es fixed upon the very spot where his fingers itched to grip
that thick-set neck, but in spite of these passing moments of fury,
the whole world was new to him. The blue of the sky, the shimmer of
the lake, the golden yellow of the poplars, all things in earth and
heaven, were shining with a new glory. For him the day's work had
no weariness. He no longer trod the solid ground, but through paths
of airy bliss his soul marched to the strains of celestial music.

Poor Kalman! When on that fateful morning upon his virgin soul
there dawned the vision of the maid, the hour of fate struck for
him. That most ancient and most divine of frenzies smote him.
He was deliciously, madly in love, though he knew it not. It is
something to his credit, however, that he allowed the maiden to
depart without giving visible token of this divine frenzy raging
within his breast, unless it were that in the blue of his eyes
there came a deeper blue, and that under the tan of his cheek
a pallor crept. But when on their going the girl suddenly turned
in her saddle and, waving her hand, cried, "Good-by, Kalman," the
pallor fled, chased from his cheek by a hot rush of Slavic blood as
he turned to answer, "Good-by." He held his hat high in a farewell
salutation, as he had seen Jack do, and then in another moment she
was gone, and with her all the glory of that golden autumn day.

To Kalman it seemed as if months or years must have passed since he
first saw her by her Aunt's tent on that eventful morning. To take
up the ordinary routine was impossible to him. That very night,
rolling up his blankets and grub for three days, and strapping on
to his saddle an axe and a shovel, Kalman rode off down the Night
Hawk Creek, telling Mackenzie gruffly, as he called his dogs to
follow, that he purposed digging out a coyote's den that he knew
lay somewhere between the lake and the Creek mouth.

The afternoon of the second day found him far down the Creek, where
it plunged headlong into the black ravine below, not having discovered
his wolf den and not much caring whether he should or not; for as he
rode through the thick scrub he seemed to see dancing before him in
the glancing beams that rained down through the yellow poplar leaves
a maiden's face with saucy brown eyes that laughed at him and lured
him and flouted him all at once.

At the edge of the steep descent he held up his broncho. He had
never been down this way before. The sides of the ravine pitche