of this wharf and all about was the wilderness of silent wood; a
wilderness enclosed by a wall of mountains, whose lofty heads were
uplifted far above the soft white clouds that floated in the blue sky
overhead and were mirrored in the lake below. An eagle, on apparently
immovable wings, soared over the lake in spiral course. As I watched the
bird its wings seemed suddenly endowed with life. At the same instant my
guide gave a low grunt of warning.

"What is it?" I asked in a whisper, for there was a strange expression
in my companion's eyes.

"It's--it's him, so help me!--Keep yer ears open and yer meat-trap
shut!" growled Pete.

I did so. The trained ear of the hunter had detected the sound of
crackling twigs and swishing branches made by some animals in rapid
motion.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, "the dogs. You startled me; I thought it was
Indians."

"I wish it was nothing wuss," muttered my guide, as he examined his
weapons with a critical eye and loosened the cartridges for his
revolvers in his belt to make sure that they would be easy to pluck out.

"Those hain't our dogs, mister," he remarked after he had examined his
whole arsenal.

As I again fixed my attention on the noise, in place of the resonant
voice of the hounds, I heard nothing but the crackling of branches, with
an occasional half-suppressed wolf-like yelp.

Big Pete turned pale and muttered, "It's them for sartin; it's them
agin! And I hain't been drinkin', nuther!"

Big Pete Darlinkel remained crouching in exactly the same pose he had
first assumed, but his face looked sallow and worn. I marveled. Was this
big westerner really awed by the situation we were facing? What disaster
impended?

My guide's eyes were fixed upon an opening in the woods and I knew that
something would soon bound from that spot. I could hear the crashing of
brush and half-suppressed wolf-like yelps, followed by a pause, then a
rushing noise, and out leaped as beautiful a bull elk as I had ever
seen--in fact the first I had ever seen at close range in his native
wilderness. I had only time to take note of his muscular neck, clean cut
limbs, his grand branching antlers, and--not my dogs but a pack of
_immense black wolves_ at his heels before I instinctively brought my
gun to my shoulder. But before I could draw a bead Big Pete struck it,
knocking the muzzle up.

"Hist!" he exclaimed, pointing to the bird.

The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt and skilfully a