scomfort that set his hands to groping
automatically through his pockets. The absence of the usual box
roused his consciousness, with a dismayed start, to the realization
that he was absolutely without his soothing drug. The absconding
guide and valet had taken the large store he had in camp, and, to
please Miss Knowles, he had flung away all that were left in his
pockets.

From vague fumbling he instantly concentrated his mind on an eager
search for a packet that might have been overlooked, either in his
pockets or around the camp. He could find none, nor even a single
cigarette. His nerves were now clamoring wildly for their soothing
poison. So great was the strain that it began to affect his mind. He
fancied that the wolf pack was closing in to attack him. Twice he
fired his rifle at imaginary eyes out in the darkness.

All the time the craving for nicotine increased in intensity, until he
was half frantic. Midnight found him, torch in hand, crawling around
on the ground where his tent had been pitched, hunting for cigarette
stubs. He had only to look close in order to find any number. Most
were no more than cork tips, but some had at least one puff left in
them, and a few had been only half smoked.

Beside the bed he came upon almost a handful, close together. By this
time his jangled nerves were "toning down." He became conscious of
great weariness. He stretched out on his leafy bed, and with his head
pillowed on his arm, luxuriously sucked in the drugging smoke.

CHAPTER VI

A TEST OF CALIBER

When he opened his eyes the sun was beating down into his face. He had
slept far into the morning. He stood up to stare around. His horse was
cropping the grass near the lower side of the grove. There was no sign
of any wolves. He walked over to his fireplace. The fire had burned to
ashes hours ago. He started a fresh one with his patent lighter, and
turned to where he had left the veal. It was gone.

He went a few steps farther, and found a bone gnawed clean of every
shred of meat and gristle. A fox is a far less cunning thief than a
coyote. The quantity of calf meat had alone saved his saddle and
bridle, and even at that, one of the bridle reins was slashed and the
stirrup leathers were gnawed. He looked from the white bone to the
saddle, and ripped out a half dozen vigorous Anglo-Saxon oaths. It was
not nice, but the explosion argued a far healthier frame of mind than
either his morbid hysteria of the pre