e, and
followed by the wolf, struck down the main street of the village.

It can be said for Ben that he aroused no little conjecture and interest
in the minds of the townspeople, striding through the street with the
savage woods creature following abjectly at his heels. Evidently Ben's
conquest was complete: the animal obeyed his every command as quickly
as an intelligent dog. It was noticeable, however, that even the
hardiest citizens kept an apprehensive eye on the wolf during the course
of any conversation with Ben.

He bought supplies--flour and salt and a few other essentials--simple
tools and utensils such as are carried by prospectors, blankets, shells
for his rifle, and a few, simple, hard-wearing clothes. He went to bed
dead tired, his funds materially reduced. But before dawn he was up,
wholly refreshed; and after a hasty breakfast went to pack his horses
for the trip.

Beatrice came stealing out of the shadows, more than ever suggestive of
some timid creature of the forest, and the three of them saddled and
packed the animals. As daylight broke they started out, down the
shadowed street of the little town.

"The last we'll see of civilization for a long, long time," the girl
reminded him.

The man thrilled deeply. "And I'm glad of it," he answered. "Nothing
ahead but the long trail!"

It was a long trail, that which they followed along Poor Man's creek in
the morning hours. The girl led, by right of having some previous
acquaintance with the trail. The three pack horses walked in file
between, heads low, tails whisking; and Ben, with Fenris at his horse's
hoofs, brought up the rear. Almost at once the spruce forest dropped
over them, the silence and the gloom that Ben had known of old.

This was not like gliding in a boat down-river. The narrow, winding
trail offered a chance for the most intimate study of the wilderness.
From the river the woodsfolk were but an occasional glimpse, the stir of
a thicket on the bank: here they were living, breathing
realities,--vivid pictures perfectly framed by the frosty green of the
spruce.

From the first mile these two riders were the best of companions. They
talked gaily, their voices carrying to each other with entire ease
through the still glades. He found her spirited, warm-hearted,
responding with an eager gladness to every fresh manifestation of the
wild; and in spite of his gay laughter she read something of the dark
moodiness and intensity that were hi