sudden respect for the unreclaimed, seldom-trodden region to which his
craving for adventure had brought him.

The outline of Old Squaw Mountain could be plainly discerned, a dark,
towering shape against the horizon. A few stars glinted like a diamond
diadem above its brow. Down its sides and from the base stretched a
sable mantle of forest, enwrapping Squaw Pond, of which the moon made a
mirror.

"My! I think this would make the fellows in Manchester open their eyes a
bit," muttered Neal aloud. "Only one feels as if he ought to see some
old Indian brave such as Cyrus tells about,--a Touch-the-Cloud, or
Whistling Elk, or Spotted Tail, come gliding towards him out of the
woods in his paint and feather toggery. Glad I didn't visit Maine a
hundred years ago, though, when there'd have been a chance of such a
meeting."

Still muttering, young Farrar kicked off his high rubber boots, and
dragged off his coat. He proceeded to shake and wring the water from his
upper garments, listening intently, and glancing half expectantly into
the pitch-black shadows at the edges of the forest, as if he might hear
the stealthy steps and see the savage form of the superseded red man
emerge therefrom.

"Ugh! I mind the ducking now more than I did a while ago," he murmured.
"The water wasn't cold. Why, we bathed at the other end of the pond late
last evening! But these wet clothes are precious uncomfortable. I wish
we were nearer to camp. Good Gracious! What's that?"

He stood stock-still and erect, his flesh shrinking a little, while his
drenched flannel shirt clung yet more closely and clammily to his skin.

A distant noise was wafted to his ears through the forest behind. It
began like the gentle, mellow lowing of a cow at evening, swelled into a
quavering, appealing crescendo cadence, and gradually died away. Almost
as the last note ceased another commenced at the same low pitch, with
only the rest of a heart-beat between the two, and surged forth into a
plaintive yet tempestuous call, which sank as before. It was followed by
a third, terminating in an impatient roar. The weird solo ran through
several scales in its performance, rising, wailing, booming, sinking,
ever varying in expression. It marked a new era in Neal's experience of
sounds, and left him choking with bewilderment about what sort of
forest creature it could be which uttered such a call.

He began to get out some bungling description when Cyrus joined him
shortly aft