mourn. Day again, white,
passionless, monotonous, silent day. The hunters traveled on--on--on,
ever listening for the haunting mourn.

Another dusk found them within thirty miles of their cabin. Only one
more day now.

Rea talked of his furs, of the splendid white furs he could not bring.
Jones talked of his little muskoxen calves and joyfully watched them
dig for moss in the snow.

Vigilance relaxed that night. Outworn nature rebelled, and both hunters
slept.

Rea awoke first, and kicking off the blankets, went out. His terrible
roar of rage made Jones fly to his side.

Under the very shadow of the tepee, where the little musk-oxen had been
tethered, they lay stretched out pathetically on crimson snow--stiff
stone-cold, dead. Moccasin tracks told the story of the tragedy.

Jones leaned against his comrade.

The giant raised his huge fist.

"Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!"

Then he choked.

The north wind, blowing through the thin, dark, weird spruce trees,
moaned and seemed to sigh, "Naza! Naza! Naza!"

CHAPTER 11.

ON TO THE SIWASH

"Who all was doin' the talkin' last night?" asked Frank next morning,
when we were having a late breakfast. "Cause I've a joke on somebody.
Jim he talks in his sleep often, an' last night after you did finally
get settled down, Jim he up in his sleep an' says: 'Shore he's windy as
hell! Shore he's windy as hell'!"

At this cruel exposure of his subjective wanderings, Jim showed extreme
humiliation; but Frank's eyes fairly snapped with the fun he got out of
telling it. The genial foreman loved a joke. The week's stay at Oak, in
which we all became thoroughly acquainted, had presented Jim as always
the same quiet character, easy, slow, silent, lovable. In his brother
cowboy, however, we had discovered in addition to his fine, frank,
friendly spirit, an overwhelming fondness for playing tricks. This
boyish mischievousness, distinctly Arizonian, reached its acme whenever
it tended in the direction of our serious leader.

Lawson had been dispatched on some mysterious errand about which my
curiosity was all in vain. The order of the day was leisurely to get in
readiness, and pack for our journey to the Siwash on the morrow. I
watered my horse, played with the hounds, knocked about the cliffs,
returned to the cabin, and lay down on my bed. Jim's hands were white
with flour. He was kneading dough, and had several low, flat pans on
the table. Wallace and Jones