Cowmen and Rustlers | Page 2

the ice on the little river at the rear of the house was as smooth as a
polished window-pane. For nearly two score miles this current, which
eventually found its way into the Penobscot, wound through the
leafless woods, past an occasional opening, where, perhaps, the humble
cabin of some backwoodsman stood.
It was an ideal skating rink, and the particular overflow of spirits on
that evening was due to the agreement that it was to be devoted to the
exhilarating amusement.
"We will leave the house at 8 o'clock," said Fred at the supper table,
"and skate to the mouth of Wild Man's Creek and back."
"How far is that?" inquired Monteith Sterry.
"About ten miles."
Pretty Jennie's face took on a contemptuous expression.
"Not a bit more; we shall be only fairly started when we must turn
back."
"Well, where do you want to go, sister?"

"We shouldn't think of stopping until we reach Wolf Glen."
"And may I inquire the distance to that spot?" asked Sterry again.
"Barely five miles beyond Wild Man's Creek," said she.
Those were not the young men to take a "dare" from a girl like her. It
will be admitted that thirty miles is a pretty good spurt for a skater, but
the conditions could not have been more favourable.
"It's agreed, then," remarked Sterry, "that we will go to Wolf Glen, and
then, and then--"
"And then what?" demanded Jennie, turning toward him.
"Why not keep on to Boston and call on my folks?"
"If you will furnish the ice we will do so."
"I couldn't guarantee ice all the way, but we can travel by other means
between the points, using our skates as the chance offers."
"Or do as that explorer who is to set out in search of the north
pole--have a combination skate and boat, so when fairly going we can
keep straight on."
"I will consent to that arrangement on one condition," interposed the
mother, so seriously that all eyes were turned wonderingly upon her.
"What is that?"
"That you return before the morrow."
The countenances became grave, and turning to Sterry, on her right,
Jennie asked, in a low voice:
"Is it safe to promise that?"
"Hardly. Let us leave the scheme until we have time in which fully to

consider it."
"You will start, as I understand, at eight," remarked the mother,
speaking now in earnest. "You can readily reach Wolf Glen within a
couple of hours. There you will rest a while and return as you choose.
So I will expect you at midnight."
"Unless something happens to prevent."
The words of Monteith Sterry were uttered jestingly, but they caused a
pang to the affectionate parent as she asked:
"What could happen, Monteith?"
Fred took it upon himself to reply promptly:
"Nothing at all."
"Is the ice firm and strong?"
"It will bear a locomotive; I never saw it finer; the winter has not been
so severe as some we have known, but it has got there all the same;
Maine can furnish the Union with all the ice she will want next
summer."
"There may be air-holes."
"None that we cannot see; they are few and do not amount to
anything."
Here Sterry spoke with mock gravity.
"The name, Wolf Glen, is ominous."
"We have wolves and bears and other big game in this part of the State,
but not nearly as many as formerly. It hardly pays to hunt them."
"I hope we shall meet a few bears or wolves," said Jennie, with her
light laugh.

"And why?" demanded the shocked mother.
"I would like a race with them; wouldn't it be fun!"
"Yes," replied Sterry, "provided we could outskate them."
"I never knew that wild animals skate."
"They can travel fast when they take it into their heads to turn hunter. I
suppose many of the bears are hibernating, but the wolves--if there are
any waiting for us--will be wide awake and may give us the roughest
kind of sport."
Fred Whitney knew his mother better than did his friend and
understood the expression on her face. So did Jennie, and the couple
had such sport of their Boston visitor that the cloud quickly vanished
and Monteith felt a trifle humiliated at his exhibition of what might be
considered timidity. Nevertheless he quietly slipped his loaded revolver
in the outer pocket of his heavy coat just before starting and when no
one was watching him.
Precisely at eight o'clock the three friends, warmly and conveniently
clad, with their keen-edged skates securely fastened, glided gracefully
up-stream, the mother standing on the porch of her home and watching
the figures as they vanished in the moonlight.
She was smiling, but in her heart was a misgiving such as she had not
felt before, when her