wound him he will charge. The snowshoes
must not become entangled."

Will knew that it was excellent advice and he resolved to be exceedingly
cautious. He could walk well on the snowshoes though he was not as
expert as the Indians, but he held himself steady and made no noise
among the bushes as they advanced, Pehansan leading, with Roka next.

"Very near now," whispered Pehansan, looking at the deep tracks, his
eyes still glowing. It was a great triumph to kill a mountain buffalo,
above all at such a time, and it was he, Pehansan, who led the way. If
the other two shared in the triumph so much the better. There was no
jealous streak in the Crane.

Pehansan knew also that the quest was not without danger. Wounded, the
buffalo could become very dangerous and on snowshoes, among the thick
bushes, it would be difficult for the hunters to evade the crashing
charges of that mighty beast.

He came to a wide and deep depression in the snow.

"He lie down here and rest a while," he said. "Just beyond he dig in the
snow for bunches of the sweet grass that grow here in summer and that
keep alive under the snow."

"Then he is not a half hour away," said Roka.

"Not more than that," said Pehansan. "We barely creep now."

Will began to feel excitement. He had killed big buffaloes before, but
then he had his repeating rifle, now he was to meet a monster of the
mountains only with the bow and arrow. Even in that moment he remembered
that man did not always have the bow and arrow. His primitive ancestors
were compelled to face not only buffaloes but the fierce carnivora with
the stone axe and nothing more.

The great trail rapidly grew fresher. Among the pines and cedars, the
snow was not more than a foot deep and the three hunters had much
difficulty in making their way noiselessly where the brush was so dense.
But the footprints were monstrous. The great hoofs had crushed down
through the snow, and had even bitten into the earth. Will had a curious
idea that it might not be a mountain buffalo, large as they grew, but
some primordial beast, a survivor of a prehistoric time, a mammoth or
mastodon, the pictures of which he recalled in his youthful geography.
If America itself had so long passed unknown to the white man, why could
not these vast animals also be still living, hidden in the secluded
valleys of the great Northwest?

Pehansan paused and turned upon the other two eyes that glowed from
internal fires. He, too, had