n knew it
before he spoke. "Sounds like an elephant might be coming down on us;
but they don't have such animals up here in the Maine woods, do they?
Just hear the racket he keeps making Thad; whatever do you suppose we're
up against now?"

Thad laughed.

"That's a two-legged elephant, then, Step Hen," he remarked. "Fact is,
we're going to have company, for that's a man pushing through the brush,
and making all the noise he can, so as to scare the wolves away, and at
the same time keep us from firing on him." Then raising his voice, Thad
called out: "Hello, there!"

"Thet you, Thad?" came an answering call.

"Hurrah! it's Old Eli!" exclaimed Step Hen, readily recognizing the
voice of the guide. "This way, Eli; we're having a healthy old time
knocking over some of your Canada wolves. Each got one so far, but I
reckon the rest of the pack must a lit out when they heard you coming. I
see you now, Eli; and mighty glad you dropped in on us. Where did you
spring from anyway; don't tell me we're as near the camp as that."

Eli came up, with a wide grin on his face.

"Oh! camp about mile and a half down lake," he remarked, as he gravely
shook hands with each hunter in turn. "We saw light of fire over point,
and think it might be you boys; so I paddled canoe across here. It ain't
jest five minits walk 'cross this strip ter the lake. So ye got sum o'
the critters, did ye?"

"Thad, can't we look up that one I shot now; I'd just hate to lose him,
you know?" begged Step Hen.

"Why, I suppose it would be safe for all of us to go out," returned the
patrol leader. "Here, pick up something that will burn, and come along."

They found Thad's victim without any trouble, but the second one was not
within range of the light from their torches. But poor anxious Step Hen
begged so piteously to be allowed to extend the search "just a little
further," that Thad did not have the heart to say no. And a minute
later, after they had gone forward twice as far as Thad had at first
intended, Step Hen gave a gurgling cry.

"Looky there, Thad, what's that thing lying over yonder? Seems to me
mighty like a dead one. Yes, sir, that's what it is, as sure as I'm Step
Hen Bingham. Oh! how terrible he looks, even when stretched out there,
and gone up the flue. _My_ wolf, too. What a fine coat he's got,
and as gray as they make 'em. Say, won't I just cut a swell when I wear
that out in a sleigh with Sue Baker; and every time she rubs the sleeve
sh