his buckskin hunting
suit, it is a mass of embroidery and colored quills from his beaded
moccasins to the fringed cape of his shirt.

Big Pete was a dandy, fond of color, fond of display; yet in spite of
all this he wore absolutely nothing for decoration alone, but every
article of use about his person was ornamented to an oriental degree.
Gaudy and rich as his costume was when viewed in detail, as a whole it
harmonized not only with Pete, his hair, his complexion, his weapons,
but with whatever natural objects surrounded him.

Big Pete also seemed to know me instinctively and approached with a
graceful and swinging step; holding out his hand he greeted me in a low,
soft, well-modulated voice with, "Howdy, kid; yes, I'm Big Pete and
allow you are the tenderfoot dude from New York what wants to shoot big
game, an' reckon you'd like to meet the wild mountain man? Well, he's a
queer one, I tell you. He's got us all buffaloed out this-a-way, most of
us don't care to meet him close up and we give him wide range when we
cut his trail."

That was Big Pete's greeting. Of course, I had not told him of my real
interest in this mysterious man of the mountains, only suggesting that I
would like to do some big game shooting and see the spooky hunter.

"Well," I answered, "I would like to get a record elk head to take home
to dad. As for the mountain wildman, I wish you'd tell me more about
him, he is awfully interesting."

"Tell you more? Well, sho, I reckon I can tell you more than most people
round these parts for he makes my game park his stampin' grounds every
onct in a while, an' let me tell you he hunts some peculiar, he do, he's
half man and half wolf--but shucks, I won't spoil the show, you will see
how he hunts for yourself if you stay here long. Glory be, but he's got
me some bashful and shy. But mosey along and I'll hist yore stuff on
this here cayuse while you let them tha' dogs out of their chicken coop
boxes. You can cache your dude duds in the Emporium general store over
yonder next to Squinty Quinn's saloon, an' then we're off for the hills.
I'll yarn about this Wild Hunter while we hit the trail."

An hour spent in Grave Stone gave me an opportunity to wash myself and
change my clothes for some that would be more substantial for
out-of-door wear, start several letters east telling of my safe arrival,
buy the things I had overlooked, store my surplus clothes with the
postmaster at the general store, and repack