pointed to the end of the canyon, and she said again: "I had him--and
he didn't bite me, Nootawe!"

That was the wonder of it. She had been reckless--and Baree had not
bitten her! It was then, with her eyes shining at Pierrot, and the
smile fading slowly from her lips, that she spoke softly the word
"Baree," which in her tongue meant "the wild dog"--a little brother of
the wolf.

"Come," cried Pierrot, "or we will lose him!"

Pierrot was confident. The canyon had narrowed. Baree could not get
past them unseen. Three minutes later Baree came to the blind end of
the canyon--a wall of rock that rose straight up like the curve of a
dish. Feasting on fish and long hours of sleep had fattened him, and he
was half winded as he sought vainly for an exit. He was at the far end
of the dishlike curve of rock, without a bush or a clump of grass to
hide him, when Pierrot and Nepeese saw him again. Nepeese made straight
toward him. Pierrot, foreseeing what Baree would do, hurried to the
left, at right angles to the end of the canyon.

In and out among the rocks Baree sought swiftly for a way of escape. In
a moment more he had come to the "box," or cup of the canyon. This was
a break in the wall, fifty or sixty feet wide, which opened into a
natural prison about an acre in extent. It was a beautiful spot. On all
sides but that leading into the coulee it was shut in by walls of rock.
At the far end a waterfall broke down in a series of rippling cascades.
The grass was thick underfoot and strewn with flowers. In this trap
Pierrot had got more than one fine haunch of venison. From it there was
no escape, except in the face of his rifle. He called to Nepeese as he