One afternoon as Jack was up on the side of the mountain gathering saddle horses he saw far off over the prairie a waggon and two riders coming toward the ranch. He did not know who it could be. Since the horse roundup had left, no strangers had been seen. Soon after he had unsaddled, the team came in sight over the hill, and at length it was near enough for him to recognise that one of the riders was a woman, and that there were two people in the waggon. A little later, the party reached the barn and proved to be Mr. and Mrs. Powell and Charley and the little girl. They had come over to visit Mr. Sturgis. Mr. Powell wanted to kill some meat, and Mrs. Powell said that she had determined to come with him and to ask Mrs. Carter if she would not go up on the mountains with her, berrying. The visitors were made welcome. While they were attending to the horses, Jack said to Charley, "How are the wolf puppies getting along? Have they got tame yet?"

"No," said Charley, "I can't do nothing with them. They're just as afraid of me now as they were the day we got them; but there's something mighty queer about them. With mother and Bess they're right tame; they seem to like to see them, and they take meat out of their hands, and like to have their heads patted and to be scratched. But just as soon as I get near the cage, they all huddle together on the other side of it, and if I go around to that side they run away to the other. Same way with father. They seem to be afraid of a man, but they don't mind a woman a mite. Two or three times I've been going to kill them all, but Bess begged so hard for me to keep them that I haven't done anything. She says she reckons she can make 'em right tame, but that won't do no good if they're always scared of a man."

"Maybe they haven't forgotten that you and your father caught 'em," said Jack.

"Maybe they haven't," said Charley; "anyhow they're awful afraid of father and me; they're doing right well, though, growing big and sleek and handsome. They make friends with the dogs too. Often I see one of the dogs with his nose close up to the bars of the pen, and the puppies all standing there smelling at him and wagging their tails. I believe some day I'll put on one of Bessie's dresses and go down there and see if they won't be friendly with me. Let's ask Hugh what we can do to tame them." As the boys walked to the house they overtook Hugh and put this question to him.

"Well, I don't know," said Hugh. "I've seen mighty few tame wolves. Fact is, I don't know that I ever saw any, but I've talked with men that claimed to have had 'em, and they all said that it wan't no use to try to tame 'em without you caught 'em when they was little bits of fellows; a good deal smaller than these were when we caught 'em. I did know one man that had a wolf that he said followed him round just like a dog, but he caught that one when it was a little mite of a thing, before it had its eyes open. You might try starving these of yours, Charley; not give 'em anything to eat for three or four days, and then take some food down to 'em and make 'em take it out of your hand; that might make 'em lose that shyness, but I don't know as it would. Anyhow, it's worth trying. But I expect they'd make a heap o' noise nights while you were starving 'em; might cut your sleep short a little bit."

"I believe I'll try that, Hugh," said Charley, "when we get back. They'll be kind o' used to being fed by Tom while we're away, and maybe they'll strike up some sort of a friendship with him, and that'll make it easier for me when we get back."

"It does seem kind o' curious," said Hugh, "that they should have taken to the gal that way."

"Yes, indeed," said Charley; "they're just as friendly with her as can be. You ask her to tell you about how they act."

The three sat down on the grass near the kitchen door, and Charley called to his sister, who came out and sat down with them.

"Tell me about them wolf puppies of yourn, Sis," said Hugh; "Charley says you've made 'em right tame to you, but they won't come near him. How did ye do it?"

"Why, I don't know, Mr. Hugh," said Bess. "I used to go down and sit by the pen and watch them, and at first when I did that, they'd all crowd over to the opposite side and watch me, but after I'd been doing it a little while they seemed to kind o' get used to me and forget that I was there. They'd walk round and keep trying to get out, and sometimes they'd play with each other, just like puppies, and sometimes they'd get angry and get to fighting. Sometimes, when Charley was away, I used to take their food down to them, and at last I got into the way of handing them bits of meat in my fingers. At first they wouldn't touch it, but after a while they got so they'd take it, and they've been getting tamer ever since. I can put my hand into the cage now and pat them and there isn't one of them that will snap at me."

"Sho," said Hugh, "you must have a mighty good way with animals."

"That's so," said Charley; "she has. Two years ago she took a bucking colt that we had, that nobody could ride without getting all jarred up, and commenced to fool with it, and now it's her saddle horse, the one she rode when she came up to-day."

"Sho," said Hugh; "didn't it hurt you when he bucked with you, Sis?"

"Why, no, he never did buck. The first time I got on him he went off as quiet as could be. But I didn't try to ride him for quite a while, until after I'd made friends with him. Then when he got right tame, I used to take him up to the horse block and get on it and pat him all over, and at last one day I jumped on him and sat there for a little while and then jumped off, and did this for a good many days, and then I tried riding him a little way."

"See there now," said Hugh, "that's what it is to understand how to treat an animal. If we had a few girls like you, Bess, working the horses on these prairies, there wouldn't be so many of 'em mean to ride."

Before supper was ended that evening it had been agreed that all hands should spend the next day on the mountain, gathering raspberries, which grew there in great abundance. It was arranged that the women should make an early start, and with Joe as driver should go up by the waggon road, while the others, on saddle horses, should ride up by the short trail. They would lunch and spend the day on the heights, returning in time for supper in the evening, with their berries.

By nine o'clock next morning, those who had climbed the mountain by the trail were scattered out through the raspberry patch, hard at work filling their buckets with the delicious fruit. An hour or two later the waggon arrived, and by midday all the pails were filled.

When Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Powell began to unpack their lunch, Hugh said to them, "If you'll wait half an hour before calling people to eat, I'll bring you something that you haven't seen for a long time, and that maybe will help you out with your drinking, if not with your eating." He called Jack and Charley to follow, and taking a couple of gunny sacks in his hand, strode off through the timber. The three climbed briskly the tall rocky hill, and emerging from the forest on to the slope above, found themselves standing at the edge of a deep and narrow gorge, in the bottom of which still lay a snowdrift. "Now," said Hugh, "let's jump down there and fill these sacks with this snow, and take it back to the women. I know Mrs. Carter fetched a jug of cream along, and a lot of sugar, and if we take them back some of this clean snow, maybe she can make some ice-cream. How would that go with the berries, eh?"

"First class," said both the boys. Jumping down into the snow they scraped away the dusty surface and partly filled the sacks with clean white snow. Then Hugh shouldered the heavier of the two, and Charley Powell the lighter one and they made their way down the hill to the party again.

When Mrs. Carter saw the snow she declared at once that she would give them ice-cream for their lunch, and before long all hands were enjoying the unusual luxury.

Toward the middle of the afternoon the party separated again, the waggon carrying the women back by the road, while the others began slowly to saddle up to return by the trail. Bess was the first to mount, and set out down the mountain, closely followed by Shep, the ranch dog, which seemed to have taken a great fancy to her. The others followed, but had not overtaken the little girl when suddenly they heard Shep bark furiously, and Bessie's voice calling eagerly, "Oh, hurry, hurry! Here's a bob-cat up in a tree."

Jack was the first to arrive on the scene, to find Bess sitting on her horse, pointing up into a big pine, at the foot of which Shep stood looking up in great excitement, barking angrily at a wildcat that was perched among the branches, half way up the tree. Jack's first impulse was to shoot the brute, but before he did so, he had a thought, and jumping off his horse he walked up to Bessie and said, "Wouldn't you like to shoot it, Bessie? Take my gun if you would."

By this time Hugh and Charley were there, and the latter was about to shoot at the cat with his pistol, but Hugh said, "Hold on, boy; let's see whether Bessie don't want to kill it."

Bess said, "I'd like real well to shoot it, Jack, if you'll let me. I don't like bob-cats. This spring, one of 'em carried off one of my setting hens, and all the little chickens died."

"Well," said Hugh, "you better hop off and shoot it; it's liable not to stay there much longer."

Bessie jumped to the ground and took the rifle.

Jack said to her, "Draw it down just as fine as you can, and try to shoot him just back of the shoulder and low down."

The little girl put the gun to her shoulder as if she were used to it, and in a moment it rang out, and the wildcat, jumping far out from the branches, fell to the ground and was at once pounced on by Shep. When they walked up to it, it was quite dead. "Now," said Jack, "we'll take him to the ranch and skin him, and you can take the hide home with you when you go."

"Yes," said Hugh, "it'll make you a nice mat, only it's a pity the fur's so thin; it ain't begun to get good yet. Two months from now it will be right thick and warm, but the winter coat hasn't hardly started yet."

Bess felt very proud of her shot and wanted to have the wildcat tied on behind her saddle, but Charley said, "No, I'm afraid it might make that horse buck, and I don't want to get you thrown off on this side hill." Finally Hugh took the cat, and they went on to the ranch.

When they reached the house Jack and Charley skinned the cat and pegged the hide out on the grass to dry. After this had been done, Jack took Bess and Charley and showed them the calf elk, which was now quite big and had lost its summer coat and its spots. Bess admired it greatly. "It isn't nearly as pretty," she said, "as the young antelope, and it carries its head in a clumsy way, but it seems strong and graceful, and isn't it tame?"

"Yes," said Jack, "it's tame enough, and it looks nicely enough, but it's a stupid beast; it seems to have no sense, and not to care for anything except just eating. I like even my ducks better than this elk. Let's go and try to find them; they wander about so that I never know just where they are; but maybe we can find them somewhere along the brook." After a good deal of searching and calling, the ducks were discovered a long distance down the brook. They were now as large as old birds, and fully feathered, and were pretty, graceful little creatures. Charley declared that the small ones were teal, for he had killed some like them the fall before.

"Yes," said Jack, "they're teal all right enough; I looked them up in my Uncle Will's bird book. They're what the book calls cinnamon teal. It's a kind of duck that we don't have in the east; it only lives out here in the Rocky Mountains and toward the Pacific Ocean."

That night Bess had a fine time telling the story of how the bob-cat had been killed. It had been started from near to the trail by the dog, which followed it so fast that it ran up a tree almost before Bess saw it. Then she had called to the others.

As Jack was going to bed that night Mr. Sturgis shook hands with him and said: "It was very nice of you, Jack, to let the little girl shoot that bob-cat, instead of doing it yourself. I like to see a boy do a thing of that kind."

At breakfast next morning, Mr. Powell said to Hugh: "Do you suppose you could take them two boys up on to the mountain and kill three or four elk? I want to talk with Mr. Sturgis to-day about getting some of these saddle horses of his, and I'd like to go on home to-morrow, but I want to take some meat with me. If you and the boys can kill it, I'll stay down here at the ranch while you're gone."

"Well," said Hugh, "I don't know why the three of us can't kill what you need, as well as four, and if Mr. Sturgis hasn't anything else for me to do, I'll take the boys up on the hill and we'll see what we can find."

Mr. Sturgis told them by all means to go. Charley got his rifle out of the wagon, Hugh and Jack caught and saddled a couple of pack horses, and they were soon climbing the trail.

When they had reached the plateau, they rode north for three miles until they had come to a little open park, where there was a spring and good grass. Here they picketed out all the horses to feed, and set out to hunt on foot. They passed through a piece of dead timber and soon came upon signs of elk. Most of the tracks were old, and they had gone some little distance before they saw anything showing that game had passed along recently. The country here became more rough and broken, and the green timber grew in scattering clumps. As each ridge was reached, a pause was made, and the ravine below carefully looked over before they showed themselves above the hill. There were great masses of red granite and scattering pines and groves of quaking aspens, which made good cover, but all this ground had to be carefully looked over, so that their advance was slow. Both Jack and Charley had hunted enough now so that they did not talk, or, if they spoke, they did so in very low tones. After a time, Hugh, who was ahead, came upon a fresh trail made by eight or ten elk, and this they followed. The animals were moving along slowly, but feeding as they moved. Sometimes they would scatter out a little to nibble at the tufts of grass growing among the rocks, or to crop the tender twigs of the young aspens, but they did not loiter much. The trail was fresh and showed that it had been made within a few hours—since the sun had risen. Hugh told the boys that they would have to go very slowly and carefully, for they would probably come on the game soon after noon, when it was lying down, and that this was the worst time at which to approach any game, for then it has nothing to do except to watch for the approach of its enemies.

They followed the trail, hurrying where they could, but being very cautious as they went over the hills; but though the trail grew fresher, so that at one place where they crossed a little stream, the muddy water was still standing in the tracks of the elk, they saw nothing of them. They had gone down into a valley wider than most of those that they had crossed, and were approaching the little creek which flowed down through it. Along the stream bed grew a narrow belt of tall pines, and beyond this was some dead standing timber with young pines growing among it only three or four feet high. As the hunters approached the belt of green timber, a stick cracked just beyond it, and, at the same moment, something was seen to move. A moment later, Jack, who was a little to the right of Hugh, and behind him, saw an elk, and without a second's delay, raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired, and the elk hobbled off a hundred yards and fell among some low junipers. Meantime, Hugh and Charley had run through the belt of timber and saw half a dozen elk among the dead trees beyond. There were a cow and calf, a young bull and three heifers. At the sound of Jack's gun the animals jumped here and there, apparently unable to tell where the noise had come from.

Hugh pitched his gun to his shoulder and fired at the bull, whose shoulder he could just see through a narrow opening between two trees. Charley fired at a heifer, but did not see her fall, and then, slipping in another cartridge, he fired again at a fat cow that was dashing along through the low brush and over the down timber at a rate that would soon have carried her out of sight. The cow fell, and Hugh, turning, called to the boys not to shoot again. "We've got three elk," he said, "maybe four; all the meat Powell wants, and all that we can carry down the hill in one load."

The boys came toward him, and they started to look over the ground to see what they had killed. The bull was dead; so were Jack's heifer and the two that Charley had shot at.

"Well," said Hugh, "we've pretty near got more than we know what to do with, but I guess we can take it all down, but we'll have to pack the saddle horses. Now, son, can you go back to where the horses are and bring them on, while Charley and I butcher?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure I can find them," replied Jack. "I noticed which way we came and I don't think I'll have any trouble."

"All right," said Hugh, "we've got quite a job here, butchering, and I'd like to keep Charley because he knows something about it; but if you think you can't find the horses, you'd better stay here and let Charley go and get 'em."

"No," said Jack, "I'm sure I can find them, and I'll bring them." Jack started; the distance was greater than he had supposed, but he had watched the country as they were following the elk trail and he had no trouble in getting back to where the horses were. He tied up the rope of one of the pack animals and fastened it to the saddle, put the reins of the two saddle horses over the saddle horns, mounted Pawnee, and, leading one pack horse, started back toward his companions. The three loose animals followed very well, and he had no trouble with them, and it was not long before all five were tied up in a little park close to where Hugh and Charley were at work. These had butchered and cut up the elk, and had dragged the meat up to the edge of this park.

Before packing the horses, Hugh sat down and filled his pipe. From the park where they were sitting they could see, through an opening in the trees, the broad valley where the ranch stood. The wide stretch of gray, brown and yellow was marked here and there by winding lines of vivid green, showing the courses of the little brooks; the tiny lakes, blue as the sky which they reflected, lay like gems in the sombre setting. Far beyond were the white bluffs, and again to the south the brick red point of a tall mountain, running up to black pine-clad ridges. It was very still. No breeze stirred the sprays of the pines; even the leaves of the aspens hung motionless. The air was fragrant with the odour of pine and sage, and soft and smoky, like an Indian summer day. It was a time for being lazy, and Hugh smoked slowly, as if he wanted to make his pipe last as long as possible.

At length it was smoked out, and he rose to his feet, saying, "Well, I'd like to set here all day, but we've got to get this meat to camp."

The heavy loads were put on the pack horses, and then, using their lariats, they slung a pair of elk hams across the saddle of each riding animal, and, on foot, started for the ranch.

"I expect, son," said Hugh, as they moved off, "you'd have liked to bring that bull's head along."

"Yes," said Jack, "I thought of that. It isn't a very big one and I didn't kill it myself, but still I would like to save it."

"Well," said Hugh, "we might have brung it if we hadn't killed so much meat, but you see these horses now are all pretty well loaded, and we've got some timber to go through, and an elk's head's a mighty unhandy thing to pack, anyhow, and it ain't a very big head, so I thought maybe we'd leave it. You'll have plenty of chances before long to get a better one."

"All right," said Jack; "but I want to get a big head before I start back east. I'd like to get one bigger than Uncle Will has back there; that always looked awful big to me, and I'd feel proud if I could kill a bigger one."

"Yes," said Hugh, "that was a nice head. I mind when he killed it. I expect he was pretty proud of that, himself. Your uncle was pretty keen to hunt when he first came out into this country, but he don't seem to care much for it now; except bear, he always likes to kill bear, and I expect he likes to kill sheep, too."

"Tell you what it is, Jack," said Charley, "we've got a mighty good head on top of the barn, over at our place, and if you don't get one that suits you before you go, if you come over, you can have that one. We don't want it, and it's a mighty good one, I tell you. Three or four men that's come by the place have wanted to buy it, but father wouldn't sell it to 'em. He'd be tickled, though, if you'd take it. He thinks a whole lot of you."

"Thank you, Charley," said Jack; "maybe I'll do it, if I don't get a good head; but I want one that I've killed myself."

"Yes, of course," said Charley; "but I mean if you don't happen to kill one."

They had almost reached the park, leading to the trail, when, crossing through some dense green timber, where the ground was wet underfoot, Hugh stopped and said: "Come up here, son; here are some birds you never saw before." Jack dropped the reins of his horse and stepped up beside Hugh, who pointed out to him four or five birds, smaller than chickens, standing beneath a great pine, and two or three more perched on its lower limbs. "Those," said Hugh, "are what we call fool hens, they're some like blue grouse, but not near so large. They're the gentlest birds in the mountains. Just walk up to them slowly, and see how close you can get to them before they move."

Jack approached the birds with slow, cautious steps, and not until he was within ten feet of them did they seem to notice him; then, one or two of them stretched up their necks and looked at him, ruffling up the feathers about their heads in a curious way. The birds sitting on a limb of the tree still paid no attention to him, but seemed half asleep, their necks drawn in, and their feathers puffed out. As Jack advanced still nearer, two or three of the birds on the ground walked away from him, while two others sprang up into the low limbs of the pine, and stood there with necks outstretched, gazing at him.

"Now," said Hugh, "we ain't got no time now to fool with them birds, but if we had, you could cut a stick, and put a string with a noose on the end of it, and drop it over their heads and catch one or two of 'em, maybe more. That's what gives 'em their name; they're so gentle that folks just call them fool hens."

Charley, who had come up, said, "I believe if I had a rock or two I could kill those fellows; but there ain't no rocks here, it's all just this muck, under foot."

"Oh, let 'em alone," said Hugh; "we've killed meat enough for one day."

"Well," said Mr. Powell, when they reached the ranch that night, "you youngsters have done well, and I've got my meat without working for it. I expect you all had a hand in this killing."

"Yes," said Jack, "but Charley did the best of any of us; he killed two, and Hugh and I only got one apiece."

"Yes," said Hugh, "Charley done well. By rights, though, we hadn't ought to have killed more than one elk apiece, but I knew you wanted meat, and there wasn't much time to talk about it when the elk jumped up. By rights I oughtn't to have shot at all, for I might have known these boys could do the killing, but I saw the bull, and I knew he'd be in good order, and so I killed him; but as soon as I saw what was down, and spoke to the boys, they stopped right off. They're good boys to hunt with; I don't want to see any better. I don't know who taught Charley how to hunt, but he understands himself pretty well."

The meat was hung up to cool where it would be out of the reach of the coyotes and the next morning, with a loaded waggon, Mr. Powell and his wife drove off toward their ranch. Bess and Charley stopped behind for a little while, talking with Jack, who promised that if he could, he would ride over to the ranch once more before he went back east.

At last the young people mounted and started. Just as they did so, Jack called out: "Do the best you can to tame those wolf puppies, Charley. I want to take one of them east with me, if I possibly can."

Jack had noticed that the horns of the bull elk, killed the day before by Hugh, were white and polished, and that the rough part near the base seemed to be full of little fragments of bark, while at the very base, where the horns joined the head, there were bits of dried, thin skin, and marks of blood. He spoke to Hugh about this, and asked if these horns were not now full grown.

"Yes," said Hugh, "they're hard now, and the velvet has been rubbed off, and when the velvet is gone they don't grow no more. A bull carries his horns until along toward spring, say in March, and then they drop off. I expect likely your uncle has told you how these horns grow, and I mind that you killed a bull, yourself, along in the spring, when the horns hadn't much more than started."

"Yes," answered Jack. "Uncle Will has told me all about how the horns grow. It would be hard to believe, if one didn't know that it was so, that these great big horns grow in just a few months."

"That's what they do," said Hugh, "and as soon as they are hard, and the velvet has been cleaned off them, the bulls begin to travel about and gather up their families. It's wonderful to see the way an old bull will travel over the country, hunting it just as careful as can be, to find cows, and when he gets one or two or three, he rounds 'em up and drives 'em ahead of him over the country that he's hunting. I've watched a bull all day long, travel along the foot of a range of high hills, going up every ravine and hunting it out, just about as faithful as a hunting dog would, and a few days after, I have ridden in that same range of country and found the same old bull, with a bunch of eighteen or twenty cows and calves and heifers, that he'd managed to gather up in that time."

"This is the time of year when they whistle, isn't it, Hugh?" said Jack.

"Yes, for about a month now, sometimes for longer, you can hear 'em whistle to each other on the hills. I expect it's a kind of a brag; one saying, 'Here I am; I'm the boss of this range,' and another, on another hill, calling out, 'Here I am; I'm the boss.' I've seen it where you could hear a dozen bulls whistling at the same time. It's a mighty nice sound when you hear it a little way off, but if you're close to the bull that's calling, it sounds more like a part of the neighing of a horse, and ain't nice or pretty."

"Then the elk are travelling around a good deal now, are they, Hugh?"

"No, not right now," said Hugh; "but in the course of a week they'll be travelling and whistling. Just about now the bulls are in the finest kind of order, fat as beef steers, but just as soon as they begin to travel and hunt for cows, and fight, they begin to lose their fat; and along about next month, say the middle of October, they get right poor, and ain't fit to eat. You see, at this time of the year the bull has his work cut out for him; he's got to hunt up cows, keep 'em together, drive off the young bulls, and fight the old ones."

"Did you ever see a fight, Hugh?" said Jack.

"Plenty of 'em," was the reply. "They charge each other, head on, and push and push, as hard as you ever see two range bulls push. Their horns clatter right smart when they come together, and there they stand, head to head, noses down, and just shove and shove. If both of 'em are the same size they may keep that up for an hour or two, but if one is considerable bigger than the other, he will push the little fellow back, slowly at first, but gradually faster and faster, until he gets a side push on him, and then the little fellow's got to be mighty spry, to get out of the way before the big one hits him with his horns."

"It must be great to see a fight like that," said Jack.

"Well, you'd think so; two big animals and with big horns like that, but really, it ain't much fun; they fight so slow; there's no jumping around, no quick work. I'd sooner see a pair of range bulls fight; they've got more go to 'em."

"Still, I'd like mighty well to see it," said Jack.

"Well," said Hugh, "maybe we'll get to see it before this month's over; we can't tell, though. There's one thing I don't want to do, and that is, to camp in among a lot of elk at this time of year; they make so much noise with their whistling, and their running around, and their splashing water (if it's near a lake or a creek), a man don't get no chance to sleep. I've seen it where I've had to get up at night and fire my rifle in the direction of the elk to see if I couldn't drive 'em away."

"Hugh, if I were to tell that at home, in the east, I don't think people would believe me."

"Well, of course," said Hugh, "there's lots of things happens out in this western country that seems strange to people that live back east there. I suppose they could tell me a lot of things that happens back there that I'd find it pretty hard to swallow."

Later in the day, Joe said to Jack, "Jack, you're getting to be quite a cow puncher, but there's one thing you ain't done yet; you ain't ridden a wild horse."

"That's so, Joe; but I'm afraid my legs are pretty short to hold on to a bucking horse."

"Well, yes," said Joe, "they are a little short, but we've got a wild horse out here, or anyhow, a horse that ain't never been ridden, that I believe you could ride. Don't you want to try it now, and surprise your uncle and the old man?"

"Why, of course, Joe; I'd like to do that, if I thought I could stick on, but I wouldn't like to get thrown off."

"Well, now look here," said Joe, "you know that orphan colt? He's coming three years old, and he's just as tame as tame can be. Let's you and me get him into the corral and put a saddle on him, anyhow, and see what he does. I don't believe he'll be a mite afraid of the saddle, and I expect he'd carry you right off as gentle as can be. You'd feel kind of good if you could ride him up to the house and show him to your uncle and Hugh, and say that you'd broke him yourself."

"Yes, indeed, Joe, that would be fine; I'd like that, sure."

"Well, let's go down and try him now; he's over there in the pasture, and we can get him in and saddle him up, anyhow."

They had no trouble whatever in getting the orphan into the corral. His mother had died when he was a little fellow, and he had been reared by hand. After he was in the corral they walked up to him and put a rope about his neck, and led him back and forth. Then Joe got Jack's saddle and bridle, and both were put on the colt without any trouble. He stood perfectly still, but, as the cinch was being drawn tight, he turned his head and looked back at himself, as if he wondered what in the world they were trying to do with him. After the saddle had been put on, he was led up and down, and although he walked awkwardly, he still made no signs of giving trouble.

"Now," said Joe, "I know he ain't going to do anything. If you like, I'll get on him and ride him round a little bit, myself, just to see how he acts, but of course if I do that then you can't say you were the first man to mount him."

"No," said Jack, "he seems quiet; I'll get on him, myself; but let's take him out of the corral and on to the grass, where it will be softer if he throws me."

"All right," said Joe; and they led the colt to the gate and out on to the smooth, level flat, where the sod was soft and springy.

"Now," said Joe, "you can mount here, if you want to, or maybe I'd better run him about a little, so that he can feel the string and stirrups flapping against his sides, and get used to 'em."

Joe ran a quarter of a mile down the valley, leading the horse, which galloped after him quietly enough, except that now and then, when one of the stirrups knocked hard against his side, he pranced and sheered off to one side. When Joe reached Jack again, he said: "He's as awkward as can be, and don't know nothing. Of course, he may throw you, or he may fall with you, but I don't believe he will. You better try him anyhow. Get on, and I'll try and keep along with you. Just start in slowly at first." Jack mounted, and the horse stood perfectly still. He kept on standing still, for when Jack lifted the bridle and clucked to him, and stuck his heels into his ribs, the colt, not knowing what these signs meant, did not move.

"Hold on," said Joe, "I'll hit him behind with the rope; maybe that'll start him." He did so, and the horse took a jump or two forward, and then again stood fast.

"I'll tell you what we've got to do," said Joe; "I'll have to lead him for a while."

"That'll be a queer sort of horse-breaking," said Jack; "me sitting on the horse and you leading him around."

"Never you mind," said Joe; "it ain't breaking this horse needs, it's education, but he needs that a whole lot."

He put the rope around the horse's neck, and when Jack again lifted his bridle rein, and dug his heels into the animal's ribs, Joe pulled on the rope, and the colt started. This was repeated a good many times, and at last the orphan seemed to realize something of what was wanted of him, and Jack found that he could ride him about the flat at a walk, without difficulty. By this time he was feeling quite at home on the colt's back, and wanted to go faster, and once, when the horse was walking, he said:

"Now, Joe, I'm going to try to start him into a lope, so when I stick my heels into his side, you hit him with the rope."

Joe did so, and the colt started off at a clumsy gallop, but as he was not in the least bridle wise, Jack could not guide him, and in a moment he stepped with his right forefoot into a little washout and awkwardly enough fell over onto his right side, and lay there. His fall was so slow that if Jack had been a practiced horseman he could readily have sprung off, alighting on his feet, but he was not quick enough, and the horse fell upon the boy's right leg. Happily the ground was soft, and the large wooden stirrup kept the horse's body from pressing heavily on the confined leg. Joe was beside Jack in a moment, asking him if he were hurt, to which Jack replied:

"Not a bit."

"Can you get your leg out? Is the horse lying on it?" said Joe.

"Well," said Jack, "he's lying on it a little, but I think maybe I can work it out."

"Don't try for a minute," said Joe, "wait till I lift on the horn of the saddle." He took the horn in both hands, and lifting on it, raised the horse's body slowly, and Jack drew out his leg and stood up. Joe kicked the horse angrily, saying: "Get up, you fool brute," and the orphan rose to his feet.

"I'm mighty sorry he fell with you," said Joe, "but I'm mighty glad he didn't hurt you. Now, you wait here a moment until I go and get a quirt, and I'll get on that horse and teach him how to move."

"You go and get the quirt," said Jack, "and I'll get on the horse, and I think I can make him move. All he needs, I guess, is to be made to understand what is wanted of him."

With the quirt in his right hand, Jack mounted again, and again put the horse into a gallop, watching the ground ahead of him, and doing his best to guide him where it was smooth. In a half or three quarters of an hour the orphan had greatly improved in his method of travelling, and really seemed to understand what it was to carry a rider. A little later Mr. Sturgis and Hugh came riding over the hills, and when they reached the flat, Jack rode up to them on the orphan, and said to his uncle:

"You don't want to hire anybody to bust broncos for you, do you, Mr. Sturgis?"

"Why, Jack, what are you doing on the orphan? I didn't know that he'd ever had a saddle on him."

"He never did until this afternoon," said Joe, "but this new cowboy of ours thought he'd make a good saddle horse, and he's been riding him. He stayed with him good, you bet. The horse throwed himself once, but that didn't make a mite of difference to Jack, he just made the horse get up, and got on him, and put the quirt on to him, and rode him all over the flat."

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Sturgis, "I'm glad you had the pluck to try this fellow, and if he makes a good horse, I think we'll have to give him to you."

"Thank you, Uncle Will," said Jack, "that will be pretty fine to have a horse that's really my own."

They were still talking, when suddenly Hugh said, "By George! there's old John coming back," and looking toward the hill, they saw a rider, followed by two pack horses, coming down toward the ranch. It was John Monroe. He had left his daughter's home more than a week before, and was now on his way back to the north.

All at the ranch were glad to see him, and he, on his part, seemed delighted to meet them all again. He unpacked his horses at the bunk house, and turned them all loose, as if he expected to stay here for some time.

That evening Jack questioned him about the distance that he would have to travel before he reached his home. John said he didn't know how many miles it was, but he thought it would take him about twenty-five days' travel to reach the Piegan camp. Just where this camp would be he could not tell, but it would not be difficult to find, after he had come to the country in which the tribe ranged. He said that perhaps it might take longer if the weather should be bad, or if enemies should be met with who might try to take his horses, or even to kill him, but neither of these things was likely to happen. The season of the year promised good weather, and enemies could surely be avoided by watchfulness and care.

Hugh and John had much to say to each other about the doings of the old days, and the more Jack heard of their talk, the more eager he became to see something of this strange life, which seemed to him so much more wild, and so much more natural than even the life on the ranch.

John Monroe stayed at the ranch for ten days, before continuing his journey toward his northern home. Before he left he invited Hugh and Jack to come north the next summer and visit the Piegan tribe. He told Jack much about the summer life of these Indians, and assured him that if he would visit them he would be made welcome, not only by him, but by the whole tribe, and that, if he travelled about with them in their journeys after the buffalo, on which they subsisted, he would see a great deal that would be new and strange to him that he would enjoy. Jack was, of course, crazy to go. He even wanted to start now and spend the winter with the tribe, but Mr. Sturgis very positively vetoed any such proposition, although he said he thought it would be very good for Jack to make the trip next summer, if he could get away from the east for the length of time required for the trip. So when the time came for John's departure, they shook hands in the hope of meeting again another season.

"Son, these blue grouse are getting to be a pretty good size now; why don't you take your rifle, or maybe your uncle's shot gun, and go out and try and get a mess this morning?" said Hugh to Jack. They were down at the barn saddling up. Hugh was going into town to get the mail, and Jack was at a loss what to do with himself during the two days of Hugh's absence.

"Where had I better go, Hugh? Up on the mountain?" said Jack.

"No," said Hugh, "you'll find the old hens and their broods along the little creeks, right close up to the mountain, but not high up on it. I wouldn't be a mite surprised if you could get quite a few birds right up on the heads of the creeks that run down through the pasture. But say; there's one thing you want to remember; if you take your rifle with you, only heads counts."

"What do you mean by that, Hugh?" said Jack.

"Why," said Hugh, "if you shoot with your rifle at one of them little birds, and hit it in the body, there ain't nothing left except a few feathers. You'll spoil all the meat. So I want you to shoot the heads off all the birds you see; don't aim at the bodies at all. Fire at the heads, or, if they have got their necks stretched up, aim at the neck, just below the head. You needn't be afraid that you'll lose many shots that way. Young birds are right gentle, and they'll let you fire half a dozen shots at 'em, and won't move without they're hit. Of course it would be better if you had one of them little pea rifles, that don't make no noise and shoot a mighty small ball, but your gun will do, and it's pretty good practice shooting the heads off grouse; you get to learn just when to pull your gun off. You have to get up pretty close to the birds, but they'll let you do that. Draw your sight down right fine, and aim at the neck, just under the head. You'll get so after a little that you can knock 'em every time."

Hugh finished saddling, rode up to the house, tied his bundle of mail behind his saddle and trotted off over the hills; while Jack filled his belt with cartridges, and then, mounting Pawnee, rode off toward the mountain.

Before long he passed down into the valley of a little brook, and followed it up, looking among the willows and along the hillside, to see if he could discover any birds. He had not gone far before he noticed above him, on the hillside, some small moving objects, which he soon made out to be young sage grouse. These were not just what he was after, but he thought they would do to practice on, and dismounting and throwing down his horse's rein, he walked toward them. In the brood there were eight or ten birds, about as large as hens, all keeping quite close together, and following their much larger mother. They paid no attention to him, and he walked up to within fifteen or twenty yards, and stood watching them, before beginning to shoot. They made their way slowly along the hillside, feeding as they went. Now and then one of them would run wildly about, chasing a grasshopper here and there, and at length capturing it, and sometimes two or three followed the same insect. As they walked along, they kept calling to each other with faint peeping cries, and if one got off a little to one side of the group, he soon turned and ran back to it.

It was rather pleasant to watch them, but Jack had come out to kill some birds, and, putting a cartridge into his gun, he made ready to shoot. At first they did not stand still long enough for him to catch sight on one, but he walked along slowly after them, and presently one of the grouse stretched up his neck and stood looking. Jack fired at it, and the bird fell to the ground, while all the others stretched their necks to their fullest lengths, and looked about to see what had made the noise. Before he could reload and fire again, they had resumed their feeding and moved on. Before long, however, he had another shot, but this time he missed. Again the birds looked about, and again started on. At his third shot the bird fired at, instead of dropping at once, made a great fluttering, and immediately the whole brood took wing and flew off over the ridge and were not seen again. Jack's first shot had been a capital one, cutting the bird's neck just below the head. His third shot had been too low, and had not killed the bird at once, and its fluttering and flouncing over the ground had frightened the others.

He tied the two grouse to his saddle and went on along the mountain side. Nothing was seen on the next two streams that he crossed, but as he looked down into the valley of the third, he saw, quite a long way off, something that at once arrested his attention. Down in the flat was a coyote, jumping and prancing about, as if in great excitement, and quite close to it, sometimes standing still, and again running toward the coyote, which retreated, was a badger. For two or three minutes Jack sat there watching them, wondering what they could be doing, but the strange game—if it was a game—was kept up. He determined that he would get off and watch; so leaving his horse behind the hill, he crept up to its crest and lay there, to try to discover what the animals were doing.

Sometimes the coyote ran very fast, almost up to the badger, which, in turn, ran toward the coyote, which then retreated, and when the badger had stopped his advance, the coyote lay down, rested his head on his paws, waved his tail from side to side, and sometimes rolled over. The badger then started to walk off, but before he had gone far the coyote got on his legs again and recommenced his play. This continued for quite a long time, during which the animals worked further and further away from Jack. The badger seemed to be trying to cross the valley and go up onto the next hillside, and the coyote seemed to be teasing him. It was rather a mysterious performance to Jack, and he determined that he would ask Hugh whether he had ever seen anything like it, and what it meant. When the two animals had got so far from him that he could no longer see them distinctly, he went back to his horse, mounted and rode on. As soon as the coyote saw him, he left the badger and ran up on the hill, where he watched Jack for a few moments, and then went off, while the badger trotted briskly along up on the hillside, and presently disappeared in a hole.

In a ravine not far beyond this Jack found his first brood of blue grouse. The birds were half grown, and he rode in among them before seeing them. They flew up the ravine, but he saw where some of them alighted, and, riding on until he was near the spot, he dismounted again. He walked along very cautiously, looking everywhere on the ground for the birds, but before he saw them, two rose, with a great fluttering of wings, almost beneath his feet, and flew on further up the ravine. He had been looking so carefully for these birds that he felt sure that they must be hiding, and not walking along, for if they had been moving he would certainly have seen them. A few steps further on, his eye suddenly caught a brown shape on the grey ground, which in an instant he saw was a grouse, crouching flat on the soil, its head and tail pressed against it, and its bright brown eye closely watching him. He slowly raised his rifle to his shoulder, and firing very carefully, cut off its head. A little further on, two that he had not seen flew, and then he saw another in the ground, but it flew before he had time to shoot. Then he saw another and raising his rifle just as he saw its shape, he pulled the trigger the instant his eye fell full upon it. It occurred to him now that the birds were watching him all the time, and that as soon as they caught his eye they realised that they were seen, and flew away. In this, Jack was quite right, for often one's face may be turned full toward a hiding bird, and one may all look around it without its moving, but if he looks fairly at its eye, the bird is almost sure to flush. Before long he had four of the young blue grouse, and going back to his horse, he mounted again.

By this time the morning was pretty well gone, and he hesitated whether to go home for dinner, or to spend the afternoon here beneath the cliffs. Finally he determined to ride up the ravine a little further, on the chance of seeing more of this scattered brood, and then, if he did not find any, to go home.

Following up the valley a short distance, a grouse rose under Pawnee's feet, and flew up the hillside, alighting among some low pines that grew at the very base of the cliff. Jack thought the bird might have gone into a tree, and clambered up on the chance of getting a shot. When he reached the pines he could not find the bird, and after looking for it a little while, he sat down to rest, and to watch some little striped squirrels that were playing among the rocks just above him. While he sat watching the squirrels, he suddenly heard a rushing sound, so close to his ear that he dodged, and a great hawk, with long tail and sharp pointed wings, darted over one of the squirrels, and in an instant rose in the air with the tiny creature in its talons. It had happened so quickly that Jack hardly realised the squirrel's capture until he saw the hawk rise, and with a few strong strokes of its wings, swing up and alight on a shelf of the cliff, above the tops of the tall pines that grew on the hillside. Here the blue rock was stained white, and Jack made up his mind that the hawk had a nest there. He determined to climb up and see if he could not get to it, and learn what was in it. There might be young birds, and these would make capital pets if they could be tamed. It seemed a long way up to where the hawk sat, and the cliff looked sheer as a wall, but here and there were crevices and places where the water had worn away the rock, and he thought that perhaps he could get up to the nest.

The climb to the base of the cliff was long and slow. When he reached it he saw that it would be impossible to get far up if he carried his gun with him, so he left it here, resting against a rock, and clambered up toward the nest for thirty or forty feet, and then he reached a place where he could get no further. But a little below, he had passed a narrow shelf, running out to one side, and going down to this, he made his way very carefully under the cliff to a crevice, up which he worked a short distance, and then this ran out and ended in a bare, smooth wall. He would have to give it up: the nest could not be reached. He thought it would be shorter and easier to follow the crevice down to the steep hillside at the foot of the cliff, instead of going back along the shelf, as he had come. Going down was easy, until he had almost reached the foot of the wall, and could see, five or six feet below him, ground on which he could walk. Here the crevice ended. It was rather a long jump down to the ground, and that sloped off so sharply that he did not feel sure that if he jumped he could stop himself. He turned around, therefore, and let himself down backward, feeling with his toes for some little knob of rock on which to rest his feet, but, as he let himself down the rock all seemed smooth, and he could find no foothold. He was now clinging by the ends of his fingers to the rock above, too far down to draw himself up again, and yet with his feet a foot or more above the ground. There was nothing for it but to let himself go, and he dropped. The slope which his feet struck was too steep for a foothold. He fell over backward, and rolled thirty or forty feet down the slope, bringing up in a clump of bushes.

Jack was a little shaken and bruised by his roll, but not hurt. He picked himself up and looked back at the way he had come, and congratulated himself that it had been no worse. He started to climb up the slope again to get his gun, but first it was necessary that he should get out of the brush into which he had rolled. To his right there seemed a place where the bushes were thinner than those over which he had passed on his way down, and he turned in this direction to make the ascent. He had gone only a few steps when he stopped, for there before him was a great dark hole in the side of the hill. It was shaped almost like a door, high, and not very wide, and within all seemed black. Grass and bushes grew up in the entrance, and there was no sign that anything ever passed in or out.

This hole looked rather mysterious to Jack, and he wondered what there could be in it. He walked up to it and looked as hard as he could into the blackness, but he could see nothing. He wanted very much to go in, yet it was useless to do so unless he could see something when he got there. "If I only had a lantern now," thought Jack, "or even a candle, I could go in and see what is there. I'll bet no one at the ranch knows of this cave, and I'd like to find out all about it and tell them. That would be a good story to take back." He thought for awhile, and decided that he must make a torch; but what could he make it of? For a little while he could think of nothing to use. He remembered that in the books that he had read, people had always had birch bark for torches, or fat with which to make candles, but he had neither. Then he thought of pine torches of which he had read. There were plenty of pines growing here on the mountain, but nothing that he could make a torch of. Suddenly he remembered that dried pine needles burn brightly, though only for a little while, and that on the ground not far from here he had seen a half dozen pine limbs, twisted off from one of the trees in some heavy wind storm. He thought if he could tie a good many bunches of these needles together, they would make a torch for him. He crept out of the underbrush and saw near by several of these pine limbs, with the dried red needles on them, and he picked a number of the bunches. Now he needed some string. "If I only had Pawnee here," he thought, "I could take the strings from my saddle;" but Pawnee was feeding far below him in the valley. As he cast his eye about him, in perplexity, he saw a yucca plant growing on the slope, and he remembered what Hugh had told him about using the fibre of this plant for thread. He climbed up to it, cut off a number of the long bayonet-shaped leaves, selected a straight dead stick, and went back to his pile of pine needles. Splitting the tough leaves of the yucca, he found that they could be used as strings, and with these strings he bound his bunches of pine needles, one beneath the other, to the stick, and soon had what he thought might perhaps serve him as a torch. Going back to the mouth of the cave, he again looked into it, and listened, but all was darkness and silence. He parted the low growing bushes at the entrance, and stepped in, and then, lighting a match, touched it to the top of his torch. The bunch of pine needles flared up for two or three seconds, and then went out, but the light was enough to show that for six or eight feet further in there was a smooth floor to the cave, paved with small stones. The walls above and on either side seemed high. A second match, touched to another bunch of pine needles, gave another flame, lasting only an instant. Plainly, the torch would not burn from the top downward. The only thing to do was to light it below, and let the flames run up the stick. Jack lighted another match, took two or three steps forward, and then touched the torch at its lower part. The pine needles flared up, the flame caught the next bunch above, and then the next. Jack could see on the ground before him some feathers, a half dozen slender sticks, and, far back, raised above the floor of the cave, was a pale, dim thing. There was a whirring sound, something struck his hat, something else struck the torch, he dropped it, and it went out.