n the stove, his head pillowed on his
boots wound in his blanket. Beneath the canopy of stars the torrent
roared and the great trees whined and creaked, their shaggy tops
whistling in the stiff breeze. Not until Hite laid his rough hand on
his shoulder and shook him gently did he wake to consciousness.

"Breakfus's most ready," announced the trapper cheerfully.

Thayor opened his eyes; then, with a start, he sat up, remembering
where he was. As he grew accustomed to the light he caught a glimpse
outside of Billy and the Clown busy over the frying pan, and the
steaming pail of coffee. Its fragrance and the pungent smoke from the
fire now brought him fully awake.

"How'd ye sleep, friend?" inquired Hite, his weather-beaten face
wrinkled in a kindly grin.

"How did I sleep?" returned the millionaire smiling; "like a
top--really I don't know; I don't remember anything after Holcomb
covered me up."

"Breakfast!" shouted the Clown from without.

"Wait'll I git ye some fresh water," said the trapper, tossing the
soapy contents of a tin basin into the sun and returning with it
re-filled. "Thar, dip yer head into that, friend--makes a man feel
good, I tell ye, on a frosty mornin'." Then lowering his voice to a
whisper he added: "The old dog's sot on gittin' an early start; he's
mighty pertickler 'bout it. The old feller's been up 'long 'fore
daylight. He told me he never seen no nicer mornin' for a hunt. If
we don't git a deer 'fore noon you kin have all that's on my plate."
There was a confident gleam in the old man's eyes--an enthusiasm that
was contagious.

The gray head of the millionaire went into the tin basin with a will.
Big Shanty Brook, that morning, was as cold as ice. He rubbed his
face and neck into a glow, combing his hair as best he could with
his hands. He was as hungry as a wolf. Thayor was now beginning to
understand their unwillingness to accept pay for their services.

Breakfast over, the four struck into the woods in single file, en
route for their runways, Hite taking the lead, the old dog trotting at
the Clown's heels in silence, Holcomb bringing up the rear.

"Now, friend," began Hite in a low tone to Thayor, "you'd better come
with me, I presume; and, Billy, we'll go slow so's you'll have time
to git down to whar that leetle brook comes into Big Shanty." And the
banker and the trapper, followed by the dog, struck off to the left,
up the densely wooded side of the mountain.

It was all a myst