It was long past noon when they reached some high hills, rough and scarred with broken bad lands, on which grew a few stunted pines and cedars. They were climbing these hills, Jack a little in advance, when he saw rise from a shelf in the rocks, a long, slim, yellow animal, which began to sneak away up a ravine.

"Oh, Hugh, what's that?" the boy cried; and at the same time Powell gave a yell, which started all the dogs forward. "A mountain lion," Hugh called back: "The dogs will tree him, sure! Look out for him!" Jack hardly heard the words, for he was pressing forward close after the dogs, not thinking of the rough ground over which he was riding, but half wild with the excitement of the chase. The horses climbed the steep scarp of the hills at a run, and in a moment Jack found himself galloping over smooth, bare, yellow soil, fifty yards behind the last of the hounds, while the two blue dogs seemed but a few feet behind the lion. In a moment more the beast was safe among the branches of a cedar, the dogs clustered about its trunk, leaping into the air and showing the greatest excitement. When he was almost at the foot of the tree, Jack drew up his horse, and the moment it stopped, threw his gun to his shoulder and fired full into the chest of the lion, which stood facing him snarling and angrily twitching his tail this way and that. As the gun cracked, the animal launched itself from its perch full toward Jack; and, as he looked up at it and saw it flying toward him, with gleaming teeth and outstretched paws, his heart jumped up into his throat. It looked about forty feet long. He never knew whether he spurred Pawnee or whether the horse started of its own accord, but it made three or four jumps, and when Jack looked back, there was the lion on the ground surrounded by all the dogs, which were pulling and tugging at it viciously. The beast was still, and Jack rode back near to it, to be heartily scolded by Hugh, who had just come up.

"Son," said he, "you done a fool trick that time. If you'd been on any other horse you might have been badly scratched. If you wanted to shoot at the lion, and I make no doubt you did, you'd ought to have stopped further off. You'll never make no sort of a hunter if ye don't think. It's all right for a man to take risks if there's anything to be made by taking them, but a man who takes risks just because he don't know no better is a fool. What's more, if you act this way, you're liable to make a fool of me. I'd have looked nice, wouldn't I, if you'd gone back to the ranch all scratched up. Now, of course," he went on more mildly, "I know you ain't anything but a boy, and you can't be expected to have a man's sense, but I want you to get sense as fast as you can, and sense means experience. I'm trying to give you as fast as I can the sense that it's took me forty years to learn. Now, let's see where you hit that fellow. I expect you made a right good shot, for I didn't see the critter stir after he struck the ground."

Meantime young Powell had driven the dogs from the lion, and they had all stretched themselves out in the shade of a cedar, where they were lying, panting, with their tongues hanging far out of their mouths. One of them, Jack noticed, had a long bright red cut, extending nearly from shoulder to hip, from which the blood was dripping fast. They turned the lion over and found the bullet hole in the middle of the chest. It was a good shot, indeed, and the animal's wild spring out of the tree was his expiring effort. He was a very large animal, and quite old, as shown by the condition of his teeth.

"Well, son," said Hugh, "you certainly are in the biggest kind of luck. It's seven years since I've seen a lion about here, and they're never anyways common. Of course we wouldn't have got this fellow if it hadn't been for the dogs; and it's great luck for you who have only been out a month or two now, to have had such a chance as this. You made a mighty good shot, too, and when you take this hide back east you'll sure have something to talk about. I expect, though, your Ma wouldn't have been very happy if she'd been here and seen that lion come sailing out of that tree after you."

When they looked at the wounded hound they found that the long cut in its skin was much less serious than it seemed at first; it was hardly more than a scratch made by a last convulsive kick by the lion, and, while it had cut the skin, and would leave a scar, it did not really injure the dog. They skinned the lion, leaving the claws on the hide, and rolled up the skin, tying it behind Jack's saddle, and then started on their way.

The sun was low in the west when they came in sight of the Powell ranch. They rode up to the barn and began to unsaddle, while the dogs went straight to the house. Before they had stabled the horses they heard a clear voice calling, "Why, Charley, what's the matter with Blue Dan? He's all cut up." And when they reached the door of the house they saw Mrs. Powell and Charley's sister, Bess, a little girl of thirteen, bathing the wounded dog, which seemed proud of the attention he was receiving. Hugh and Jack were cordially welcomed by Mrs. Powell, and later by her husband, when he came in from riding; and the story of the killing of the lion had to be told twice over. Every one congratulated Jack on his good fortune, and it appeared that this was the first time the dogs had ever seen a lion. "They have killed plenty of wolves, foxes, and coyotes," said Mr. Powell, "and two or three wolverenes, and of course a few bob-cats, but I think they never chased a lion before."

After supper Charley took Jack out, and after considerable whistling, succeeded in bringing up to the house two tame coyotes, pets of which Charley was very proud. "We dug them out of a hole in the bank of a gulch a couple of miles from here," he told jack. "There were three of them, and they were so small that their eyes weren't open yet. I had to kill one, for it took to killing chickens. I sort of hated to do it, but I knew it was no use to try to keep him and hens both, and I was afraid he would teach the other two his tricks, so I shot him. These two fellows are all right. There's only one thing they do that makes me mad. Sometimes they wander away off onto the prairie, hunting for themselves; and two or three times I have gone after them with the dogs, thinking that they were wild coyotes. They will run and run as hard as they know how, and then, when the dogs are just about catching up to them, they'll flop over on their backs and lie there with their legs in the air until the dogs come up to them. Of course when the dogs get up to them and smell them, they know them, and won't touch them. Then the coyotes get up and play around and wag their tails and jump about, like they'd been doing something almighty smart. In that way they just have fun with us."

When bed-time came that night, Jack was ready for it. His thirty-mile ride and the excitement of the day had made him very weary.

At breakfast next morning Mr. Powell said, "I suppose you boys will go out with the dogs to-day, and I wish you would go over east to where the blue stallion's bunch ranges. There's two yearlings been killed since I was over there last, and I believe it's wolves that done it. If them worthless dogs of yours would kill a few wolves instead of all these coyotes they'd come nearer earning their keep than they do."

"Well, I don't know," answered Charley, "I don't think they've done so bad. Seven wolves since Christmas is pretty good, I think; and the coyotes does a heap of mischief, and are sure worth killing.

"Well, well," said his father, "do the best you can to get these wolves. It's all right to kill the coyotes, but one wolf is worse than ten of them little fellows."

"Well, what time are you boys going to start out," said Hugh. "I expect you won't want to leave here till after dinner. I was thinking I'd go with you, but the first thing I want to do is to stretch that lion's skin, and I expect I've got to set and watch it till it begins to get dry, or else them dogs of yours will be chewing and tearing it."

"Oh," said Charley, "we'll have plenty of time to get over to the blue stallion's range if we start after dinner, and of course it might be such a thing as we'd run onto one of them wolves, if they are there. Did you see any tracks, father? or was it just the way the colts were killed?"

"No," said his father, "I didn't have no time to hunt around for sign, but it wan't nothing but wolves that killed them yearlings. If they'd only been one of them, he might have got out away from the bunch and been cut off and killed by coyotes, but that wouldn't happen twice in a few days. It's wolves, I tell you, and the chances are they've got young ones somewheres not so very far off. There's something that 'ud make it worth your while to hunt 'em. You might get a nest of young pups."

"Great Scott!" said Jack, "that would be fine." While Hugh added, "There's a chance for you, Charley, to get up the greatest pack of wolf-dogs there ever was on earth. Get a lot of wolf pups, tame 'em and train 'em to catch and kill the wild wolves."

After breakfast Charley took Jack down to the barn and showed him two litters of greyhound puppies, both very small now, but likely to be large enough next spring, Charley said, to be used with the old dogs. They were queer, blunt-nosed, thick-legged little beasts, which waddled about in most clumsy fashion.

From there the boys went down to the hen-house, where, with great pride, Charley exhibited his chickens and some pigeons—the only ones within thirty miles. He complained that the hawks killed the pigeons if they ventured far from home, but said that from repeated frights, the birds were learning to keep closer about the building.

When they reached the house again, they found Hugh busy pegging out the lion's skin. He had skinned out the head, cut off every bit of flesh and fat from the hide, and pierced a number of small holes along its margin, and was now busy with a lot of sharp pointed wooden pegs, stretching the skin on the grass, flesh side up, so that it would dry and be preserved. This was new work to Jack, and he watched it closely and asked a number of questions about it.

"You see," said Hugh in reply, "if the hide ain't stretched and dried, it ain't no good. Some folks just take and nail up a hide any way at all against the side of the house, and of course it will dry that way, but it don't dry smooth, and it's apt to get twisted and to be no account. If I take in two hides, one dried this way, and one dried on the side of a house, and try to sell them to a dealer, he'll give me more for the one that is smooth and square than he will for one that is rough and crumpled and pulled to one side. After you know how, it ain't much more trouble to do the thing right than it is to do it wrong, so I think it pays better to do it right. There's lots to drying a hide that a good many people don't know. Now, a thin hide, like this one here, glazes over quick, and don't take no time at all to dry, except maybe the lips, the feet, and the tail, but if I had a bear hide, or a beef's hide, I wouldn't stretch it out here in the hot sun to dry, or if I did, I'd build some sort of a shade over it, so that it would dry slowly. You take them hides that's right thick, and they're awful liable to burn if the sun's right hot. Now you take it when they was beaver in the country; no man ever thought of putting his fur out in the sun to dry. He hung his pelts up in the brush or in trees in the shade, and let the wind do the drying for him, and not the sun. There," he continued, as he pushed in his last peg to hold the tail straight, "Now, in an hour or two that hide will be set, so it'll hold its shape, and then you can take it up and hang it up in the barn. Now I'm going over to the creek to clean the meat off this skull. It's a big one, and you might as well take it home with you, 'long with the hide."

The work of cutting the meat from the skull, and of removing the brain, by breaking it up with a stick, did not take very long, but while it lasted Jack and Charley were much interested in watching the shoals of tiny fish which gathered in the stream, just below where Hugh was working, and fed on and fought over the fragments of brain and meat which floated down to them.

"Where in time did these fish all come from, Hugh?" asked Charley. "I never saw any fish in the creek before. It seems like they ought to be big ones here too. These little fellers are bound to grow up, I expect."

"I guess not," said Hugh. "I guess these are the little kind that don't never grow no bigger. You take these little chickadees or these little brown ground birds; you never heard of them growing as big as an eagle or goose, did you? I expect likely there's a good many different sorts of fishes, just like there's a good many sorts of birds and animals, and each sort has its own size that it grows up to be, and it don't grow no bigger. These little fellows that you see here have come from a long way down the creek. You see, the water carries down the smell of the meat and the blood, and these fish follow up the trail through the water, just the same as a dog or a coyote will follow your trail over the prairie."

"Yes, I know that's so, Hugh," said Jack. "I've seen something just like this, fishing for bluefish, down in Great South Bay."

"What's Great South Bay, and where's it at?" said Charley.

"Why, it's on the south shore of Long Island, and it opens out into the ocean. If you could see far enough, and the world wasn't round, you could look across from there to Europe."

"Jerusalem, down at the edge of the salt water!" murmured Hugh.

"Yes," said Jack, "I've been down there fishing. They anchor the boat somewhere near the channel and then chop up a lot of bunkers, that's a very oily fish, you know, and then they throw this chopped-up fish overboard, a little at a time, and it floats down with the tide and makes a long slick on the water. It looks like a long, shiny ribbon. Well, the bluefish swimming around strike this slick, and follow it up until they come near to the boat, where the fishermen have their lines out with pieces of bunker on the hooks, then the fun begins. I have seen 'em catch bluefish that were longer than my rifle barrel."

"Well, well," said Hugh; "I expect them fish is mighty good eating, too. I'd like to catch one, but what I'd like better would be to stand on the shore there, and look out over that big water and maybe see the ships go sailing by."

After a last scrape and a last shake of the now partly cleaned skull, Hugh turned to Charley and said, "Kid, have ye got any ant-hills round here, where I can put this skull for awhile? I'd like to get them ants to finish up this job for me, but I don't want to put the skull where the dogs or the coyotes or the badgers will get hold of it and pack it off."

"There's plenty of ant-hills," said Charley, "on the side hill just up the creek, and I don't think nothing will touch the skull if you put it there. Coyotes and badgers don't come round the house much and the dogs won't be likely to get up there on the hill."

"We'll chance it, I guess, anyhow," said Hugh; and they walked over to the hillside and half buried the skull in one of the largest and busiest of the ant-hills. After waiting a few moments, they saw that the new supply of food had been discovered and was being swarmed over by the eager ants, and then returning to the house, they found dinner was ready.

After dinner they saddled up and rode east over the prairie, to the range where the blue stallion held his bunch of horses. Nothing was seen on the way, for, as Charley said, the coyotes were pretty well cleared out immediately about the ranch. They had gone perhaps six miles, when a sound like the weak bark of a dog was heard from a near-by hillside, which Charley and Hugh both thought was a coyote barking. They galloped in the direction of the sound and when they topped the rise a little wolf was seen making off, more than half a mile away. It took a minute or two for the dogs to view him, but presently one of them saw him and started, and in an instant afterward the whole pack were strung out, closely followed by the riders. The speed of Pawnee gave Jack a great advantage over his companions, and he was soon but a short distance behind the heavier and slower dogs. Presently he had forged up alongside of them, and at length had passed all the hounds except the two blue ones The coyote had not run straight away, but had bent his course a little to the north, and dogs and horses, taking advantage of this turn, had cut off the corner and made a decided gain on him. Slowly but steadily the blue dogs crept up; both were running at about the same rate of speed, yet one kept three or four lengths behind the other, but both were gaining on the wolf. As they passed over a little swell in the prairie the leading dog was only a yard behind the prey, and just after Jack had come in sight of them again, both dogs put on a burst of speed, and the leading one, catching the coyote by the ham, tossed his head, and coyote and dog rolled over together. Almost at the same moment the second hound had the wolf by the throat, and, as Jack checked his horse, the big yellow dogs swept by him, and in an instant each had his hold and each stood braced back, pulling against the other five. A moment later Charley came up, and then Hugh, and all dismounted, while Charley made the hounds loose their hold, and horses and dogs stood about with lowered heads and heaving flanks.

"That fellow got too much of a start on us," said Charley, "I didn't think they'd catch him, and they wouldn't have done it either if he had not been a young one. He didn't really think they were after him until they'd come pretty close, and then it was too late for him to get away. His hide isn't very badly torn. I guess I'll take it along with me, and I'll get the bounty, even if I can't sell the hide." The time taken in skinning the wolf gave all the animals an opportunity to get their wind again, and when Charley had tied the hide on behind his saddle, all mounted and started on. Jack was full of enthusiasm for this sport. Never before had he enjoyed such a fast ride, or had before him something that he felt he must overtake, or felt so strong a sympathy with the pursuers as on this afternoon.

"Yes," said Charley, "It's lots of fun, but you want to see them when they get a good start on a wolf. Then, besides the fun of the chase, there's the excitement of the fight that's sure to take place at the end of the chase. We ran down an old wolf last fall that killed one of the dogs, crippled another, and beat off the whole pack. He ran again when we came up, but they stopped him, and we finally had to kill him with a six-shooter. The dogs would not tackle him he was so big and strong."

"I never saw anything like it," said Jack, "when that small hound, that seemed not to weigh half as much as the coyote, threw up his head, the coyote just turned a summersault and before I could think what was going to happen next, the other dog had him by the neck, and it seemed to be all over."

They had not finished exchanging opinions about this chase, when, as they rode down into a narrow gully, a great animal jumped up from the shade of a little bush, dashed across a ravine and up the other side, while yells from Charley and Hugh proclaimed this a wolf; but the dogs had disappeared over the edge of the ravine before the men got their horses started into a run. For a long way the prairie before them was smooth and level, and it seemed as if the whole chase must take place before their eyes. The dogs were running bunched up close at the heels of the wolf, the two blue dogs being only a little in the lead. Pawnee was running free, and nearly as fast as he could, for Jack never thought of checking him, or even of holding him up. The wolf seemed to be less swift than the coyote had been, and ran a little heavily, and the dogs were manifestly gaining on him, while Jack was gaining on the dogs. Very slowly but very steadily the pack, still keeping quite close together, crept up to the wolf, and at last the two blue dogs, this time side by side, forged up to his quarters. At the same moment, as it seemed, they reached out, and each catching him by a ham, gave him a little twitch and he rolled over, and before he could gain his feet was covered by the dogs. In a moment Jack was beside them, and, putting a strong pull on Pawnee, the horse plunged his forefeet into the ground, half threw himself on his haunches to stop, and Jack, unprepared for the sudden halt, flew out of the saddle, turned a summersault and came down heavily on his back, close to the struggling mass of dogs and wolf. He was a good deal jarred, but jumped to his feet and retreated a few yards. The struggle still continued, but in a moment more it was over, and the dogs had the wolf stretched out and were pulling against each other as he had seen them pull at the coyote. But there was one dog lying on the ground, breathing hard and bleeding freely from a horrible gash in his side. Charley and Hugh now came up, and the former, with his pistol in hand, stepped up to the dogs. The wolf was quite dead, but though he proved to be a young one he had badly damaged the pack before he died. Two or three of the dogs had bad cuts, and the bite that had disabled one of the yellow hounds had crushed two ribs and had probably entered the lungs, for the dog was bleeding at the mouth and nose, as an animal does that has been shot through the lungs. Charley felt badly over the injury to his pets, and declared that they could go no further that day, but that he must take the pack back to the ranch, and must carry the crippled dog on his horse. They bound up its wounds with such rough surgery as was possible, and then, placing it across Charley's horse, started slowly for the ranch.

They had gone but a mile or two when, as they were riding along, they noticed a faint odour of decaying meat. Hugh left them here, and telling them that he would soon rejoin them, rode away against the wind. Half or three quarters of an hour later he overtook them. For a little while he was busy filling and lighting his pipe, and then he turned to Charley and said, "Well, kid, if you want to start that new pack of hounds, I guess we can do it to-morrow. I have found the place where the old wolf has got her puppies, and, unless she moves them to-night, we ought to be able to dig them out to-morrow. I expect you'll all be glad to use a pick and shovel doing this, if for no other reason than to save your stock."

"Why, Hugh," said Jack, "how in the world did you find where they were?"

"Well," said Hugh, "you all noticed that smell of rotten meat back there a ways. I thought maybe it might come from the wolf's hole, or of course it might come from some animal that had died. I followed it up and it grew stronger and stronger, and at last I came to the edge of a ravine, where I could see the wolf's hole, and, from the carrion about it, I saw that they were still living there. To-morrow, if Powell feels like it, we'll go up there with the waggon and maybe get the pups."

"You bet, father'll feel like it," said Charley. "He'll do most anything to get rid of these wolves."

When they reached the ranch, the first thing to be done was to care for the wounded dogs. Two of them had to have stitches taken to close their cuts, while the one most badly hurt had his wound washed out, the fragments of shattered bone removed, and was then placed so that he could not move. There seemed a fair prospect of his recovery.

At supper that night Mr. Powell was told of the discovery of the wolf's den, and gladly promised that he would go over there with the waggon and plenty of tools, in the hope that the young wolves might be captured or destroyed.

As all hands were down at the barn next morning, the two men hitching up the team and the boys saddling their horses, Hugh said, "I guess I'll ride in the waggon this morning and let old Baldy have a rest. I'm getting to be too old to race round over the prairie the way I've been doing the last two days. But I want you to look out for yourself to-day, son. I don't want anything bad to happen to you while we're off here away from the ranch. You seem to have a natural way of getting yourself into trouble. Two days ago you came pretty near being clawed by a lion, and yesterday you took a sort of a running jump into a scuffle between dogs and a wolf. You've got to look out for yourself and try to keep a head on your shoulders and think where you're going. When I saw you fly out of the saddle yesterday I could not help wondering whether you'd kill two or three dogs when you came down, or yourself. Do you feel pretty sore this morning?"

"Well," said Jack, "my shoulders are pretty lame, and my head aches a little, but I think I'll be all right after I've ridden a little way."

They started off all together, the boys riding soberly just ahead of the waggon. The prairie was rough with sage-brush and the team could only advance at a walk; so it took them nearly two hours to get to the ravine where the wolf's hole was. If Jack had been alone he would not have been able to find the place, but Charley seemed to know just where it was, and when Jack spoke to him about this he said, "Oh, it's easy enough. You see, I am riding all the time, and I know pretty nearly every hill and ravine within ten miles of the ranch, in any direction. Then, of course, there's the big high hills for landmarks, and even if I don't know the precise place that I am going to I can always ride toward the hill that I know lies beyond it. Then of course, the sun always gives a fellow his direction, and often the wind too, though you can't depend on that, for sometimes the hills make eddies, and the wind seems to change its direction."

"Why did you leave all the dogs at home?" said Jack, "I should think they might be useful in case you find the old wolf near the den."

"We ain't likely to do that," said Charley. "She's fed her puppies early this morning, and is probably lying up on some hill, quite a little way from the hole, and will see us and sneak off long before we get to it. Besides that, the dogs have had hard work for the last three or four days, and some of them are cut up too badly to take out, and even those that are well are likely to get tender-footed if they are run too often."

When they reached the ravine where the hole was, they drove down into it and stopped the team on the windward side. Hugh went up to look at the place, and returning, announced that he believed the pups were still there. They picketed out the horses where they could feed, and then carried up near to the hole the picks and spades, and a slatted box that had been prepared to hold the puppies, if they caught them, some sacks and a lot of leather strings, and a long slim pole that Hugh had cut that morning.

"Now," said Hugh, "I am going to try and find the direction this hole takes, and while I am doing that it would be good for you boys to cover up this mess."

The mouth of the hole was foul with decaying meat, old bones, parts of calves, colts, and rabbits that had been brought there by the old wolf for the young to eat and play with, and a little fresh dirt thrown over all this made the place much pleasanter.

Hugh worked for some time with his pole, trying to determine the direction in which the hole ran, but without much success. He could thrust the stick in for five or six feet, but, twist it as he might, it would not go further than that. The two men, therefore, took their picks and vigorously attacked the side of the bank, breaking down the dirt, which they afterward shovelled out. The bank was steep, and in order to make room to work they had to loosen and remove a considerable quantity of dirt, so that their progress was slow. The morning was warm, and the work gradually grew harder and harder. About six feet from the entrance the hole took a sharp upward turn, and then seemed to run straight in. Probing it with his pole, Hugh felt something soft, and then pushing it in a little further, reached a wall of dirt, which he pronounced the end of the den. By moving the point of the pole from side to side he could feel the young wolves, and once, when he gave a sharp push, a sound like the yelping of a pup in pain came from the hole.

"Now, Powell," said Hugh, "if we can make this hole a little larger, so that I can work my pole, I'll put a rope on the end of it and try and snare some of them puppies. We've got to go pretty careful, though. I expect these little fellows are pretty good size by now, and they're likely as not to make a bolt out of the hole when we get close to them, and maybe get off. Wish we had one of the dogs here. I'll tell you what you two boys do: you get your gun, son, and Charley, you take your six-shooter, and stand just behind us, and if anything runs out, you try to kill it, but look out you don't shoot your father nor me, and look out you don't shoot the horses. These pups can't run very fast yet, and you'll have plenty of time to take a careful sight at them, and get them."

The boys did as they were told, and while the work with pick and shovel progressed, waited and watched. Nothing came out, however, and after a time Hugh declared that he was going to try to snare the pups. He fastened a short rope to the end of his pole and made in it a running noose about a foot in diameter. Then he lay down and began to angle for the little wolves. For some time he worked without success, but at length, giving a quick jerk, he rose to his feet, declaring, "I've got one," and dragged to the light a kicking, yelping puppy, caught by a hind leg. It was a dull white, woolly little beast, sharp-nosed and thick-legged, and about as big as a three months' old Newfoundland pup. As soon as it appeared, it was seized by Mr. Powell, who had wisely put on his heavy leather gloves. The creature fought like a little demon, and bit, and kicked, and struggled, and yelled, but soon a string of buckskin was tied about its muzzle, confining its jaws, its four legs were tied together, and it was thrown in a gunny sack, which was tied up and put in the slatted box. Again and again Hugh tried to get another, but without success, and finally, in disgust, he threw his pole aside, and the men attacked the bank again. Another hour's work enabled them to look into the hole, and to see a mass of grey huddled together, almost within arm's length of the opening. Hugh declared that if one of his arms were only six feet long, instead of three, he would reach in and haul the puppies out one by one with his hand. The entrance to the hole was now so large that either of the boys might have crawled in, as both proposed to do, but the men declined to permit this. Cutting off his pole to about the depth of the hole, Hugh again began to try to noose the pups, and this time with success, for one by one he hauled out three more, which were disposed of as the first had been. The last pup, taking advantage of a moment when he had moved away from the hole, bolted out, but was struck a mighty blow with the spade by Mr. Powell and killed on the spot.

"Well," said Powell, "I calculate that's a mighty good day's job. Those five pups during the winter would have eaten five hundred dollars' worth of beef, and might have killed five thousand dollars' worth. It seems like I ought to make you men a good present for what you have done to help get rid of these varmints."

"Pshaw!" said Hugh, "we've been mighty glad to do it, and I expect son, here, would be mighty glad to take his pay in one or two of them pups that's in the waggon."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Powell," said Jack, "we've been glad to help, and it's been great fun. Of course, if you and Charley don't want all these pups, I'd like one of them for myself, to see if I could not tame him and make a dog of him. It would be great fun to walk up and down the streets of New York, leading a real wolf at the end of a chain. I expect he'd take first prize at all the dog shows."

"I expect likely he would," said Mr. Powell, "and you'd be certain sure he had a good straight pedigree, running back to the first wolf that ever came to America."

Mrs. Powell had put a lunch in the waggon, but before this could be eaten water must be found. Charley said that not more than a half-mile away there was a good clear spring, running out from under a rock in the bank, and when they went to the place they spent a pleasant hour eating their lunch, and lying in the shade of the waggon. Jack and Charley looked once or twice at the wolf pups, to see that they were still alive and still properly tied, and, at length, as the sun began to fall toward the western horizon, the party started for the ranch.

When they got there, it was necessary to make a permanent cage for the wolf puppies, as no box or rope would hold them long after their jaws were free. Charley asked Hugh what they had better do. They could build a log pen, but if they did that the pups would be likely to dig out under the logs. Hugh studied for a while and at length said, "I'll tell you what we've got to do; we've got to build a regular cage, with walls so smooth and high that the pups can't climb up them, and running down into the ground so far that they won't be likely to dig out under them. Now, you go and ask your pa if we can use a lot of fence poles from that pile he has over there. We'll sharpen them and drive them down as far as we can into the dirt, close together in a circle, and then we'll saw them off about three feet high and wire a roof of poles to the top of them; but, before we do that we'll pave the cage with a lot of big flat stones. I reckon if we do that we'll have the bulge on these fellows, and they can't get away from us."

The plan was adopted. A circle was traced in the ground and the earth loosened all about its borders. Then a lot of fence poles were cut into four-feet lengths, sharpened at one end and driven firmly into the ground, close together about the circle. Next the boys brought flat stones from the prairie and made a neat pavement on the ground inside the cage. Other poles cut to a proper length were laid across the top of the cage and firmly wired down, all except the last two, which were left loose. The box containing the wolf pups was now brought up, the little fellows one by one were taken out of their sacks, their lashings cut, and they were dropped into the cage, and then the last two poles were placed in position and fastened. Several heavy sticks were laid across the roof to hold it down, so that the roof poles should remain firm, even though considerable force were exerted on them. They all drew back when the work was done, and eyed it with satisfaction, and for a time watched the four puppies within, restlessly trotting about the cage and constantly pushing their noses between the poles in the endeavour to squeeze out. Everything seemed to be firm, however, and they left the pups to their own devices.

"Seems to me there's one thing we've forgotten, Charley," said Hugh. "How are you going to feed and water them puppies? I did forget all about that, didn't I? You can stick food in anywhere between the poles, but we'll have to take off part of the roof again and put a dish in for them to drink out of. When that is there it can be filled as often as they need it, from the outside." By the time this change had been made it was supper time, and all hands went to the house.

The next day Hugh and Jack set out to return to the ranch. Before leaving, all hands went out and took a look at the wolf puppies. They seemed to be all right, but had evidently made some attempts to gnaw their way out, but their young teeth could not make much impression in the tough spruce sticks which formed their cage.

"After they get a little bigger," said Hugh to Charley, "unless they should grow tame, you will either have to drive more poles into the ground or else you'll have to kill the pups. They're so big now that I think it's pretty doubtful whether they ever get tame at all, and of course if they don't get tame, the only thing to do is to kill them. I've seen a heap of wolf and coyote puppies caught, but they've got to be mighty young ever to lose their wildness, and to get so that you can do anything with them. We'll have to leave our pup here until it gets a little older and we see whether they are likely to get tame or not."

They bade good-bye to the Powell family, with cordial thanks for all their kindness, and invitations for them to come over to the ranch and visit them for a few days.

Jack said to Charley, "After awhile, when the elks' horns get big, and they get fat, come over with the waggon and we'll go out and kill two or three, and you can take back the meat with you. Hugh says we only have to go two or three miles from the house upon the mountain, to get all the elk we want."

On their way back they rode down the bluffs, not far from where Jack had killed the lion, and here, as they were going along, Jack suddenly saw, not far in front of him, a queer, dark grey object, shaped somewhat like a big tortoise, running along on the prairie in front of him. In a moment he recognised that it was a sage grouse, with wings partly extended and body held low, and for a moment he did not know what to make of the bird's action.

"Hold on, son," said Hugh, "there's where she started from;" and he pointed to a low sage-bush a little to one side. "Get off your horse and go and look under that, and see what there is there." Jack did so, and saw a hollow in the ground, scantily lined with bits of grass, in which were thirteen greyish eggs, not so large as an ordinary hen's egg.

"Oh, Hugh!" he called back, "There are thirteen eggs; can't we take them along?" Hugh rode up to the spot, leading Jack's horse, and looked at the nest. "Well, now," he said, "seems to me I would not bother with that nest; we've got a long way to go yet, and the chances are we'd smash the eggs before we got home, and if we didn't do that, they'd be pretty sure to get cold, and wouldn't hatch. Let's leave that old hen alone, and some day we'll hunt up a nest right close to home, and get a setting of eggs there. 'Tain't no use to take these eggs without they're going to do us some good."

"Well, all right," said Jack, rather reluctantly, as he turned away. "We've got a long way to go, but do you suppose we'll be able to find another nest near the ranch?"

"I expect we will," was the answer; "though of course it isn't any sure thing; it's getting pretty late to find eggs now; we won't have any trouble finding young ones, though."

Jack mounted, and from the saddle looked about to try to see the old hen, but she had disappeared; so they went on.

The supper horn sounded that night just as they were riding up the valley, toward the house, and before they had unsaddled all hands were seated at the table. Before the meal was ended, Jack had to tell the story of his killing the lion, and of the death of the wolf; and after supper he brought in his roll of hides, and spread out both the lion and the wolf skin on the floor, so that all might see them. The men were loud in their congratulations, and Joe declared that he would have given a horse to have been in Jack's place. "You're in the biggest kind of luck, Jack," he said. "I've been riding the range right around here now for five years and I never caught a glimpse of a lion yet. I've helped to rope three bears, but of course that's no trick at all if you know your horse. I roped a cow elk once, and what's more, brought her into the ranch. I had better luck that time than old Vicente, down below here. He roped a bull elk, just on the edge of the rocky ground. His horse was small and the elk drug him a little way, and he got scared and turned his rope loose, and the elk went off up the mountain, dragging a twelve-dollar raw-hide rope behind him. But I'd have liked almighty well to have been along with you fellows, and had a chance to have a shot at that lion. You were sure in great luck."

"Well," said Jack, "I don't believe I'd have had a chance myself if it hadn't been for Pawnee; he ran just as hard as he could, and got away ahead of the other horses, and so I had the luck to get the shot."

"Well," said Joe, "you made the most of your chance, anyhow. Maybe it isn't every fellow that would have shot as straight as you did, if he'd had the chance to shoot at all."

Mr. Sturgis, too, had words of congratulation for Jack; but later in the evening he cautioned him not to let his excitement carry him into dangerous places. "You see, Jack," he said, "just as Hugh feels responsible to me for your safety, so I feel responsible to your father and mother. You might live out here for two or three years without ever getting close to a lion, but you managed to do it after you'd been here only a couple of months. The life here is as safe as it is anywhere, but a man must use the same precautions against danger that he would in any other part of the world. He must use common sense, and not expose himself to the risk of being clawed by a lion, or run over by a team, or hurt by a fighting cow. You've been lucky enough so far, and have carried yourself well, but I want you to use as much discretion as you can."

"All right, Uncle Will," said Jack, "I'll try to remember what you and Hugh tell me. I confess that when I was galloping after the lion, or again after the wolf, I didn't think of a single thing except trying to get as close to the animal as I could; but when the lion jumped out of the tree at me, I was a little frightened. I didn't have time to be much frightened, because Pawnee jumped so quickly and took me out of the beast's way."

"What do you think, Uncle Will, about the wolf puppy that we left at Mr. Powell's," Jack went on. "Will it ever get tame? I should like to own a wolf that was as tame as a dog, and to take it back to New York with me. Wouldn't it make people stare! I don't believe half the people would believe it was a wolf."

"You'd better ask that question of Hugh," said his uncle; "he knows more about those things than I. I have never seen a tame wolf, myself, though I have heard of many of them; but I fancy that pups that are caught as old as he seemed to be do not ever really get tame. I do not believe that this wolf puppy will ever be of any particular use to you. But if you are going to start the menagerie we talked of before we came out here, it is time you began. The antelope kids can be got now, and if I were you I would try to get two or three. Then there are some ducks' nests down by the lake that you might rob, and bring the eggs up to be hatched out at the house. There are two old hens out here now, I believe, that want to set, and you might try each of them with a lot of wild ducks' eggs. Rube found the nests day before yesterday, and I think would like to go down there and help you get them. In the course of two or three days the horse roundup will be here, and for a day or two we'll all be busy cutting out horses and branding colts. After that, Antonio is going to ride some wild horses, and I suppose you want to be here for that; so you had better get your ducks' eggs now, or the first thing you know they'll be swimming in the lake and you'll never get your hands on them."

"All right, Uncle Will," said Jack. "If Rube will go with me, we'll start right after breakfast to-morrow morning."

"Well," said his uncle, "you ask him to-morrow morning at breakfast. He'll go with you if he can."

After breakfast next morning, Rube and Jack went down to the lake, each carrying a small wooden box, partly filled with hay. The ducks' nests were easily found. One of them belonged to quite a small bird, which flew off close to the ground as the riders approached. They found that this nest contained nine roundish eggs, about the colour of old ivory, that is yellowish white. The other nest, which was not far off, belonged to a larger bird, and in this there were eleven somewhat larger eggs. All the eggs from the first nest were placed in one box, and those from the second in another, and they returned to the house, riding very slowly and carefully, carrying the boxes in their hands, so that they should not be jarred or shaken. In the hen-house the two old hens were provided with good nests of clean hay, each in a barrel, which was covered at night so as to prevent anything from disturbing them, and one setting of eggs was put under each hen. Rube declared that he didn't feel quite safe about those hens, they were so big and the eggs were so small that he was afraid they would break them. "And if they don't break them," he said, "they're liable to step on the young ones when they hatch out, and kill half of them. Still, I suppose we've got to take that risk."

The morning had only half gone when the eggs were disposed of, and Jack looked about to see what else he could do. There was no one about the house except Mrs. Carter, who was sewing, and Rube, who had gone down to the stable and was working there. Jack threw himself on the grass just outside the house door, and lay there in the warm sun. For a while he did nothing except to think over the last few days, and remember what fun he had had. He determined that before night he would write a long letter to his father, telling him that he would rather not go back and go to school and college, for he wanted to be a ranchman.

After a time he noticed some swallows circling about over the grass near him. They were very small and did not look like the swallows that he had seen back east, most of which have breasts about the colour of iron rust. These little fellows were wonderfully quick, so much so that sometimes it was hard for the eye to follow them. They made wide circles out over the grass, or again flew so close to the house that it seemed as if they must dash themselves against the logs. Suddenly, one of them flew squarely toward the house, but when he had almost reached it, turned upward and alighted on one of the roof poles, where he sat, twittering faintly, and occasionally arranging his feathers. Sometimes the little bird walked a few inches, turning himself this way and that, and then Jack could see that his back was almost the colour of a peacock's tail, shining green in some places, and shining purple in others. He felt sure that he could describe this bird well enough so that his uncle could tell him what it was. All at once, to his surprise, the swallow walked into a hole between two of the roof poles, and was not seen again, but a moment afterward another little bird, just like the first, except that its back was dull brown, walked out of the hole and flew away over the valley.

Jack did not know very much about birds, but he decided that this last one was the female, and that these two little swallows had a nest somewhere in the roof. He determined too that he would watch them and see what they did every day, for they were so pretty and so quick and graceful that it was fun to look at them. About noon he saw his uncle and Hugh ride up to the barn and unsaddle, and before long he was asking about the swallows.

"Why yes," said his uncle, "those birds build there every year. They are a pair of violet green swallows; there are lots of them here in the mountains, and they build in little holes in the dead trees, or in the rocks; but these two have a nest somewhere up in the roof, every summer. I think it was last year that the young ones, when they were about full-grown, flew out of the nest and fell into the muslin that forms the ceiling of the sitting-room. They scrambled around there for nearly a whole day, and made so much noise that finally we cut a hole in the muslin and got them out. They were about as big as the old ones, and full feathered, and the next morning we took them out and put them on the roof, and the old ones at once fed them and began to teach them to fly. If you want to find out what birds there are about here, you had better take my bird book down from the shelf and study it a little each day. I can help you, for I know the names of most of the common birds." Saying this, his uncle went into the house.

"How are the calves, Hugh?" said Jack. "Have the coyotes been bothering them at all?"

"Not a bit," said Hugh; "they are all right, and big and strong. I expect in the course of a month now your uncle will be bringing them over to the corrals to brand, but we won't do that until after we've got through with the horses. The roundup ought to be along here most any time now, and when it gets here you'll see quite a lot of fun when we get to working them."