I be? I bided i' the bed," the Stewart said.

"Well," said Harkrudder, "I know where each of the other fellows was,
and none of them was in this direction. Now who is the seventh man?"

I looked again, and, sure enough, there was a man in a crouching
position outlined against the tent wall. We were all excited, for it
was ten minutes past one when Harkrudder was out, and we couldn't
think why any one would be prowling about our camp at that time of the
night.

As Mr. Stewart and I had planned a long, beautiful ride, we set
out after dinner, leaving the rest yet at the table eating and
conjecturing about the "stranger within our picture." I had hoped we
would come to ground level enough for a sharp, invigorating canter,
but our way was too rough. It was a joy to be out in the great, silent
forest. The snow made riding a little venturesome because the horses
slipped a great deal, but Chub is dependable even though he is lazy.
Clyde bestrode Mr. Haynes's Old Blue. We were headed for the cascades
on Clear Creek, to see the wonderful ice-caverns that the flying spray
is forming.

We had almost reached the cascades and were crossing a little
bowl-like valley, when an elk calf leaped out of the snow and ran a
few yards. It paused and finally came irresolutely back toward us. A
few steps farther we saw great, red splotches on the snow and the body
of a cow elk. Around it were the tracks of the faithful little calf.
It would stay by its mother until starvation or wild animals put an
end to its suffering. The cow was shot in half a dozen places, none of
them in a fatal spot; it had bled to death. "That," said Mr. Stewart
angrily, "comes o' bunch shooting. The authorities should revoke the
license of a man found guilty of bunch shooting."

We rode on in silence, each a little saddened by what we had seen. But
this was not all. We had begun to descend the mountain side to Clear
Creek when we came upon the beaten trail of a herd of elk. We followed
it as offering perhaps the safest descent. It didn't take us far.
Around the spur of the mountain the herd had stampeded; tracks were
everywhere. Lying in the trail were a spike and an old bull with a
broken antler. Chub shied, but Old Blue doesn't scare, so Mr. Stewart
rode up quite close. Around the heads were tell-tale tracks. We didn't
dismount, but we knew that the two upper teeth or tushes were missing
and that the hated tooth-hunter was at work. The tracks in the snow
showed