"I knew you would. I told the old fellow that, but he was sore afraid
that you could never forgive what his young braves had done a year or
two ago."

The old Cree chief soon departed, with a grin on his face, and his arms
full of bundles. He might have been proud, but there were hungry mouths
to feed, and for their sakes he must forget that he should die sooner
than beg favors.

Frank felt rather stiff and sore on the following day. He was satisfied
to hang about camp, and let his chums do the hunting, for once.

Jerry could not be restrained, for his sporting blood demanded that he
keep going all the while. Will was just as eager to do his style of
shooting, and even wandered down the river to get a view of the Cree
teepee before the family of Running Elk broke camp.

Bluff took a notion to try fishing, and with considerable success. Later
in the day Frank also wet a line, and between them they managed to
secure a decent mess of fat trout for the whole party.

When Jerry came in he reported that he had had a shot at an elk, but
failed to stop his flight. He also declared that he had seen what he
believed to be a wolf skulking through the timber.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," said the old stockman, when Frank looked
questioningly at him. "The pesky critters like to hang around here,
looking for a nice calf that happens to stray away from its mammy's
side. Winter and summer, it's all the same to them, so long as we don't
get after the pack too hot. Never lose a chance to knock over a wolf, my