Cowmen and Rustlers | Page 5

was forced to follow him. The moment was well chosen,
and the three swung to one side as if all were controlled by the single
impulse.

Bruin must have been astonished; for, while waiting for his supper to
drop into his arms, he saw it leaving him. With an angry growl he
began moving toward the laughing party.
The tinge of anxiety which Fred Whitney felt lasted but a moment. He
saw that they could skate faster than the bear could travel; and, had it
been otherwise, no cause for fear would have existed, for, with the
power to turn like a flash, it would have been the easiest thing in the
world to elude the efforts of the animal to seize them.
They expected pursuit, and it looked for a minute as if they were not to
be disappointed. The animal headed in their direction with no
inconsiderable speed, 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