venture by flood and field, by mountain and forest; of the
wild chase of moose and wapiti among the snows of the Rockies; of the
fierce delight of single-handed combat with grizzly bears, the deadliest
of their kind; of how he, Hardy, had been rolled down a canyon, locked in
the embrace of a furry fiend that he had stabbed in the throat one
second before the fatal hug. He told of the melting of the snows in
forest rivers; of the flood that swept away the lonely traveller's
encampment, and bore him, astride on a log of driftwood, five miles amid
wrack and boulders on its whirling current; of deliverance through a
pious Indian and his canoe, which he entered as by a miracle in
mid-stream, and without upsetting any of the three. He told of long
wanderings in the twilight solitudes of Canadian forests; of dangers
from wolves and the wild coyotes, half-dog, half-wolf, heard nightly
howling round the Indian camp-fires; and from the intangible malice of
the skunk, a beautiful but dreadful power, to be propitiated with bated
breath and muffled footstep. He told, too, of the chip-munks, with their
sharp twittering bark; and he contrived to invest even these tiny
creatures with an atmosphere of terror--for it is well known that their
temper is atrocious, and that a colony of them will set upon the
unfortunate traveller who happens to offend one, and leave nothing of
him but his bones and the indigestible portions of his clothing. And
over all he cast the glamour of his fancy, as if it had been the red
light of the prairie sunsets; in it he appeared transfigured, a
half-mythical personage, heroic, if not indeed divine. The whole of it
had appeared word for word in the pages of the Pioneer-book.

"Ah, Sis," he observed complacently at the end of it, "that's all copy
for 'Sport West of the Rockies.' When that comes out you'll soon see me
at the top of the tree. Why aren't you an artist in words? Why don't you
use the pen instead of the brush?"

He implied that if her ambition had been literary he would have raised
her to a position just below him, on the highest pinnacle of earthly
fame. Then he passed, by a gentle transition, to another subject.

"By-the-bye, have you two seen much of my cousin Audrey?"

This second utterance of the name was too much for Ted's overstrained
nerves. He got up, stifled a yawn, and held out his hand to Hardy.

"I say, do you mind if I go to bed now? I can't for the life of me keep
awake."

"Good-