ar
is safe. Chain lightnin' couldn't slide down this 'ere hill without
puttin' on the brakes."

Soon they had a good stack of wood inside the fire line and in the pile
were some straight young birches. Solomon made stakes of these and
drove them deep in the snow close up to the entrance of their refuge,
making a stockade with an opening in the middle large enough for a man
to pass through. Then they sat down on their blankets, going out often
to put wood on the fire. While sitting quietly with their rifles in
hand, they observed that the growling and yelping had ceased.

"They've got that 'ere moose in their packs," Solomon whispered. "Now
keep yer eye peeled. They'll be snoopin' eround here to git our share.
You see."

In half a moment, Jack's rifle spoke, followed by the loud yelp of a
wolf well away from the firelight.

"Uh, huh! You warmed the wax in his ear, that's sart'in;" said Solomon
as Jack was reloading. "Did ye hear him say 'Don't'?"

The scout's rifle spoke and another wolf yelped.

"Yer welcome," Solomon shouted. "I slammed that 'er hunk o' lead into
the pack leader--a whale of a wolf. The ol' Cap'n stepped right up
clus. Seen 'im plain--gray, long legged ol' whelp. He were walkin'
towards the fire when he stubbed his toe. It's all over now. They'll
snook erway. The army has lost its Gin'ral."

They saw nothing more of the wolf pack and after an hour or so of
watching, they put more wood on the fire, filled the opening in their
stockade and lay down to rest. Solomon called it a night of "one-eyed
sleep" when they got up at daylight and rekindled the fire and washed
their hands and faces in the snow. The two dead wolves lay within
fifty feet of the fire and Solomon cut off the tail of the larger one
for a souvenir.

They had more steak and bread, moistened with tea, for breakfast and
set out again with a good store of jerked meat in their packs. So they
proceeded on their journey, as sundry faded clippings inform us,
spending their nights thereafter at rude inns or in the cabins of
settlers until they had passed the village of the Mohawks, where they
found only a few old Indians and their squaws and many dogs and young
children. The chief and his sachems and warriors and their wives had
gone on to the great council fire in the land of Kiodote, the Thorny
Tree.

They spent a night in the little cabin tavern of Bill Scott on the
upper waters of the Mohawk. Mrs. Scott, a comely