l he must reach before darkness set in, but despite his most
desperate exertion it was some time after daylight had departed that he
reached the long stretch of white covered slope. Not a trail could he
find--not a welcome footprint to guide him over the deep ravines filled
with snow, or away from precipitous rocks where a misstep would land him
far below. There was but one course to take--straight down the mountain
side. Throwing away caution, he started on a swift swinging trot, each
foot breaking the crust of snow beneath him. Arriving at the edge of a
ravine, which appeared only smooth snow, he went into it up to his
waist; then, thoroughly alarmed, he struggled deeper into the ravine
until the snow was up to his armpits. His revolver was lost and wolves
were already giving tongue to dismal howls as the air carried to their
nostrils the scent of the venison to which Jack clung.

His unequal combat with the yielding snow gradually exhausted his
strength and, growing each moment weaker, tired nature finally
succumbed, and he fell unconscious. But the cold air quickly revived
him. Nearer and nearer came those dreadful deep-mouthed tongue signals,
augmented by additional ones from new directions and made still more
heartbreaking by the yippy-yappy of a bunch of coyotes which also joined
the big timber wolves. The six-shooter was found first, then Jack used a
little reason. Taking off his coat and placing the furs and coat as a
support on the snow, he rolled over and over until his foot struck solid
earth. Then gathering his furs and leg of venison, he more carefully
descended, his enemies keeping at a safe distance, for in America wild
animals of any sort rarely attack man when not molested, even in the
dead of winter.

Slipping and sliding, he at last reached camp, only to find both feet
badly frozen at the heels and toes. As he cut his boots off and plunged
his extremities into the cold water a whole lot of adventure went out of
his heart with the frost.

CHAPTER IV.

OLD JOE RIGGS.

It was Sunday, the eighth day after Jack had taken that memorable trip
so near unto death. In the warm sunshine at Rock Creek camp the major
part of the day had been passed by the young hunter in writing up his
journal, carefully jotting down all the incidents of latest development,
even to the extra spread given in his honor to himself and three
imaginary guests. He, being present, had a good meal, but the "invited"
guests