nuisances, and it was long before the days of Bergh.
On one of these occasions, the wolf was led to the starting point by
some soldiers to be prepared for the chase, but none of them really
liked the idea of taking hold of his fierce looking jaws while the
muzzling process was going on. My brother, Malcolm, a boy of seven or
eight, and already an apt pupil of Martin Scott, stepped up and
grasping the animal's snout with his little hands, called out: "Muzzle
him now, I'll hold him," and they did it. Those who know how the land
lies, and how well adapted it was for such a chase, can readily
imagine that for those who like such sport, it must have been very
enjoyable, and a great relief from the monotony of life in a frontier
fort.

During the winter of '25 and '26, the wolves were unusually
troublesome, and came every night to the barns and out-houses,
carrying off any small stock they could find. We were occupying the
stone cottage at that time, and my brother and I were much interested
in the case of some chickens and other pets which we were allowed to
call ours.

Of course we grieved over the result of these nightly raids, and,
finally, thought we would try and catch some of the marauders; so
procuring a steel-trap, we had a dead carcass of some animal hauled to
the foot of our garden, and began our work in real earnest. Our
success was far beyond our hopes, and it was our custom to rise every
morning at reveille, dress ourselves hastily and run down to look at
the trap, which was rarely without an occupant. One morning, to our
astonishment, the trap was gone, but the blood on the snow, and the
peculiar track leading toward the woods, satisfied us that a wolf was
in that trap somewhere between the fort and the "Little Falls." Hoping
to find him near home, we started in pursuit, without any protection
from the cold, which was intense, but the sun shone so brightly that
we did not think of the cold; our one idea was--the wolf, and how to
catch him. I was bare-headed and bare-handed; my brother, boy-like,
had seized his cap and mittens as he left the house, and was better
off than I. After traveling on, and on, not in the beaten path, but
wherever that track led us, we, of course, became cold and very
tired, but still could not think of giving up our search, and my dear,
brave brother insisted on my wearing his cap and mittens, saying,
"boys can stand the cold better than girls." We must have gone more
than a mile whe