cause a wolf is a wolf no matter how well trained he may
be upon the surface, and night is the time wolves delight to run. These
beasts are especially dangerous to strangers and it is for that reason I
am putting you in the house in place of allowing you to camp outdoors,
as I know you would prefer to do. Good-night, gentlemen, see that the
doors are closed. Pleasant dreams."

As we said good-night to him I wondered vaguely if the wolf pen was
securely built, for it seemed to me that I detected a suggestion of
doubt in the mind of the Wild Hunter himself. I little realized,
however, the horrors the darkness had in store for us.

CHAPTER XX

Moose Ear, the silent, wrinkled old Indian, with lighted candles made of
buffalo tallow, guided Big Pete and me up the broad skilfully built
puncheon stairway to the upper story of the surprisingly large ranch
house, where he showed us to our rooms, rooms which were a joy to look
upon. Each was furnished with a heavy, hand-made four-posted bedstead,
which in spite of the massiveness was beautifully made, and I wondered
at the patience of the Wild Hunter in teaching the Indians their
craftmanship.

The other furniture in the room was also hand wrought, as were the fiber
rugs on the floor and the checked homespun blankets on the beds. There
was a harmonious and pleasing effect; the rooms were cheerful, abounding
in evidences of Indian handicraft. Beadwork and embroidery of dyed
porcupine quills were prevalent, even the tester which roofed the
four-post bedstead was ornamented with fringes of buckskin and designs
made of beads and porcupine quills. The chairs and floors were
plentifully supplied with fur rugs, and the quaint, old-fashioned
appearance of the room in nowise detracted from its comfort or even
luxury.

If it had not been for the uncomfortable thought of that pack of black
wolves outside, I am sure I would have been supremely happy at the
prospect of once more spending a night between clean and cool sheets and
a real feather pillow on which to rest my head. Eagerly and almost
excitedly I threw off my clothes and donned the long, linen nightshirt
with which old Moose Ear had provided me. Then I put the buckhorn
extinguisher over the candle and dove into the feather bed as gleefully
as a child on Christmas Eve.

I expected to immediately fall asleep, but there is where I made a
mistake; my mind would not cease working, the wheels in my head kept
buzzing and wou