry. When Big Pete
+reached my side he pulled a handkerchief from around my neck and put it
+over my mouth, making signs which I did not comprehend. At last he put
+his muffled mouth to my ear and shouted through the cape of his wamus.
+"Shut yer meat-trap or you're food for the coyotes. It is the WHITE
+DEATH!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Clothes and stage trappings can neither add nor detract from our respect
+for death. He is the same grim old gentleman, be his mouldy bones naked,
+or clothed in robes of the most gaudy or brilliant hues. A blue death, a
+red death or a yellow death is just as grizzly and awe-inspiring as one
+of any shade of gray. Even a black death excites no emotions not touched
+by the first name, for it is the dread messenger himself whom we respect
+and not his fanciful robes of office.
+
+As far as I am personally concerned, I confess that Big Pete's painful
+suggestion about the coyotes had more to do with keeping my mouth shut
+than any terror inspired by the lily-like purity of the garments of the
+white death; what made my bones ache was the thought of the wolves
+gnawing them.
+
+Overhead the sun shone with an unusual brilliancy, and the atmosphere
+had that peculiar crystalline transparency which kills space and brings
+distant objects close to one's feet. Where then was the terrible white
+messenger? Why must my head be muffled like a mummy? Why must I keep my
+mouth shut, while the curiosity mill within me was working overtime
+grinding out questions I should dearly love to ask?
+
+Again and again I looked around me to see where this ghostly white
+terror might lurk, and now, as I gazed at the mountains, I was surprised
+and annoyed to discover that the distant peaks were gradually
+disappearing, being blotted out of the landscape before my eyes; a
+ghost-like mantle was creeping over and enshrouding the mountains.
+
+Like Big Pete, the witch-bear, the ptarmigan and the stinging insects,
+the mountains themselves had joined in the weird game and were donning
+their fernseed caps of invisibility. Now the air around and about me
+seemed to be filled with powdered dust of mica that glinted, sparkled
+and scintillated in the sunshine. The breeze which was tossing about the
+bright atoms loosened the handkerchief which swathed my nose and mouth,
+and I was seized with a violent fit of coughing.
+
+It was no gentle hand which Big Pete laid on my shoulder before he again
+bound the handkerchief around my face and motioned for me to follow him.
+
+Evidently my guide had been making good use of his time while I was
+engaged in idle speculation, for he led me to a point about fifty yards
+from the goat trail where there was a possible place to descend the
+cliff to a ledge fifty feet below. By this time I had become enough of a
+mountaineer to follow my guide over trails which a few weeks previous
+would have seemed to me impossible to traverse, and after a hasty and
+daring descent we reached the ledge, where I discovered the black mouth
+of a cavern; into this hole Pete thrust me and led me back some twenty
+yards into the darkness, ordered me to disrobe to the waist, then he
+began a most vigorous and irritating slapping and rubbing of my chest;
+so insistent and persevering was he that I really thought my skin would
+be peeled from shoulders to waist. At last he desisted and ordered me to
+put on all my clothes.
+
+"Are you mad, Pete? Has the rarefied air of the mountains upset your
+brain? If not, will you kindly tell me what on earth all this means and
+why we are hiding in this gloomy hole?" I asked as soon as I got the
+breath back in my body.
+
+"Le-loo, you be a baby, and need a keeper to prevent you from committing
+susancide several times a day. Tenderfoot? Well, I should say so. No one
+but a short-horn from the East would keep his mouth open gulping in the
+frozen fog, filling his warm lungs with quarts of fine ice. I reckon it
+would be healthier to breathe pounded glass, fur it hain't sharper nor
+half as cold. Why, Le-loo, tha' be a dose of fever and lung inflammation
+in every mouthful of this frozen fog."
+
+He held my face between his two strong hands so that the faint light
+that filtered through the murky darkness from the cavern's mouth dimly
+illuminated my countenance, and as he watched the streams of
+perspiration falling in drops from the end of my nose his frown relaxed
+and a broad grin spread over his handsome features.
+
+"You're all right this time," he added "I calculate that I've melted all
+the ice in your bellows, so just creep up tha' and sweat a bit more to
+make it slick and sartin that we've beat the White Death this trip." I
+did as he said, not because I wanted to sweat but because habit made me
+obey the commands of my guide.
+
+Evidently this cavern had been in constant use by some sort of animals
+as a sort of stable for many, many years, and I have had sweeter
+couches, but by this time my rough life had transformed me into
+something of a wild animal myself, and it was not long before I was
+comfortably dozing. During the time that I slept I was dimly conscious
+of being surrounded by a crowd of people; as the absurdity of this
+forced itself through my sleep-befuddled brain and I opened wide my
+eyes, what I saw made me open my eyes still wider.
+
+I was about to start to my feet when I felt Big Pete's restraining hand
+on my shoulder, and not until then did I realize that the cave was
+crowded with the shaggy white Rocky Mountain goats, and not weird,
+white-bearded old men. Few persons can truly say that they have been
+within arm's length of a flock of these timid and almost unapproachable
+animals; but we had invaded their secret place of refuge, and they had
+not, as yet, taken alarm at our presence in their castle. It may be that
+the frozen fog had driven the goats to the cavern for shelter, and it is
+possible that never having been hunted by man, these animals feared the
+White Death more than they did human beings, and did not realize the
+dangerous character of their present visitors; whatever the cause of
+their temerity, the fact remains that men and goats slept that night in
+the cavern together.
+
+I did not awake next morning until after the departure of the goats and
+opened my eyes to find myself alone in the cavern.
+
+Having all my clothes on, no time was wasted at my toilet, but I made my
+way directly to the doorway and was gratified to discover that Big Pete
+was roasting some kid chops over the hot embers of a fire.
+
+After breakfasting on the remains of the kid, Big Pete arose and scanned
+the sky, the horizon and the mountain tops, and turning to me said,
+"Now, Le-loo, that Wild Hunter-b'ar-wolf man has fooled us by doubling
+on his trail an' as it hain't him we're after now but the trail out of
+the mountains, I mean to go by sens-see-ation, but you must keep yer
+meat-trap shut and not speak, 'cause soon as I know I'm a man I hain't
+got no more sense than a man. I must say to myself, 'Now, Pete, you're a
+varmint and varmints know their way even in a new country.' Then I just
+sense things and trots along 'til I come out all right."
+
+I had often heard of this wonderful instinct of direction, the homing
+instinct of the pigeon, which some Indians, Africans, Australian black
+boys and a few white men still possess; I say still possess because it
+is evident that it was once our common heritage, a sort of sixth sense
+which has been lost by disuse. That Big Pete possessed this sixth sense
+I little doubted, and it was with absorbing interest that I watched the
+man work himself into the proper state of mind.
+
+For quite a time he stood sniffing the air and looking around him while
+his body swayed with a slow motion. Then suddenly, as if he had seen
+something or as if answering the call of something, he started off
+almost at right angles to our trail, acting very much like a hound on an
+old scent, but keeping up a pace that tried my endurance.
+
+It was truly wonderful the way this man, in a trance-like state, was
+guided by an invisible power over the most dangerous ground, but no one,
+after a careful survey, could have selected a better trail than that
+chosen by Big Pete. On and on we went, scrambling over rock-skirting
+precipices and crumbling ledges. A dense fog settled around us, making
+each step hazardous, but with an instinct as true and apparently
+identical with that of our four-footed brothers, my guide kept the same
+rapid pace for hours, and then, all of a sudden, came to an abrupt stop.
+
+For several seconds he stood in his tracks, his body keeping the same
+swaying motion, but after a short while he crept cautiously forward in
+the fog, with me at his heels, and we found ourselves at the edge of a
+giant fault, similar to the one in Darlinkel Park, but there was
+apparently no pass to let us down the towering precipices to the valley
+below.
+
+"Well, that was a wonderful trip," I cried.
+
+"Shut up!" shouted Pete savagely, but I had spoken and the spell was
+broken; reason, not instinct, must now lead us.
+
+Vapor and clouds concealed the low grounds from our view; however, we
+were determined not to spend another night in the mountains, so while I
+rested and regained my breath, Big Pete went on to explore the ledges.
+
+Presently my guide hove in sight and motioned me to follow him; he led
+me to a place where another goat trail went over the edge of the
+precipice, this time not in ten and fifteen feet jumps, but by a steep
+diagonal path. Down the treacherous trail we slipped and slid with a
+wall of rocks on one side and death in the form of a bluish white space
+on the other side.
+
+As we were clambering carefully around the face of a big rock Pete
+suddenly whispered that he smelt a "Painter," and upon peering around
+the corner we found ourselves face to face with a large cat; the animal
+was crouching upon a flat-topped projecting stone immediately in our
+path. That it was not the puma of the low-lands, its reddish-colored
+coat and great size proclaimed. It was a so-called mountain lion and a
+grand specimen of its kind.
+
+The cat's small head lay between its muscular forepaws, its hair adhered
+closely to its body, its long tail was full and round and waved slowly
+from side to side, while its eyes gleamed like electric sparks.
+
+We were in a most awkward position; our guns were swung by straps over
+our backs, so that we might use our hands, and we were clinging to the
+face of the big rock while our toes were seeking foothold in the
+treacherous shale of the trail. To loosen our hands was to fall
+backwards into the bluish white sea of unknown depths, and to retrace
+our steps was out of the question.
+
+Pete often expressed the opinion that no predaceous creature, from a
+spider up to a cougar, will attack its prey while the latter is
+immovable.
+
+As a corollary to this proposition he said that when a person is
+suddenly confronted by a dangerous wild beast, the safest plan to pursue
+is to remain perfectly quiet, or, as he quaintly put it, "to peetrify
+yourself in the wink of an eye."
+
+Truth to tell, on this occasion I found no difficulty in following his
+directions. I was "peetrified" by fear; my feet were cold and numb,
+chills in wavelets washed up and down my spine, a sudden rash seemed to
+be breaking out all over my body and the skin on my back felt as if it
+had been converted into goose-flesh.
+
+Had we been able to travel a few feet further we would have both found a
+comparatively safe footing and had our arms free and a fighting chance
+with the big catamount in place of hanging suspended to the face of the
+rock like two big, helpless, terrified bats.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+With an imperceptible movement, as steady and almost as slow as that of
+a glacier, my guide twisted his neck until his face was turned from the
+puma and the side of the mouth pressed against the flat surface of his
+rock. I was crowded up against Big Pete, who occupied a position but
+slightly in advance and a little above me. My agony of fear having
+somewhat subsided I ventured to steal a momentary glance at my comrade's
+face. To my unutterable surprise I discovered a whimsical twinkling at
+the corners of his eyes and a mirthful expression of mischief in his
+countenance. This was incomprehensible to me, for I could imagine no
+more awe-inspiring position than the one we then occupied.
+
+While my thoughts were still busy trying to fathom the cause of Pete's
+untimely mirth, the long-drawn howl of the big timber wolf floated over
+the valley and sent a new lot of shivers down my back. It was the
+rallying call used by the wolves to call the band together when game is
+in sight. The sound increased in volume until it reverberated among the
+crags like the voice of a winter's storm, and then it gradually died
+away. Big Pete was not only a good mimic but he proved himself to be a
+ventriloquist of no mean ability; by the help of the rock against which
+his cheek was pressed he had been able to throw his voice off into space
+in such a manner that it baffled me for several moments.
+
+The gray wolves are old and inveterate enemies of the panther or cougar,
+hunting the cats on all occasions. Consequently all panthers know the
+meaning of that wild lonesome howl, the assembling call, as well as the
+oldest wolf in the pack, and its effect upon the lion in our path was
+instantaneous. The hair, which had a moment before been as slick as if
+it were oiled, now rose upright until the fuzzy hide gave the animal's
+body the appearance of being twice its original size.
+
+Scarcely had the big cat vacated the path before we scrambled to the
+firm foothold and I breathed a great sigh of relief when it was reached.
+But Big Pete was convulsed with suppressed laughter at the practical
+joke he had played on the mountain lion.
+
+"Gosh darn my magnolia breath! That painter went as if he had a ball of
+hot rorrum tied to his tail," cried my guide.
+
+It was difficult for me to realize that it was Big Pete himself who had
+given vent to that shuddering howl, and now the danger was over I
+pleaded with him to give another exhibition of his skill in wolf calls.
+
+The good-natured fellow at first seemed reluctant to repeat his
+performance, but at length consented and put his hands to his mouth,
+forming a trumpet, then bent forward his body, stooping so low that his
+face was was below his waist, after which he began again that wild cry
+which so closely resembles in sentiment and tone the shriek of the wind.
+As the sound increased in volume the man waved his head from side to
+side; continuing the movement he gradually assumed an upright pose, and
+ended by making a low obeisance as the sound died away.
+
+The imitation was perfect and I was expressing my delight and
+appreciation when my ear caught a distant sound which put a sudden stop
+to our conversation.
+
+Was it the wind which I now heard? No! there was not a breath of air
+stirring, neither was it an echo. There could be no doubt about it, the
+long-drawn sepulchral howl which filled and permeated the shivering air
+was an answering cry to Big Pete's call.
+
+Scarcely had the sound waves faded away when in the mysterious distance
+came another and another answer, until it seemed as if a troop of lost
+souls were vocalizing their misery. I unslung my gun and loosened my
+revolvers in their fringed holsters, but Big Pete only shrugged his
+shoulders and said,
+
+"Come, let's be moseying. 'Taint nothin' but wolves." A fact of which I
+was as well aware of as Pete, but I, tenderfoot that I was, could not
+treat howling of wolves with the same unconcern as did my guide.
+
+We soon reached a point where the goat trail turned again up the
+mountain and we forsook that ancient path for a diagonal fracture very
+similar to the one by which we had ascended, which led down the face of
+the precipice "slantendicularwise," Big Pete said, and soon plunged into
+the bluish gray sea which filled the valley. We were now enveloped in a
+dense fog, which added materially to the dangers of the journey. I had
+had so many thrills in the last few moments that my nerves were becoming
+dull and failed to vibrate on this occasion, so that descending the
+cliff in a fog by a diagonal fracture in the rock became only an
+incident of our journey; this trail, however, was wider than the one by
+which we ascended.
+
+The Rocky Mountains are full of new sensations and I got a new one when
+I discovered that the fog through which we had been traveling was in
+reality a cloud, and, all unexpectedly, we emerged into the clear mellow
+light below the floating vapor. It was an enchanting scene which met our
+eyes; below us stretched a beautiful valley.
+
+For the first time in months I saw a human habitation. The blue smoke
+from the chimney ascended slowly in a tall column and then floated
+horizontally in stratified layers. There were fields of ripe grain,
+orchards, groves, pasture lands and a winding stream fringed with
+poplars, which flowed in a tortuous course across the valley. As I
+feasted my eyes on the peaceful scene a great longing took possession of
+my soul.
+
+Big Pete, too, was lost in thought, conjured up by the scene below us.
+He stood leaning on his rifle with his eyes fixed on the enchanting
+picture; so full of unconscious dignity was his pose, so immovable stood
+the mountain man that he looked like a grand statue done by a master
+hand.
+
+But what thoughts were conjured up in the guide's brain by the
+unexpected sight of this ranch could not be interpreted from the
+expression of his countenance, for that showed no more trace of emotion
+than an American Indian at the torture stake, or the marble face of a
+Greek god. Presently he shifted his pose, threw back his head, and Big
+Pete's eyes were fixed on the valley in front of us, as with distended
+nostrils he sniffed the mountain air, his brows contracted to a frown,
+his eyes lost their gentle angelic look and seemed to change from China
+blue to a cold steel color, and his tightly closed mouth had a stern
+expression about the corners which appeared altogether out of keeping
+with the occasion.
+
+"Rot my hide!" he exclaimed, "if I hain't had a neighbor all these years
+and never knowed it. Waugh! Some emigrant--terrification seize him!--has
+found another park an' squatted, t'ain't more'n eight miles as a crow
+flies from mine, nuther, Le-loo." He looked at the sun and muttered.
+"Hang me, but 'tis t'other end of my own park," then he paused a moment
+and added fiercely, "if these geysers know when they are well off,
+they'll steer shy of Darlinkel Park. If I catch 'em scoutin' 'round my
+claim, I'll send 'em a-hoppin'."
+
+"Bless me, you are neighborly," exclaimed a voice in smooth, even tones.
+
+"What!" said Pete, looking sternly at me. "Did you speak?"
+
+"I said nothing," I replied.
+
+Big Pete's countenance changed and he ran his hands over the cartridges
+in his belt in the old familiar manner, and with a motion quicker than I
+can describe it, whipped out his revolvers and wheeled about face, at
+the same time snapping out the words, "Throw up your hands!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+We were standing on the surface of a flat table-rock, which jutted out
+from the face of the towering cliff and overhung the valley that was
+spread out like a map beneath us. About twenty feet back from the edge
+of the rock was a pile of debris heaped up against the face of the
+cliff; but the remaining surface of the stone was clean bare and
+weather-beaten. The talus against the cliff was composed of loose
+fragments of stone and other products of wash and erosion. This was
+overgrown with a thicket of stunted shrubs, wry-necked goblin thistles
+and murderous devil's clubs. These bludgeon-shaped plants, thickly
+covered with sharp thorns, reared aloft their weapons as if in menace to
+all living things; the unstable ground and thorny thicket formed the
+only shelter where we could be ambushed in the rear, and it was not a
+likely spot to be chosen for such a purpose by man or beast.
+
+When Big Pete wheeled about face with his trusty revolvers in hand, I
+quickly followed his example, and our mutual surprise may be imagined
+when we found ourselves gazing in the faces of a semicircle of gigantic
+wolves. The animals were squatting on their haunches at the foot of the
+talus, their wicked slant eyes fixed upon us and their red tongues
+lolling out from their cavernous mouths.
+
+I cannot tell why, whether it was the state of my nerves or the effect
+of the rare air of the high altitude, or what, but I felt no fear at
+facing this strange wolf pack. Indeed, to me they appeared all to be
+laughing and their red tongues lolled from their open mouths in a very
+humorous fashion.
+
+The whole scene appeared to me to be exceedingly funny and, in a spirit
+of utter reckless bravado, I doffed my fur cap, with exaggerated
+politeness made a low bow, and, addressing the largest and most
+devilish-looking wolf in the pack, exclaimed,
+
+"Ah! this is Monsieur Loup-Garou, I believe. Pardon me, Monsieur, but
+did you speak a moment since?"
+
+But Big Pete Darlinkel looked at the wolves, and great beads of sweat
+stood on his forehead. It was his turn to have the shivers. There was no
+more color in his face than in a peeled turnip. His gun shook in his
+left hand like a aspen, while the spangled gun in his right hand dropped
+its muzzle towards earth and there was scarcely strength enough in his
+nerveless fingers to have pulled a hair-trigger.
+
+Pete's great baby-blue eyes turned helplessly to me; but it was now my
+innings, and with a cheery voice I cried,
+
+"Why, Pete, old fellow, what ails you?" Then meanly quoting his own
+words, I added, "They hain't nothing but wolves!"
+
+There is not a shadow of a doubt that Pete expected the wolves to answer
+me with human voice, and I am willing to confess that, even to me,
+there seemed to be no other alternative for the slant-eyed bandits to
+pursue. But for the present they appeared to prefer to maintain a solemn
+silence.
+
+The middle wolf had been looking intently at us for some time before a
+well-modulated voice said,
+
+"I have answered your call, gentlemen; how can I serve you?"
+
+I was more than half expecting some such answer, but if it had not been
+so evident that Big Pete was badly frightened and had lost all his
+self-possession, I should have thought he was again practising his art
+as ventriloquist.
+
+Of course I deceived myself. The wolves had no more power of speech than
+a house-dog. But I really thought the wolves were doing the talking
+until I caught sight of a tall man of handsome and distinguished
+appearance seated among the weird goblin-thistles just above the wolves.
+The stranger appeared to be a man of almost any age; he might be young
+but, if old, he was wonderfully well preserved. He was clad in a
+light-colored buckskin suit of clothes, edged and trimmed with fur, a
+fur cap on his head and moccasins on his feet. And I noticed, with a
+start, that he had that same red porcupine quill ornament on his hunting
+shirt that the young Indian wore.
+
+When I saw how his dress blended perfectly with his surroundings I
+excused myself for not sooner detecting him. I could not help but admire
+his easy grace and the sense of reserved strength in his strong figure.
+The calmness and repose forcibly reminded me of the mountain lion we had
+lately encountered.
+
+"You kin hackle me and card my sinews, if it hain't the Wild Hunter
+himself an' his pack," said Big Pete under his breath.
+
+The color now began to return to his face and at the recollection of his
+late rude words the big fellow blushed like a school girl. Gradually he
+recovered his self-possession, and, doffing his cap, made a low bow as
+graceful and as courtly as that of any polished courtier. This was an
+entirely new side to my friend's character and I listened with interest
+when he said,
+
+"Sir, whether you be loup-garou, werwolf, witch-b'ar or all them to
+onct, I do not care. What I want ter say is ef that tha' ranch yander be
+your'n, you may hamstring me ef I hain't proud to have such a man for a
+neighbor. Whatever else you be yore no shavetail or shorthorn, an'
+that's howsomever. I don't mind sayin' that yore a better shot an' all
+around hunter an' mountain man than Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton, Davy
+Crockett, Kit Carson, Bison McClean and Jim Baker all rolled in one.
+Yore the slickest woodsman on the divide. I'm powerful proud of you as a
+neighbor and would be still prouder ef I might call you my friend."
+
+Our strange visitor displayed a beautiful white set of teeth as a frank
+smile played over his smooth face. But his only answer at that moment
+was an inclination of his head and a muttered command to the wolves,
+which they instantly obeyed by silently disappearing in the underbrush.
+
+After a pause the tall stranger came forward, and, removing his own cap,
+made a bow even more courtly than that of Big Pete, as he thus replied:
+"Sir, I feel highly honored at this flattering expression of
+commendation. I can honestly say that it is the greatest compliment I
+have ever received from a stranger, and," he added with another winning
+smile, "you are the first stranger with whom I have held converse in
+nearly twenty years. That I am not unfriendly I have already proved by
+some trifling services, but the honor of the acquaintance is mine."
+
+After the formalities of our meeting were over the stranger stood for a
+few moments with his chin resting on his breast. He was evidently
+thinking over some serious subject. His head was bare, his fur cap being
+in his hands, and his hands locked behind his back. A mass of light
+colored hair fell over his forehead and shoulders.
+
+Presently he looked at us again, with that same grave smile on his face,
+and said that if we would consent to be blindfolded and trust ourselves
+implicitly to his care, he would be glad to take us to his home and
+would feel honored if we should choose to visit him.
+
+"You can proceed no further on this trail for it ends here, and not even
+a goat can go beyond the rock on which we stand, therefore we must
+retrace our steps a few hundred yards," he explained, as he apologized
+for his strange proposition. He securely bandaged our eyes with our own
+handkerchiefs, and after turning us around until I at least had lost all
+sense of direction, he placed thongs in our hands, and then we
+discovered that we were to be led by some sort of animals, presumably
+wolves. Whatever else they were, they proved to be careful and sagacious
+leaders.
+
+After a short distance of rough climbing where we constantly needed the
+personal help of our mysterious host, we began to descend and soon our
+feet told us that we were traveling on a comparatively smooth though
+steep trail. Now and again our guide would speak to warn us of stones or
+other obstructions in our path, but, with the exception of these
+necessary words of caution and brief words expressing approval or
+reproof to the animals, we made the journey in silence and in due time
+reached the bottom, and our feet told us that we were walking on a level
+shale-covered path.
+
+At this point the creatures leading us were dismissed and we could hear
+them scrambling back over the trail. We heard the bleating of sheep, the
+lowing of cattle and all the multiplicity of noises so familiar on a
+well-stocked farm, and we could easily detect the different odors as
+familiar and characteristic as the noises. We enjoyed to its fullest
+extent the novelty of the homely sensations aroused by the smell of
+new-mown hay and the familiar medley of sounds peculiar to the farm.
+
+In due time we found ourselves at the foot of a couple of wooden steps,
+which we ascended, and, crossing a broad veranda, entered a doorway.
+Here we stood awaiting further commands in utter ignorance of our
+surroundings. Of course, we surmised we were in the ranch house which we
+saw from the table rock, but this was only a surmise.
+
+"Gentlemen," said the strange old man, "you are welcome to my home, and
+allow me to add that you are the only white men who have ever crossed
+the threshold of this house."
+
+As he ceased speaking he removed the bandages from our eyes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+It was a strange place, indeed, in which I found myself. Our eyes were
+unbandaged after we entered the portal of the ranch house, and when Big
+Pete and I turned toward our guide, we were facing in a direction that
+gave us a sweeping view of the entire ranch. And what we saw made us
+marvel.
+
+This farm, between the towering, almost insurmountable mountains, had
+evidently been wrenched from what two decades before had been as much of
+a wilderness as the Darlinkel Park across the divide. Timber clothed the
+mountains on either hand but the fertile valley bottom was as rural as a
+district of the middle west. On one hand stretched acres and acres of
+ripened grain. Beyond was pasture land dotted with strange whitefaced
+animals, which later proved to be hybrid buffalos, a strange cross
+between wild and domestic cattle.[3] In other pastures and on the
+hillsides I could see goats and sheep, and these too were evidently a
+cross breed of wild and domestic stock, the goats having a very strange
+resemblance to the fleet-footed shaggy old fellows we had seen on the
+mountains, while the sheep closely resembled usual domestic sheep.
+
+  [Footnote 3: Since that time the late Buffalo Jones has bred
+  buffalo and domestic cattle and called the offspring "catelow."]
+
+There were stables, too, and corrals, all made of logs, as was the ranch
+house, but what seemed very strange to me was the fact that there were
+no horses in sight. All of the animals at work in the fields were those
+strange hybrid buffalo-oxen, all save one, a single, lame and apparently
+almost blind burro that I saw lying in the sun. From his grayness about
+the head I had little doubt that he was of great age.
+
+There were hordes of strange poultry too,--strange to me at least, for
+never had I expected to find flocking together wild turkeys, Canadian
+geese, black ducks, wood ducks, and mallards (all with wings clipped so
+that they never again could fly), sage hens, quail, spruce-grouse,
+partridge, ptarmigan and western mountain quail. All seemed perfectly at
+home and comfortably domesticated.
+
+Beyond the poultry houses was still another outhouse, a long, low, log
+building before which was a lawn. On the lawn were all manner of perches
+and roosts and on these, sunning themselves and preening their feathers,
+were several types of predaceous birds, ranging from huge and powerful
+female eagles to smaller hawks and true falcons. This evidently was the
+Wild Hunter's falconry.
+
+Another thing that made an instant impression upon me was the number of
+men at work about the place. The workmen were all, without an exception,
+Indians, and as they moved about silently, their stoic, almost
+expressionless faces held a decided look of contentment, a few of them
+turned toward the porch with a frank, honest stare. There was no
+evidence of fear or restraint in their actions but they always gave the
+wolf dogs plenty of room as they passed them. These black beasts were
+ugly, snarling things that showed no love for anyone; on the least
+provocation menacing growls rumbled in their throats.
+
+What manner of place was this that we had permitted ourselves to be led
+into? Indeed, what manner of man was this strange host of ours? I shot a
+sidelong glance at him and it seemed to me as if I caught a strange,
+hunted look in his eyes, and a sad smile on his handsome but grim
+countenance. A slight feeling of fear crept into my heart. Could this
+strange man be my father? For some reason he certainly did attract me
+and excite my sympathy, yet I stood in awe of him. The strangeness of my
+surroundings, too, settled upon me. I turned toward Pete and I had a
+premonition of evil. I could see that he too was affected the same way.
+The valley was an earthly paradise, the Wild Hunter a kindly gentleman,
+what then was it that gave me an uncomfortable and uneasy feeling? I
+was eager to be alone with Pete for I knew that he would have some
+interesting observations to make.
+
+"I am disappointed, gentlemen, you say nothing. Isn't my ranch
+interesting to you?" demanded the Wild Hunter, with a smile. In a low
+smooth voice he gave some orders to a young Indian who was walking
+toward the stables. The Indian instantly snapped into action and hurried
+away as if one of the black wolf dogs were snapping at his heels, and I
+felt certain that it was the youth whom we had been trailing.
+
+A hurried and very unpleasant thought flashed through my mind: What was
+the source of the power the Wild Hunter held over these Indians? They
+were not slaves in this mountain-surrounded prison; this grim, forceful
+but kindly wild man did not hold them through fear. He always smiled
+when he greeted them, but he never smiled at his wolves; when giving
+them orders or even looking at them, the expression of his face was
+stern and almost fierce. But the man had asked a question. He was
+expecting an answer.
+
+"It is a wonderful place," I managed to stammer; "who could conceive of
+such a remarkable ranch buried here in the heart of the wilderness?"
+
+"It's a ring-tailed snorter, hamstring me if it hain't," said Big Pete
+in an attempt to be enthusiastic.
+
+The man's face glowed with pleasure.
+
+"You are the first white men to see it. I think I have achieved
+something here in the wilds, thanks a great deal to Pluto and his
+strain."
+
+"Eh, what?" exclaimed Big Pete in alarm.
+
+"To--to--whom," I gasped, for to have the man actually confess an
+alliance with Satan rather startled me also.
+
+The Wild Hunter chuckled in an amused manner.
+
+"Thanks to Pluto, I said. But Pluto is that black wolf-dog over there,
+nevertheless. I think that the name 'Pluto' fits his character to a
+nicety."
+
+He pointed to the massive, deep-chested, long-haired, long-limbed,
+vicious looking leader of his black wolf pack where it was chained to a
+post. The great animal glared at his master when his name was mentioned.
+He crouched twenty feet away with his slanting green eyes fixed
+constantly on his master's face and in them ever flared a fierce, wicked
+fire.
+
+"Yes, you son of Satan, you and your hybrid whelps have helped me do all
+this in spite of the fact that you hate me, and would love to tear me
+limb from limb. You splendid, ugly brute, you are insensible to
+kindness!"
+
+I noticed that whenever he looked the wolf in the face his own
+countenance became grim and his eyes exceedingly fierce and not unlike
+the wolf itself in expression.
+
+[Illustration: "I think the name 'Pluto' fits his character to a
+nicety"]
+
+"He hates me," he continued, turning to us, "because of his ancestors.
+In him is the blood of a Great Dane noted for its strength, size and
+ferocity, a fierce brute which I brought over the mountains with me many
+years ago. Pluto's mother was a pure black wolf of a mean disposition,
+and his father the half-breed son of a Great Dane and a she-wolf. He is
+the fiercest and most bloodthirsty beast in the whole pack, he hates me
+with the intense hatred of his wolfish nature, he hates me because he
+knows that I am the master of the pack, the real leader, and he is
+jealous. Since his puppy days he has watched for a chance to kill me;
+twice he nearly succeeded--the time will no doubt come when it will be
+his life or mine. Yet because of his wonderful strength, endurance and
+sagacity, I could almost love him.
+
+"His breed does not want to recognize any master. But _I am_ his
+master!" cried the Wild Hunter as his eyes flashed and he struck himself
+on his chest, "and he knows it. The only way, however, that I keep my
+power over him and his pack is by forcing myself to think every time I
+speak to them, now I am going to _kill you_, and brutes though they are
+they can read my mind and fear me. Besides which self-interest helps a
+little towards their loyalty. With me for a leader there is always a
+kill at the end of the hunt, and they know that they come in for a share
+of the food.
+
+"Sometimes I fear the wolves will break loose and attack my Indians,
+which I would very much regret, for the Redmen are faithful fellows and
+we form a happy community. The Indians look upon me as Big Medicine
+because I can control these medicine wolves."
+
+Big Pete looked at the man with open admiration, a man who by the sheer
+power of his will could control a band of wolves, any one of which was
+powerful enough to kill an ox, certainly was a man to please the wild
+nature of Big Pete. "But," said Pete, "you say Pluto has helped you.
+How?" he asked.
+
+"How," exclaimed the Wild Hunter, "why, gentlemen, by governing the pack
+as savage as himself. The pack is the secret of my whole success; my
+power over them first won the allegiance of the Indians, won their
+admiration and their respect. They know that I could turn those wolves
+upon them at any moment, but they also know that I would not think of
+doing such an act and they are human and love me; the wolves are brutes
+and not susceptible to kindness. The wolves hate the Redmen as they hate
+me, but they supplied us all with food, they secured for us our winter
+meat while the men worked to build houses and clear the land, and thus
+made it possible for us to start this settlement. They even acted as
+pack animals for us, each of them carrying as much as seventy pounds in
+weight on their backs. But be on your guard, gentlemen, be on your
+guard! Remember that you are strangers to the wolves and they will not
+hesitate, if the opportunity offers, to rend you and even devour you."
+
+A moment later his expression changed.
+
+"Enough of this," he exclaimed in pleasanter tones, "come, dinner is
+served," and turning, he led the way through the broad doorway of the
+log ranch house into an almost sumptuously furnished dining room where
+two silent, soft-footed Indians began immediately to serve a truly
+remarkable meal.
+
+"He may be lo-coed," whispered Pete to me as we took our places at the
+table, "but I'll tell the folks, he is a master looney alright. He knows
+how to make Injuns love him and varmints fear him, he kin pack all his
+duffle in my bag, he need not cough up eny money when he's with me.
+Reckon we be alright here, but waugh! we've gotter watch tha' black wolf
+pack!--yes and also that young Indian whose ram you shot; it seems he
+looks after the wolves and sees to it that they are fastened up in their
+corral. I wouldn't want him to be sort of careless, you know."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+What a dining room that was! All of logs, high ceilinged, with smoked
+rafters stained like an old meerschaum pipe. It reminded me of a wealthy
+man's hunting lodge in Maine, perhaps, rather than the abode of a wild
+man. There was a huge yawning fireplace at one end, above which was the
+finest specimen of an elk's head I have ever seen. There were other
+heads, too, prong-horned antelope, beautiful bison heads, remarkable
+specimens of bighorn sheep and mountain goats, there were buffalo robes
+and wolf robes strewn over the floor, and there were abundant well
+stocked gun cases on every hand.
+
+But conspicuous among the collection of firearms was one, kept apart,
+polished and cleaned, and on a rack made of elk horns handily placed
+just above the big mantle. It was beautifully though not elaborately
+made, with a fine damascus barrel of tremendous length, a lock and set
+trigger that showed expert handicraft, and stock of beautifully polished
+birds-eye maple. An expert would have known immediately that it was a
+first-water product of an expert gunsmith.
+
+Big Pete noticed it as soon as I did and he could not keep his eyes from
+roving to it occasionally during the meal.
+
+"You may scalp me, stranger, fer sayin' it, but I'd like mightily well
+to heft that tha' shooting iron o' your'n and examine it when we git
+through with chuck," he said.
+
+Our strange host looked up at the rifle, then searchingly at Big Pete.
+
+"I don't mind showing it to you, but you must not touch it," he said
+finally.
+
+"I reckon I wouldn't hurt it none. I've handled guns before," said Big
+Pete shortly, and I could see that he was piqued at the man's attitude.
+
+"Guess you wouldn't, but I've made it a rule never to let strange hands
+touch that rifle," said the strange man, and there was a grimness about
+his tone that forbade quibbling.
+
+"Huh, well I can't say as perhaps yore not right about yore shootin'
+hardware at that," said Pete. Then after glancing at it again, he added,
+"a hunter's gun and a woodsman's ax should never be trusted in strange
+hands. Bet a ten spot it's a Patrick Mullen. Hain't it?"
+
+The name of my kinsman, the famous gunsmith, brought a sudden
+realization that Mullen was my own family name.
+
+The mention of the gunsmith seemed also to have a curious effect on the
+old man. His face grew red under the tan and his brow wrinkled and I
+could see his cold blue eyes scrutinizing Big Pete closely. Finally he
+said bluntly,
+
+"It is, and it's worth a thousand dollars."
+
+"A thousand dollars!" I exclaimed, "a thousand dollars?"
+
+"Yes," cried the old man almost fiercely, "yes, yes, and it is my gun.
+He gave it to me, he did--to me and not to Donald. He--"
+
+He stood up suddenly as if he intended to stride over and seize the gun,
+to protect it from us but as quickly sat down again and buried his face
+in his hands, and I could see him biting his lips as if he were
+attempting to control his feeling.
+
+As for me, quite suddenly a great light seemed to dawn. This strange old
+man was mentioning names that were familiar--that meant worlds to me. I
+leaned toward him eagerly. Big Pete stood quietly listening, a silent
+but interested spectator.
+
+"Did you know Donald Mullen, a brother to the famous gunsmith? Tell me,
+did you know him? I have come all the way--"
+
+I stopped in wonder. Never in all my life do I ever expect to witness
+such a pitiful expression of anguish pictured so vividly on the human
+countenance as it was on the face of the Wild Hunter.
+
+"What," he whispered, "did you know him?"
+
+"He was my father," I answered simply.
+
+For a moment the Wild Hunter looked at me intently, then said, "I
+believe you, you favor him somewhat." He then came forward as if to
+shake my hand, but changed his mind and sat down with a forced and wan
+smile.
+
+"Did I know Don Mullen? Did I? He was my partner, my bunkee for many
+years and on many prospecting trips, a better bunkee no man ever had,
+but he is dead now, dead! dead! dead! been dead for a dozen years. He
+was killed by an avalanche. A better partner no man ever had," he
+murmured and relaxed into silence.
+
+My efforts to get more information of my parents were of no avail. The
+Wild Hunter turned the conversation in other directions.
+
+Of course, the knowledge that my real father was dead, had been dead a
+long time, caused me a feeling of sadness, yet strangely enough the
+little knowledge that I had gleaned from this strange old man brought a
+sense of relief to me. I think that it must have been a certain sense
+of satisfaction to know that this queer man was not my father.
+
+But if he was not Donald Mullen, who was he? That question kept me
+pondering and for the rest of the meal I was silent, speculating on this
+strange situation, nor did I have an opportunity to note, as Big Pete
+did, the tearful, kindly glances that the Wild Hunter shot at me now and
+then.
+
+Still, for all, he was sociable, extremely sociable, and talkative, too,
+but I fancy now as I recall it, he was simply keeping the conversation
+in safe channels, for it was very apparent that the rifle and his former
+mining partner were painful subjects.
+
+Dinner over, we all went out onto the porch of the ranch house, where we
+talked while the twilight lasted. At least Big Pete and the Wild Hunter
+talked as they smoked two of those mysterious long cigars, but I was
+still silent because of the many strange thoughts that were romping
+through my mind.
+
+Soon darkness settled down and Big Pete began to yawn. I also was
+heavy-eyed, and presently the Wild Hunter clapped his hands and summoned
+a leather-skinned old Indian to whom he gave brief low command in the
+Mewan Indian tongue, as I was afterwards informed by Big Pete, then
+turning to us he said in his fascinating soft voice:
+
+"It will probably be a novelty for both of you gentlemen to again sleep
+in a bed between sheets and under a roof. I doubt whether you will enjoy
+it even though the sheets are clean linen which were spun and woven by
+my noble Indians. Moose Ear, here, will conduct you to your rooms and I
+will take a turn about the place before retiring to see that all is
+well, and also to see that my black wolf pack is securely confined
+within the wolf corral. This is a precaution, gentlemen, which I take
+every night, because a wolf is a wolf no matter how well trained he may
+be upon the surface, and night is the time wolves delight to run. These
+beasts are especially dangerous to strangers and it is for that reason I
+am putting you in the house in place of allowing you to camp outdoors,
+as I know you would prefer to do. Good-night, gentlemen, see that the
+doors are closed. Pleasant dreams."
+
+As we said good-night to him I wondered vaguely if the wolf pen was
+securely built, for it seemed to me that I detected a suggestion of
+doubt in the mind of the Wild Hunter himself. I little realized,
+however, the horrors the darkness had in store for us.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Moose Ear, the silent, wrinkled old Indian, with lighted candles made of
+buffalo tallow, guided Big Pete and me up the broad skilfully built
+puncheon stairway to the upper story of the surprisingly large ranch
+house, where he showed us to our rooms, rooms which were a joy to look
+upon. Each was furnished with a heavy, hand-made four-posted bedstead,
+which in spite of the massiveness was beautifully made, and I wondered
+at the patience of the Wild Hunter in teaching the Indians their
+craftmanship.
+
+The other furniture in the room was also hand wrought, as were the fiber
+rugs on the floor and the checked homespun blankets on the beds. There
+was a harmonious and pleasing effect; the rooms were cheerful, abounding
+in evidences of Indian handicraft. Beadwork and embroidery of dyed
+porcupine quills were prevalent, even the tester which roofed the
+four-post bedstead was ornamented with fringes of buckskin and designs
+made of beads and porcupine quills. The chairs and floors were
+plentifully supplied with fur rugs, and the quaint, old-fashioned
+appearance of the room in nowise detracted from its comfort or even
+luxury.
+
+If it had not been for the uncomfortable thought of that pack of black
+wolves outside, I am sure I would have been supremely happy at the
+prospect of once more spending a night between clean and cool sheets and
+a real feather pillow on which to rest my head. Eagerly and almost
+excitedly I threw off my clothes and donned the long, linen nightshirt
+with which old Moose Ear had provided me. Then I put the buckhorn
+extinguisher over the candle and dove into the feather bed as gleefully
+as a child on Christmas Eve.
+
+I expected to immediately fall asleep, but there is where I made a
+mistake; my mind would not cease working, the wheels in my head kept
+buzzing and would not stop. I was as wide awake as a codfish; the bed
+was comfortable, too comfortable, but tired though I was I felt no
+inclination to sleep. I thought it was the strangeness of my
+surroundings which kept me tossing from side to side, but I soon
+realized that the trouble was to be found in the fact that for months I
+had only had the sky for my roof, never using our tents or open faced
+shack except in bad weather; but here, the ornamented tester of the bed
+and the ceiling itself seemed to be resting on my chest; in spite of the
+wide open windows the room seemed stuffy and oppressive. I felt as if I
+would suffocate.
+
+Twice I got up and sat by the open window and gazed out at the black
+landscape. The sky was cloudy and there were no stars; this combined
+with the pine trees about the ranch house made the darkness so black and
+thick that it seemed as if one might cut it in chunks, with a knife. The
+air felt good to breathe but I did not propose to sit by the window all
+night so at last I arose, put moccasins on my feet and, taking my
+blankets with me, stole stealthily down the stairs, opened the front
+door and made my bed on the floor of the broad piazza. I had not
+forgotten the warning to keep indoors, but I thought I would rather risk
+the wolves than to smother all night.
+
+In the darkness I discovered another occupant of the piazza also rolled
+up in a blanket taken from a bed in the house. Feeling with my hands I
+discovered that it was Big Pete. Comfortably settling myself in my
+blanket I felt the breeze from the mountain blowing over my face and
+through my hair, and it soothed me until I dropped off into gentle
+slumber; but during the months I had been sleeping in the open I had
+learned the art, as the saying is, of sleeping with one eye open. In
+this case, however, if the eye had really been wide open it could have
+seen nothing because of the darkness, but the darkness did not interfere
+with my ability to hear, and after I had been sleeping awhile I found
+myself suddenly sitting bolt upright in my blankets with beads of
+perspiration on my forehead and that terrible sensation of horror which
+one experiences in a nightmare. I knew that I had heard something, but
+what?
+
+The oppressive silence of the wilderness made the valley appear as if
+Nature was holding her breath for a moment before giving voice to an
+explosion of sound. I sensed impending disaster of some sort. What it
+was I could not guess, but was convinced that something was about to
+happen.
+
+As I held my breath and listened, the ranch house was silent; even Pete
+had not, apparently, awakened, but I could not hear his regular
+breathing. Now I thought I could detect a soft and very faint noise as
+of some large body creeping over the puncheon steps. I also imagined I
+detected the noise of padded feet and the scraping noise of claws on the
+wood. A shudder ran through me. Was a panther, a mountain lion, about to
+spring upon me? No, I abandoned the thought and instinctively I knew
+that it must be one of the black wolf pack. Then I remembered hearing
+the cracking and breaking of sticks or timber while I was trying to
+sleep in the bedroom, and I felt that Pluto had broken out of the pen
+and was creeping up on us slowly and stealthily as I have seen a fox
+creep up on a covey of quail.
+
+Would the beast presently hurl its terrible form upon me, or on Big
+Pete? I attempted to warn my friend, but my tongue clung to the roof of
+my mouth and for the moment I was powerless and speechless, subdued by a
+combination of fear of the real beast and superstitious fear of the
+fabulous werwolf or loup-garou,[4] but the next moment I pulled myself
+together, mastered my trembling limbs, rolled softly out of my blankets,
+and gun in hand wormed my way toward the spot where Big Pete lay,
+determined to sell my life dearly. With Big Pete beside me, now that I
+was thoroughly awake, I would fight all the werwolves of the old world
+and all the loup-garous of Canada. I reached out and felt for Pete but
+he was not there, the blankets were empty; once or twice I thought I
+detected the glint of the wolves' eyes, but the night was very dark and
+in the shadow of the roof I could really see nothing.
+
+  [Footnote 4: A werwolf, or loup-garou, is a legendary man who,
+  it was formerly believed, could at will take on the form and
+  nature of a wolf.]
+
+Closer and closer sounded the stealthy, dragging noise, and I heard a
+hand feel softly for the latch of the front door and could hear fingers
+scraping ever so softly over the wood surface of the other side. A
+slight rattle told me that the hand had found the latch and that
+presently the door would be flung open. With my revolver ready I waited
+developments and braced myself for the attack.
+
+The door flew open wide, and the voice of the Wild Hunter cried,
+
+"Pluto, you fiend, down! down! I say!"
+
+But this time the huge brute did not obey and the command was answered
+by a low rebellious growl, a scratching of feet on the puncheons, and a
+heavy thud of someone falling told me that the final struggle for the
+leadership of the black wolf pack had begun.
+
+Then burst upon the stillness of the night such an uproar that for a
+moment I thought the whole pack was mixed in the fight, but at length I
+heard Pluto's snarling, rumbling growl, answered by the distant howl of
+the wolf pack, followed immediately by a close-by yell that chilled my
+blood; after this came Big Pete's war cry, then the crash of falling
+objects, shrieks and growls and savage yells.
+
+I had flung myself forward, and there in the pitch darkness of the
+doorway of the hall I felt and heard rather than saw the lean twisting
+bodies of the Wild Hunter and Pluto clasped in a life and death struggle
+on the floor. I feared to use my revolver, as it would have been
+impossible to tell whether I was shooting the hunter or the wolf.
+
+Suddenly a light burst upon the scene. Big Pete's absence was
+explained; he had secured a lantern and holding it aloft with his left
+hand, with a six-shooter in his right, he paused a moment over the
+struggling figures. By the light of the lantern one could see that the
+Wild Hunter was on his back struggling with the giant beast which he was
+trying to choke with his two hands, while the wolf's teeth were seeking
+the throat of the man. It was a terrible scene but it was no time to
+waste in horror. The efforts of the hunter to free himself from his
+terrible assailant would have been of little avail but for the
+assistance of Big Pete, for the wolf was shaking the wild man from side
+to side with terrific force, very much the same as a bull-terrier might
+shake a cat.
+
+Pete wasted no time but placing the muzzle of his gun against the wolf's
+head he fired, then shouted to me, "Look behind you."
+
+As I wheeled about I found that I was facing the rest of the pack. Pluto
+reared upon his hind legs, clawed the air frantically in his death
+struggle, and fell with a thud across his master's body, but Pete and I
+were now concentrating our fire on the snarling, leaping bodies of the
+wolf pack. Fortunately the death of Pluto and the silence of the Wild
+Hunter seemed to discourage the pack, they evidently missed their
+leaders and this gave us the advantage, for if they had rushed us we
+undoubtedly would have fallen victims to their savage teeth.
+
+In the melee the lantern was upset and the struggle ended in darkness as
+it began, but when things quieted down and Pete relit the lantern there
+were only two wolves which were alive and they were fiercely attacking
+each other. We soon dispatched them, however, and then devoted our
+attention to the Wild Hunter over whose body Big Pete was now bending.
+
+"By the great horn spoon, Le-loo!" cried he, looking up for a moment,
+"we've wiped out the pack, and now that the scrap is over here comes the
+Injuns. I calculate our friend here is a dead one; Pluto has chewed him
+to pieces. Come, lend a hand and we will see what we can do for the poor
+old man; he certainly did put up a glorious fight."
+
+Reaching down I gathered the old man's legs in my arms, and with Big
+Pete supporting his head and shoulders, we carried him into my room and
+laid him on the feather bed under the savagely ornamented tester.
+
+Big Pete was all action then, and I helped as best I could. The Scout
+ripped one of the homespun sheets into ribbons and with these made
+bandages and proceeded to stay the flow of blood from the old man's
+lacerated throat. He worked hard and long and now and then he would
+shake his head dubiously. Presently he muttered, "'Taint much use, Ol'
+Timer, I guess yore a goner. Yore goneta pass over t' Divide this time,
+I guess. That tha' Pluto fiend done chewed you up fer further orders."
+
+At this the old man opened his eyes, and a grim smile wrinkled his now
+ashen face.
+
+"I knew he'd do it some day, and I think he got me this time. The Mewan
+Indians call the giant wolf "Too-le-ze" and that is also the name they
+gave me, but I am not a werwolf, a loup-garou or a Too-le-ze. I was only
+their master but now their victim.
+
+"I feared that Pluto, as I call him, or Too-le-ze, was strong and
+treacherous and that is why I ruled him with an iron hand. He's got me
+this time. I guess it had to end this way--give me a cup of water."
+
+He then fixed his gaze on me and I noticed that he no longer had that
+worried, haunted look which had heretofore characterized him.
+
+"So you are Donald's son--well, when I heard Pluto stalking you I knew
+that it was you or your uncle that the beast would get; it was fate that
+made me slip and fall, and once down the wolf saw his long-looked-for
+opportunity and instantly availed himself of it. But the good Lord was
+not going to allow me to bring bad luck to both you and your father,
+boy. Yes, I am Fay Mullen and I caused the death of your father, and my
+brother. I bear the brand of Cain.
+
+"We were crossing a steep bank of snow at the foot of a cliff, and being
+both tired and hungry we were bickering and quarreling over nothing. I
+should have remembered that your father was but just recovering from an
+attack of nervous prostration, but I did not; we had been months in the
+mountains prospecting and the unprofitable toil and loneliness must have
+got on my nerves. At any rate, after some hot, unbrotherly language, we
+agreed to part company.
+
+"We sat down on the snow and divided our outfit by lot. I got the
+flint-lock Patrick Mullen, the fierce Great Dane and the gentle little
+donkey; your father got the packhorse and the Winchester rifle.
+
+"We--we--parted without saying good-bye, and just then an elk came out
+on the snow bank. Instantly your father fired and I fired, the elk fell,
+but the simultaneous concussion of the reports of the two rifles started
+the snow to moving. The Great Dane and the donkey sensed the danger and
+fled to the right. I turned to warn your father and motioned him back,
+but he came on a run toward me and I fled at the heels of my outfit. The
+burro and dog escaped to safety, I was caught in the edge of the slide,
+knocked unconscious and buried in snow, from which the dog rescued me.
+
+"A fragment of stone struck me on the head and I have never been the
+same since then. Your father and his outfit are buried under five
+hundred feet of snow and rocks. I camped nearby for days but could find
+no trace of my brother and all the time a voice seemed to cry, 'You
+killed your brother; you are marked with the brand of Cain.'
+
+"This thought has haunted me night and day and I have never quarreled
+with a man since then; for fear that I might do so, I have avoided white
+men ever since and buried myself in these mountains. I found this valley
+and I hid here and with the aid of the Great Dane and the wolf dogs I
+bred, as beasts of burden, I built this ranch. I--I--was afraid--all the
+time, though--afraid someone would--find out about--Donald's death and
+blame it on me. When you--said--you--were--Donald's son I was
+frightened--I thought you'd come to get me--for killing your--father
+and--I--I--I was going to kill myself. But Pluto got--me--and saved me
+from further guilt. I--"
+
+He said more, but neither Big Pete nor I could understand him. Indeed,
+he kept mumbling incoherently for an hour or more while we watched over
+him and did all that we could to make him comfortable until the death
+rattle in his throat put an end to his mumbling. But despite our
+efforts, he passed on at dawn. Just as the first warm light of the sun
+glowed above the mountains, he breathed his last.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now you know why my private den is just cram full of the things you
+fellows like. You may also guess where I procured the black wolfskin
+rugs and the rare bead and porcupine quill decorations. Yes, that
+long-barrelled rifle hanging on the buckhorn rack is the famous Patrick
+Mullen gun. It is a rifle that Washington, Boone or Crockett would have
+almost given their scalps to possess, because it is the same pattern as
+the ones they themselves used but more scientifically and skillfully
+made. It's a flint-lock, too, and that is the funny part about it that
+interests all the Scouts of our Troop. It is my good-turn mascot, for as
+long as it hangs there I am under the influence of my wild uncle and can
+quarrel with no man.
+
+Now you know why the gun is preserved as a trophy for my old Scouts and
+is an object of veneration upon which they love to gaze when they sit
+cross-legged on the skins of the black wolf pack before the crackling
+fire of their Scoutmaster's private den.
+
+Big Pete? Oh, he now runs the Pluto Ranch in Paradise Valley.
+
+
+
+    THE BEARD BOOKS FOR BOYS
+
+    _By_ DAN C. BEARD
+
+
+    THE AMERICAN BOY'S HANDY BOOK. Or, What to Do and How to Do It
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    Gives sports adapted to all seasons of the year, tells boys how
+    to make all kinds of things--boats, traps, toys, puzzles,
+    aquariums, fishing-tackle; how to tie knots, splice ropes, to
+    make bird calls, sleds, blow-guns, balloons; how to rear wild
+    birds, to train dogs, and do the thousand and one things that
+    boys take delight in.
+
+
+    THE OUTDOOR HANDY BOOK. For Playground, Field, and Forest
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    "How to play all sorts of games with marbles, how to make and
+    spin more kinds of tops than most boys ever heard of, how to
+    make the latest things in plain and fancy kites, where to dig
+    bait and how to fish, all about boats and sailing, and a host of
+    other things ... an unmixed delight to any boy."--_New York
+    Tribune._
+
+
+    THE FIELD AND FOREST HANDY BOOK. Or, New Ideas for Out of Doors
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    "Instructions as to ways to build boats and fire-engines, make
+    aquariums, rafts, and sleds, to camp in a back-yard, etc. No
+    better book of the kind exists."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
+
+
+    SHELTERS, SHACKS, AND SHANTIES _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    Easily workable directions, accompanied by very full
+    illustration, for over fifty shelters, shacks, and shanties.
+
+
+    BOAT-BUILDING AND BOATING. A Handy Book for Beginners
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    All that Dan Beard knows and has written about the building of
+    every simple kind of boat, from a raft to a cheap motor-boat, is
+    brought together in this book.
+
+
+    THE JACK OF ALL TRADES. Or, New Ideas for American Boys
+    _Illustrated by the author_
+
+    "This book is a capital one to give any boy for a present at
+    Christmas, on a birthday, or indeed at any time."--_The
+    Outlook._
+
+
+    THE BOY PIONEERS. Sons of Daniel Boone _Illustrated by the
+    author_
+
+    "How to become a member of the 'Sons of Daniel Boone' and take
+    part in all the old pioneer games, and many other things in
+    which boys are interested."--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+
+    THE BLACK WOLF-PACK
+
+    "A genuine thriller of mystery and red-blooded conflicts, well
+    calculated to hold the mind and the heart of its boy and, for
+    that matter, its adult reader."--_Philadelphia North American._
+
+
+
+
+    THE BEARD BOOKS FOR GIRLS
+
+    _By_ LINA BEARD _and_ ADELIA B. BEARD
+
+
+    THE AMERICAN GIRL'S HANDY BOOK. How to Amuse Yourself and Others
+
+    _With nearly 500 illustrations_
+
+    "It is a treasure which, once possessed, no practical girl would
+    willingly part with."--GRACE GREENWOOD.
+
+
+    THINGS WORTH DOING AND HOW TO DO THEM
+
+    _With some 600 drawings by the authors that show exactly how
+    they should be done_
+
+    "The book will tell you how to do nearly anything that any live
+    girl really wants to do."--_The World To-day._
+
+
+    HANDICRAFT AND RECREATION FOR GIRLS
+
+    _With over 700 illustrations by the authors_
+
+    "It teaches how to make serviceable and useful things of all
+    kinds out of every kind of material. It also tells how to play
+    and how to make things to play with."--_Chicago Evening Post._
+
+
+    WHAT A GIRL CAN MAKE AND DO. New Ideas for Work and Play
+
+    _With more than 300 illustrations by the authors_
+
+    "It would be a dull girl who could not make herself busy and
+    happy following its precepts.... A most inspiring book for an
+    active-minded girl."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
+
+
+    ON THE TRAIL
+
+    _Illustrated by the authors_
+
+    This volume tells how a girl can live outdoors, camping in the
+    woods, and learning to know its wild inhabitants.
+
+
+    MOTHER NATURE'S TOY SHOP
+
+    _Profusely illustrated by the authors_
+
+    How children can make toys easily and economically from wild
+    flowers, grasses, green leaves, seed-vessels, fruits, etc.
+
+
+    LITTLE FOLKS' HANDY BOOK
+
+    _With many illustrations_
+
+    Contains a wealth of devices for entertaining children by means
+    of paper building-cards, wooden berry-baskets, straw and paper
+    furniture, paper jewelry, etc.
+
+
+    CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard
+
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