eculator, whom engineers and contractors received with welcome
or with scant tolerance, according to the letters of introduction
they brought from the great men in the East.

Attached to the camp of Engineer Harris was a small and influential
party, consisting of Mr. Robert Menzies of Glasgow, capitalist, and,
therefore, possible investor in Canadian lands, mines, and railroads,
--consequently, a man to be considered; with him, his daughter Marjorie,
a brown-haired maid of seventeen, out for the good of her health and
much the better of her outing, and Aunt Janet, maiden sister to
Mr. Menzies, and guardian to both brother and niece. With this party
travelled Mr. Edgar Penny, a young English gentleman of considerable
means, who, having been a year in the country, felt himself eminently
qualified to act as adviser and guide to the party. At present, however,
Mr. Penny was far more deeply interested in the study of the lights that
lurked in Miss Marjorie's brown eyes, and the bronze tints of her
abundant hair, than in the opportunities for investments offered by
Canadian lands, railroads, and mines.

With an elaborate equipment, this party had spent three months
travelling as far as Edmonton, and now, on their way back, were
attached to the camp of Engineer Harris, in order that the Scotch
capitalist might personally investigate methods of railway
construction as practised in Western Canada. At present, the party
were encamped at a little distance from the Wakota trail, and upon
the sunny side of a poplar bluff, for it was growing late in the year.

It was on a rare October morning that Kalman, rising before the
sun, set out upon his broncho to round up the horses for their
morning feed in preparation for the day's back-setting. With his
dogs at his horse's heels, he rode down to the Night Hawk, and
crossed to the opposite side of the ravine. As he came out upon
the open prairie, Captain, the noble and worthy son of Blucher,
caught sight of a prairie wolf not more than one hundred yards
distant, and was off after him like the wind.

"Aha! my boy," cried Kalman, getting between the coyote and the
bluff, and turning him towards the open country, "you have got
your last chicken, I guess. It is our turn now."

Headed off from the woods that marked the banks of the Night Hawk
Creek, the coyote in desperation took to the open prairie, with
Captain and Queen, a noble fox-hound bitch, closing fast upon him.
Two miles across