Cowmen and Rustlers. Edward Sylvester Ellis
but, with more intelligence than his kind generally display, he abruptly stopped, turned aside, and disappeared in the wood before it could be said the race had really begun.
Jennie was the most disappointed of the three, for she had counted upon an adventure worth the telling, and here it was nipped in the bud. She expressed her regret.
"There's no helping it," said Monteith, "for I can think of no inducement that will bring him back; but we have a good many miles before us, and it isn't likely that he's the only bear in this part of Maine."
"There's some consolation in that," she replied, leading the way back toward the middle of the course; "if we see another, don't be so abrupt with him."
The stream now broadened to nearly three times its ordinary extent, so that it looked as if they were gliding over the bosom of some lake lagoon instead of a small river. At the widest portion, and from the furthest point on the right, twinkled a second light, so far back among the trees that the structure from whence it came was out of sight. They gave it little attention and kept on.
Sterry took out his watch. The moonlight was so strong that he saw the figures plainly. It lacked a few minutes of nine.
"And yonder is the mouth of Wild Man's Creek," said Fred; "we have made pretty good speed."
"Nothing to boast of," replied Jennie; "if it were not for fear of distressing mother, I would insist that we go ten or fifteen miles further before turning back."
Since plenty of time was at command, they continued their easy pace, passing over several long and comparatively straight stretches of frozen water, around sharp bends, beyond another expansion of the stream, in front of a couple of natural openings, and finally, while it lacked considerable of ten o'clock, they rounded to in front of a mass of gray towering rocks on the right bank of the stream, and, skating close into shore, sat down on a bowlder which obtruded several feet above the ice.
They were at the extremity of their excursion. These collective rocks bore the name of Wolf Glen, the legend being that at some time in the past a horde of wolves made their headquarters there, and, when the winters were unusually severe, held the surrounding country in what might be called a reign of terror. They had not yet wholly disappeared, but little fear of them was felt.
The friends could not be called tired, though, after skating fifteen miles, the rest on the stone was grateful.
They sat for half an hour chatting, laughing, and as merry as when they started from home. The sky was still unclouded, but the moon had passed beyond the zenith. A wall of shadow was thrown out from one of the banks, except for occasional short distances, where the course of the stream was directly toward or from the orb.
When Sterry again glanced at his watch it was a few minutes past ten. They had rested longer than any one suspected.
"Mother won't look for us before midnight," remarked Fred, "and we can easily make it in that time."
"She was so anxious," said the sister, who, despite her light-heartedness, was more thoughtful than her brother, "that I would like to please her by getting back sooner than she expects."
"We have only to keep up this pace to do it," said Monteith, "for we have been resting fully a half hour—"
He paused abruptly. From some point in the wintry wilderness came a dismal, resounding wail, apparently a mile distant.
"What is that?" asked Monteith, less accustomed to the Maine woods than his companions.
"It is the cry of a wolf," replied Fred; "I have heard it many times when hunting alone or with father."
"It isn't the most cheerful voice of the night," commented the young Bostonian, who, as yet never dreamed of connecting it with any peril to themselves. And then he sang:
Yes, the war whoop of the Indian may produce a pleasant thrill
When mellowed by the distance that one feels increasing still;
And the shrilling of the whistle from the engine's brazen snout
May have minor tones of music, though I never found it out.
The verse was hardly finished when the howl was repeated.
"It is hard to tell from what point it comes," observed Fred, "but I think it is on the right shore as we go back."
"Do you imagine it is far from the river?" inquired Monteith.
"I think not, but I may be mistaken."
"I am quite sure Fred is right," said his sister; "and, more than that, that particular wolf isn't a great way off. I wonder whether he has scented our trail?"
Before any comment could be made upon this remark, a second, third, fourth, and fully a half-dozen additional howls rang through the forest arches. They came from the left shore, and apparently were about as far off as the cry first heard.
"They are answers," said Fred, in a low voice, in which his companions detected a slight tremor.
It was at this moment that the first fear thrilled all three. The cries might mean nothing, but more likely they meant a good deal. The wolf is one of the fiercest of American wild animals when suffering from hunger, though a coward at other times, and a horde of them are capable of attacking the most formidable denizens of the woods.
The fact that they were between the skaters and home, and at no great distance from the course they must follow to reach there, was cause for fear. It was almost certain that in some way the keen-scented creatures had learned there was game afoot that night for them, and they were signalling to each other to gather for the feast.
Fred and Monteith were not specially frightened on their own account, for, if the worst should come, they could take to the trees and wait for help. They might make a sturdy fight, and perhaps, with anything like a show, could get away from them without taking to such a refuge.
But it was the presence of Jennie that caused the most misgiving. True, she was as swift and skilful a skater as either, but that of itself was not likely to save her.
But she was the coolest of all, now that the danger assumed a reality.
The lightness and gayety that had marked the three from the moment of leaving home had gone. They were thoughtful, the very opposite in their mood to that of a few minutes before.
"I wish I had brought my pistol," said Fred.
"I have mine," observed Monteith; "a good Smith & Wesson, and each of the five chambers is loaded."
"Thank fortune for that; have you any extra cartridges?"
"Not one."
"Your pistol may be the means of saving us."
"Why do you speak that way?" asked Jennie; "I never knew you were scared so easily."
"I am sorry you are with us, sister; my alarm is on your account."
"I do not see why I am not as safe as either of you; neither can skate faster than I."
"If we are to escape by that means, your chances are as good as ours; but those creatures have a fearful advantage over us, because we must run the gauntlet."
"We are not so certain of that; if we hasten, we may pass the danger-point before they discover us."
For the first time since leaving home the three did their best. Separated from each other by just enough space to give play to the limbs, they sped down the icy river with the fleetness of the hurricane, their movements almost the perfect counterpart of each other.
First on the right foot, they shot well toward the shore on that side, then bending gracefully to the left, the weight was thrown on that limb, the impetus being imparted to the body without any apparent effort, after the manner of a master of the skater's art. These, sweeping forward, were many rods in length, the polished steel frequently giving out a metallic ring as it struck the flinty ice. Now and then, too, a resounding creak sped past, and might have