ck forget all his troubles of keeping the trail, the difficulty
of keeping the big wagon box on runners from upsetting and himself from
freezing. As the big animals loomed up in the clouds of snow flakes
driven pitilessly into his face he suddenly recalled the oft-told
stories of "buck fever," and for fear this dread disease would shatter
his nerves he waited the arrival of the experienced trapper. The band
was moving slowly down the ravine, not seeming to notice their
enemy--man.

"Shoot 'em, why don't you shoot? Careful now, and get that big bull with
his flank turned toward you. There, give him another, quick! Again!
before he gets out of sight--you've got him!" And Jack saw his first
wapiti plunge to his knees, recover, bound sideways and then again lunge
with his nose plowing deep into the snow, his hind legs straining at the
earth for a support, only to sink in a last effort, and the "monarch of
the forest" was Jack's prize. It was but a few moments' work to knot a
lariat to a hind leg and by the aid of his Indian pony drag the carcass
to a tree, hang the body out of reach of wolves and coyotes, then seek a
suitable location for a camp, which in that storm was no easy matter.
For hours it had been unload, dig the sled out of a deep bank of snow,
load up again and flounder a few rods, only to repeat the process. The
diversion of killing an elk gave a rest of half an hour, then another
attempt was made to cross a small park before night should envelop them
in her black mantle. About half way, however, the horses floundered into
a drift which accumulated over the spongy surface of a willow-banked
ravine, the sled pitched its nose down deep, the trapper swore, and Jack
wanted to.

"Guess we better 'cache' our stuff and get over thar in the timber and
let the 'dod gasted' blizzard play itself out," said the man of many
winters' experience. "You have done mighty well for a tenderfoot. An
old-timer couldn't have done better in tramping snow and breaking trail
than you have. This is about as bad a storm as you will ever get into.
When it snows so you can't see the horses' heads in front of you it gets
about the limit."

"Can we find the provisions if we leave them here?" questioned Jack.

"Yes, you get that long dead sapling over there and we will stick it up
beside the pile, throw that wagon sheet over the top, and then we'll
drive some tent pins to fasten the corners to. There now--Hi! there,
you!" The horses gave a