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 standing on the outskirts of the council, "he isn't as young as he used to be."

"Well," said Larry, "there is one thing we can do. Play our best string the sixth, the pintos for the seventh and substitute Patches for Baldy, and then play our best string in the eighth."

"Man alive," ejaculated Big Bill, "you don't want to kill that hoss of yours, do you?"

"I don't think it would kill him," returned Larry confidently. "I don't think you gents know Patches. He is made of iron, he is one horse in a thousand, there won't anything kill him."

"Sounds mighty good to me," said Bill. "If you want to risk Patches we'll put her through."

"Now remember, gents," warned Big Bill, just before they mounted for the fifth chukker, "our policy is to feed the kid. He can shoot to beat anybody on our team and there ain't any hoss in these here parts that can touch Patches. So we'll feed the kid. And don't forget, gents, what we've been through in the last two days. This here polo game is a lady's promenade compared with it. Fellows that have ridden hell-bent through darkness as black as a stack of black cats, going God only knows where, at the head of a thousand fear-crazed steers ain't a-going to show the white feather in any polo game. So jest buck up, boys, and do your darndest."

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 pieces of gold, or about a hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. At any rate, the specimen was unanimously elevated to the rank of a standard, and thenceforth the best pieces of céladon were designated Kinuta-Seiji. At about the same time, another variety, of scarcely inferior quality, made its appearance. Its pâte and lustre were equal to those of the Kinuta class, but the colour was a little deeper, and many of the specimens had designs in relief or incised. The pattern held in the highest favour represented a scroll of peonies, but choice pieces, both in this and the former variety, were also distinguished by two fishes on the bottom, in high relief. This ware received the name of Tenriu-Seiji, in allusion to the fact that the first vase which came to Japan was presented to the Temple of Tenriu. A third variety—the sea-green of Western collectors—had coarse pâte, deeper and less delicate colour, and thicker glaze than either the Kinuta or Tenriuji. This was called the Shichi-kan-Seiji, a name derived from the rank of an official who first imported it into Japan. It is distinguished from the more prized varieties by its fuller green tint as well as by its greater solidity and heaviness.

Many are the pieces of céladon that have been handed down, as priceless heirlooms, from generation to generation in Japanese families. One, which still forms the gem of a well-known nobleman's fine collection, is the Chidori no koro, or Peewit Censer. Originally the property of the Regent Yoshimasa, it afterwards came into the possession of Hideyoshi, the Taikô, whose life it is said to have saved by a miraculous power of uttering a warning cry when danger was at hand. The legend relates that supernatural quality was firmly credited by the men of the time,

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 The fifth chukker was a lively one and the honors were equally divided. The troopers secured the ball on the throw-in and carried it irresistibly down the field. Long Tom and Big Bill both missed easy strokes and before the cowboys knew it a goal had been scored. But they came back strong and tied it up in the last two minutes of play. Once again they carried the ball down the field with their triangular defense until they had reached the fifty-yard line, but for some reason—which the troopers did not understand, Long Tom and Larry had changed positions and Larry was playing at the center. Again the troopers put up a stiff resistance. Long Tom drove the ball over to Larry. It was a ricochetting shot, skimming along the grass in easy bounds. Larry caught it six inches above the ground and with an easy stroke lobbed it over the heads of the amazed troopers and dropped it fairly between the goal posts. It was a beautiful play and wholly unexpected and the cowboy's band celebrated by playing the "Arkansas Traveler" and "The Girl I Left Behind Me," while all of the cow-punchers shouted themselves hoarse.

But nothing daunted the troopers rode on for the sixth chukker. This they expected would be easy for they knew the cow-punchers would have to use their poor string of ponies. But they were an astonished polo team when the cow-punchers trotted on the field mounted upon their best horses.

title: Page:Patches (1928).pdf/135


text:
Author:James William Callahan

Works

 * "Ching Chong (1917)

title: Author:James William Callahan


text:
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 "Horse killers," yelled somebody in the regiment.

"What are you trying to do to those horses?" shouted another.

But the cow-punchers, all unmindful of this ridicule, took their places. The sixth chukker was nip and tuck. The ball flew up and down the field, but neither team could carry it successfully for any length of time. Sooner or later some one missed a stroke or was put out of play and the ball fell into the opponent's hands.

Again and again Larry and Pony rode down the field behind the trooper who was carrying the ball. Larry would ride in on his right flank just before he reached the ball and as he made the stroke would hook his mallet and Pony would pick up the ball and start it back down the field.

It was a chukker of hard riding, brilliant strokes and many close calls for the defense men. Once the troopers drove the ball over the cow-punchers' goal line, but it was six inches outside the post and the cowboys got a free shot from the back line and this carried the ball out of danger. So the chukker ended with the score still three to three.

The troopers were not surprised to see the cow-punchers come back with the pintos for the seventh, for they reasoned that the other ponies would be out of the question, but they were astonished to see Patches

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 still in the game. Any other horse would have been dripping with sweat and white with lather, but he seemed as fresh as he had in the first chukker. His quick gallops up and down the field, and Larry's sure stroke together with the fine defense work of the cow-punchers' team again held the troopers scoreless and the seventh chukker ended with the score tied.

The troopers rode on the field for the last chukker full of confidence. They felt sure that the cowboys would now have to use one of the poor strings in which case the soldiers looked for a walk-over, but instead the cow-punchers came to the throw-in riding their same old string. All of the ponies but Patches had already played three full chukkers and Patches had been in the game for four and now was starting the fifth. It was unheard of, two chukkers were usually considered the limit and this game had been fast and furious, but the bay horse was still going strong and looked like the best pony on the field.

Again the spectators were treated to brilliant polo. First the troopers took the ball and carried it within striking distance of the opponents' goal, but through a bad shot lost the chance to score. Then the cow-punchers' team failed in the same manner. Back and forth the game swayed. The suspense was terrific. A lucky shot, or a miss of an easy stroke would turn the scale. There was no talking or jesting in the

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 crowd now. Absolute silence reigned. The attention of every one was riveted on the desperately riding players.

When the play had been going for about six minutes the troopers took the ball at the middle of the field and carried it down within striking distance of their opponents' goal, but they lost it through the brilliant playing of Pony and Larry, and the cow-punchers once again started an offensive. Little by little they worked the ball up the field until they were within one hundred yards of their opponents' goal. There was one minute to go, and realizing this fact Big Bill decided to forsake his position as defense man, and, putting spurs to Manito went down the field at a keen gallop after his team mates, determined to do or die.

The troopers were now checking back towards their own goal post. Could they stem the onward rush of the cow-punchers who were carrying the ball with short quick passes? As they neared the fifty-yard line Bill caught up with them and joined the mad rush towards the troopers' goal post. The soldiers were game as Uncle Sam's good fighters always are, but the cow-punchers swept by them, and through them without losing the ball. It was never quite plain to the spectators who shot it through at last for both Larry and Pony struck at the same time. Big Bill and Manito were also in the play and they went crashing into the

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44 house where Biff Hooper kept the Envoy, but there was no sign of the craft. The storm of the previous day had lasted well into the afternoon and there had been no doubt in their minds but that Chet and Biff had set back for Bayport, but the absence of the motorboat indicated otherwise.

"Let's go up to Morton's farm and see if they did come back," Frank suggested.

"Iola was saying that Chet promised to send a post card from the first village they stopped at. They were to have spent the night at Hawk Cove and he said he'd drop a line from there so that his folks would know everything was all right."

Hawk Cove was a small fishing village on the coast and, under normal conditions, Chet and Biff should have reached the place early the previous evening. A postal card would have caught the morning mail to Bayport.

"Let's go, then," Frank said. "If they went on to Hawk Cove and wrote from there we'll know that everything is all right."

"I'm with you."

The Hardy boys brought their motorcycles out of the shed and drove out toward the Morton farm. They made speed on the run because both were anxious to learn if anything had been heard of their chums. But when they reached the farmhouse and saw Iola's

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 troopers' right goal post just as Larry and Pony swept through on the other side. The falling post hit Larry a terrific blow on the head as he passed. His first impression was that one of the troopers had struck him with his mallet and then he remembered that they were good sportsmen and gentlemen, and would not do such a thing. He had just sense enough left to hang to the horn of his saddle with one hand, and to clutch Patches' mane with the other. The next thing he remembered he was lying on the grass and some one was throwing water in his face. His Uncle Henry was bending over him. He could hear a great shouting from the crowd but it sounded a long way off. He didn't even know just where he was. But presently his senses cleared and he plainly heard his uncle's voice calling to him. "Larry, Larry, can you hear me? Wake up, boy. Are you coming round?" inquired Uncle Henry anxiously.

For answer Larry pressed his uncle's hand and said feebly, "Oh, yes, I'm all right. I am just tired."

Then his senses cleared and his strength came back and he sat up and looked about. The players of both teams were clustered around him, anxious and palefaced.

"Thank Heaven, kid, that you didn't get killed," said Big Bill. "That was a terrible blow. It was old Manito that knocked the goal post down and hit

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 you on the head as you went through. I guess you will be all right in a minute."

"What's all that yelling for over on our side?" asked Larry. "Did we score? Did we beat?"

"We sure did, kid," returned Bill, "it was you and Patches that did the trick. That hoss is a wonder and his rider is jest as good as he is."

Then the cow-punchers' supporters, a thousand strong, formed in marching order with the band leading and the polo team at their head and started uptown. Soon the cow-punchers who could not restrain their glee opened up with their .45's in a Fourth of July celebration. At first the shots were scattering, but soon they increased until there was a continuous roar which reminded the troopers of a miniature battle.

The band played Hail to the Chief, and. The Conquering Hero Comes, and the cow-punchers sang We're Going Down to Old Wyanne, and Hurry Up You Little Dogie.

They marched and counter-marched through all the main streets and finally drew up before the city hall where each man of the polo team was obliged to make a speech.

It was not until the setting sun had touched the western Wyoming hills and long purple shadows began stealing across the fields behind the trees and fences that the party dispersed and the polo team and the

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 rest of the Crooked Creek cow-punchers thought of home.

"This is going to be pretty tough on you, Larry" saidLarry," said [sic] Uncle Henry. "I never thought what a hard day you'd have when I made the arrangements. You see, we started the chuck wagon back this morning and our camp for to-night is thirty miles up the wagon trail towards home. There is over a hundred miles to make between now and to-morrow night where our Thanksgiving dinner will be served at eight o'clock and we must all be there."

Larry groaned inwardly and a great sigh escaped him. It seemed to him that he had never been so tired before in his entire life. Every muscle in his whole body was sore and his back ached so he could hardly sit in the saddle. His wrists were red and swollen and there was a big welt on the back of one hand.

"If you think it will be too much for you," continued his uncle, "we can stay over at a hotel, but the boys will be terribly disappointed if we don't get back for to-morrow night."

Then Larry pulled himself together. It was a strenuous country in which he was living and he was doing a man's part. These cow-punchers were like iron. Fatigue that would kill an ordinary man was nothing to them. Above everything else in the

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 world they admired fortitude. He could not show the white feather now, he would buck up.

"All right, Uncle Henry," he said. "I guess I am good for it. You hold Patches for a minute; I want to go into this grocery store and make a purchase."

Five minutes later the young man re-appeared and the weariness which had been so heavy upon him seemed to have departed. In that short time he had pulled himself together and re-captured his fighting spirit.

Then the little band of cow-punchers swung into their saddles, gave a few departing war whoops, and disappeared in a cloud of dust. It must not be imagined that they kept up this wild gallop for long. This was just for its moral effect upon the citizens of Wyanne. The members of the polo team were probably four as tired and jaded men as could have been found in the state of Wyoming on that night before Thanksgiving Day.

Once outside the town the ponies fell into their habitual running walk, a gait as easy as the trot of a fox and that eats up the miles like the lope of the lobo wolf, a gait that is easy on both man and horse.

When they had covered about five miles Larry pulled Patches up at a convenient turn in the trail which he knew would hide them from sight. Here he dismounted and began feeling in his pockets. Patches

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 thought he understood what his master was looking for and he began nosing about in the different pockets, helping in the search. Finally he found one that bulged more than the rest and this held his attention.

"All right, old chum," said his master, "you've found it." And he pulled out a small bag of lump sugar and gave one to Patches. Patches crowded up close to him and was as excited about the sugar as a small boy would have been over a bag of candy.

"Now kiss me on the right cheek," said Larry and held a lump of sugar up against his cheek. Patches reached over and, with his upper and lower lip, gently pinched his master's cheek and got the desired lump of sugar.

"Now kiss me on the other cheek," he said turning the left side of his face to Patches. With the same gentle pinch he got another lump of sugar.

"Now make a bow and you get two." Patches salaamed very low and got the desired lumps.

"Now shake hands for the next." And Patches' fore foot went up.

"Now," said the boy, putting his arm around the horse's neck affectionately and laying his face against that of the faithful steed, "I'm going to tell you a secret. It wasn't me than won that polo game. It was you, do you know that?" And Patches nickered knowingly. "Now you keep still a minute and don't

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 fidget about and I'll tell you just how you did it. When I made that last shot I didn't hit the ball squarely and it wasn't quite through. You struck it with your foot and got the goal. Don't you see, you scored the winning goal?"

Patches whinnied and asked for another lump of sugar and got two for good measure. Then Larry smoothed out his fore top under the brow band and stroked his beautiful flowing mane, caressed his soft nose and gave him the remaining lumps of sugar.

"Come on, old pal," he said, "we got to be going. They must be a mile ahead of us."

So he swung into his saddle again and Patches resumed his steady lope. Three hours later the faithful horse was nibbling the frost-bitten grass by the roadside thirty miles from Wyanne while his master, wrapped in his blanket with his feet to the camp fire, slept the sleep of utter exhaustion.

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ARLY in December all of the help on the Crooked Creek ranch, with the exception of Hank Brodie and the polo team, were discharged and the men drifted away to seek other employment or to loaf during the winter and the ranch settled down into the quiet of the long cold winter.

Christmas was a very lively day at the ranch house. There was a Christmas tree for the children of the manager and the cow-punchers entered into this festivity with all the abandon of youth. In the evening there was an old-time country dance. Men and we men came from neighboring ranches for fifty miles around. The furniture in the long narrow ranch room was stacked up in the hallway and in the corners of the room, and an old fashioned dance was enjoyed until the small hours of the morning with two squeaky violins and a portable organ to furnish the music. Long Tom in a high-keyed nasal voice called off the figures.

After this holiday dance there was little sociability or farm work until the spring time. By the first of

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 the year when the days began to lengthen and the cold to strengthen, winter set in in earnest. Larry who had been brought up in New England thought he knew what snow was, but he soon found that he was mistaken. For it fell out here in Wyoming day after day in great white, shifting, drifting flakes which piled up in enormous drifts.

With the coming of the deep snow the cow-punchers got out what ponies had been kept in the corral and began breaking out paths for the cattle. A cow-puncher mounted upon his favorite steed and leading three other ponies behind him would make a path for the cattle leading to the best feed and drinking places. The parada had gradually drifted down to the lower plateau and had taken refuge in several sheltered canyons on some unfenced land below the plateau. Here they were somewhat sheltered and the snow was not so deep. The ponies, of which there were about a hundred loose on the ranch, made better work of feeding in the winter time than did the cows. They would go from point to point pawing under the snow and uncovering the seered, frost-bitten grass. Each pony was sure to have a string of cows following after him to pick up the morsels that he left.

After the middle of January the hay stacks on the home ranch, containing several hundred tons of hay, were thrown open to the cattle. They fell upon it

title: Page:Patches (1928).pdf/146


text:
Author:Leland Stanford Roberts

Works

 * "Ching Chong" (1917)

title: Author:Leland Stanford Roberts


text: Page:Patches (1928).pdf/147

title: Page:Patches (1928).pdf/147


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 have I sat beneath them with my lord, watching the sports of our children,—the lovely boys, whose loss first taught me the frailty of human joys, first convinced me that it is hereafter we can only expect permanent felicity. 'Tis a conviction of this kind, which loosens the hold the world too often almost imperceptibly gains upon the heart; let us therefore never dare to murmur at events that draw us still closer to our God."

Madeline sighed; she felt indeed that nothing will so soon detach us from life as disappointment.

"I fear, my love (cried the Countess), that I have infected you with my gloom."

"No, madam (replied Madeline) you have not."

"I fear (resumed the Countess, regarding her with earnestness), that some secret sorrow preys upon your heart; a sorrow which,


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 ravenously and it disappeared before their onset like dew before the sun. In another month they had eaten the last spear of hay and were still hungry. Then several tons of oilcake were brought out to tide them over for another few days. This was made of flax-seed ground and pressed into sheets. It was very nutritious and there was a saying among the cow-punchers that if a cow has been dead only twenty-four hours it will bring her round.

By the first of February the cold was intense and then the cattle were seen standing about forlornly. When Larry inquired the reason for this his uncle explained that they could stand the cold better by standing still; moving about against the wind might freeze them stiff in a few hours. Their coats which had been glossy and bright early in November were now dull and lusterless. Their ribs which had been covered with fat in early fall began to show through beneath the hide. Then it was that here and there over the panorama of white, small hillocks of snow were seen. When Larry poked into the first one he saw, he was horrified to find a dead cow beneath it. But he soon got used to this gruesome sight and it was a fortunate day when he did not discover a half dozen. Some of these cattle died from exposure and pneumonia and some starved to death, but this was expected on a great ranch where so many cattle were taken care of and

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 and that the prince of Japanese robbers, Ishikawa Goemon, entering the Taikô's chamber with the intention of assassinating him, silenced the censer by muffling it in an an equally miraculous tabard. Such fables show in what degree of estimation a choice piece of céladon was held by mediæval Japanese, and how highly their appreciative sense was educated. This marvellous censer was a tiny cylindrical vase, about four inches high and as many in diameter. It had only three beauties, perfect uniformity of glaze, a wonderful colour, and the lustre of a gem. Yet it inspired its first owner with such poetic admiration that, carrying it home in his bosom and hearing the musical note of the peewit sounding over a moon-lit moor, it seemed to him a fitting thing to call the peerless censer after the solitary, soft-voiced bird.

The number of fine céladons remaining in Japanese collections is very great. Scarely a temple of note is without some example of the ware, whether vase or censer. Among these, however, the majority cannot safely be referred to factories of earlier date than the Yuan (1279-1368) or Ming (1368-1644) dynasty. It is, indeed, scarcely possible to distinguish between two specimens of Lung-chuan-yao dating respectively from the Sung and the Ming dynasty. The manufacture of the Ju-yao and original Kuan-yao céladons ended with the Sung era, but the manufacture of the Lung-chuan-yao continued at the Liu-tien and Chin-tsun kilns throughout the Yuan dynasty, and at Ch'u-chou-fu, in the same province of Chê-kiang, throughout a considerable portion of the Ming dynasty. At these same factories imitations of the Ju-yao and Kuan-yao were also made, and there is no reason to think that they differed greatly from their


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 the cow-punchers looked upon it as a part of the day's work.

Late in February when the sun had mounted higher in the heavens and its rays were warmer the snow would melt in sheltered spots on warm days. Then a very perceptible odor from these pathetic little piles of snow was noticed on the spring air.

It was to the call of such an allurement as this that Two Toes the Terrible led his band of seven grizzled hunters over the mountains that hemmed in the Crooked Creek ranch on the north and down onto the upper plateau. Two Toes was by far the most destructive wolf that had ever harassed the cattle growers of the northwest. In four states bounties were set upon his scalp by both county governments and private corporations. The aggregate of these bounties was fifteen hundred dollars so it will be well understood that the stock men wished to get rid of him. He had killed sheep by the thousands in South Dakota. He and his band would steal upon the sheep when they were bunched for the night and the shepherds were asleep and they would scatter before the onset of the wolves like chaff before the wind. Then for several days they would go about killing the small bands of unfortunate sheep. They had been known to kill as many as three hundred in a single night, while for the shepherd to find twenty or thirty terribly mangled

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 sheep was a common thing. They never ate them, not caring for mutton, but merely killed them for the excitement of the chase.

Two Toes had killed calves and colts in Nebraska and had driven several horse-raisers who had ranches in southeastern Montana nearly to despair. In Wyoming he had killed calves and yearlings and done much damage on the cattle ranches. Although he never ate mutton he did like a tender young colt, but his favorite diet was calves and yearling heifers. He was so fastidious that he never ate an adult animal and as this band of wolves never ate anything that they did not kill themselves they were immune to all kinds of poison.

Old Two Toes' cunning in perceiving traps was almost beyond belief. His nose always warned him of danger and never was at fault. He would go where some trapper had set twenty-five to fifty steel traps for his little band and with diabolical cunning would discover each trap. Some of them he would uncover and these he would spring by scratching sticks or stones on them. Several government hunters, employed especially for the purpose, had camped on his trail for four or five years.

He was well-known to the biological branch of a certain department of the government in Washington. Just as a great city catalogs its crooks and keeps a

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 gallery of them, so the Washington government keeps a catalog of the most destructive animals, and Two Toes' record was the most formidable in the department. It consisted of a long story of his ravages and several photographs of him which a government hunter had taken one day when he was armed with a telephoto instead of a rifle. There were also drawings of his peculiar track. Only once in his adventurous life had he ever fallen into a trap and then he had stumbled upon it in an out-of-the-way place when fleeing from an enemy. This misfortune had cost him the two middle toes on his right fore-foot and wherever he went he left the peculiar trail of this club foot. There were really two toes and a dewclaw on this foot, but the latter did not show in a dirt trail so he was usually referred to as Old Two Toes.

Before he had been on the Crooked Creek ranch for twenty-four hours, he and his band had killed half a dozen calves and three or four yearlings.

Hank Brodie had at once recognized that the ranch had some bad visitors and it was not many days before he discovered the peculiar trail of Old Two Toes; then he knew they were in for trouble.

He sent to the nearest drug store for a supply of arsenic and strychnine. All of the carcasses of the animals that had been killed were doctored with poison. He also cut pieces of meat from these carcasses and

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 poisoned them using every precaution not to taint them. He likewise tried to tempt the wolves with freshly killed chickens dosing them in the same manner with the poison. But all his attempts to poison the wolves were futile, for they escaped the poisoned meat by leaving it rigidly alone. In some places they showed their contempt for this strategy by scratching snow and dirt over the meat and defiling it in other ways. Seeing it was useless to work further with the poison fifty new steel traps were secured and these were set in all the likely places. They were set in pairs and in threes, baited and unbaited, with all the skill that a local trapper who had been called in to help could devise. But day after day went by and no wolves were trapped, but the killing of calves and yearlings went steadily on. The wolves finally became so bold under Old Two Toes' leadership that they would come in close to the ranch house. No one ever saw them but their tracks left in the snow could plainly be seen the following morning.

One night Larry was awakened from a sound sleep by a most pitiful yelling from Billy, the Scotch collie, who was the only dog tolerated on the ranch. The outcries were so terrible that Larry sprang from his bed and hurried to the bunk house door, for the cries had seemed to come just outside. There on the door step he found the beautiful dog lying in the welter of

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 his own blood and gasping for breath. But stranger even than that, Patches who was supposed to be safely housed in the corral was standing by his side and bending over him solicitously; for Patches and Billy were the greatest of friends. Billy always greeted Patches by jumping up and licking his nose when he and Larry came in from a ride over the ranch.

Larry picked Billy up gently and carried him into the bunk house and laid him on the rug inside the door. Then he called Hank Brodie and the rest of the cow-punchers. One glance at the dog was enough for them. They recognized the work of his assailants.

"It's wolves," said Long Tom, "and I guess they has done for Billy."

The prophecy was a good one for five minutes later the noble dog had breathed his last. Larry was heartbroken, but seeing he could do nothing more for Billy he put on his clothes and went outside to put Patches back in the corral again, but Patches was gone. He whistled and searched about the ranch buildings for half an hour but not a sign of the horse could he discover, and strangest of all the corral bars were up. Then he went sorrowfully back into the bunk house and told this additional news to the cow-punchers.

"I wouldn't worry about him," said Hank Brodie, "he's probably just strayed out, but what beats me is how he ever got out of the corral."

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 "He'll turn up all right in the morning, son," said Big Bill. "Don't you worry about Patches; if I ever saw an animal that was capable of taking care of himself, it is that hoss."

All that night Larry was haunted with dreams of Patches and the wolves. First the horse would be galloping wildly over the snow with a half dozen of the gray, gaunt destroyers at his heels trying to hamstring him. Then the scene would change and Patches would be backed up against a cliff surrounded by the gray marauders who sprang at his throat and tried to pull him down. Several times Larry awoke in a dripping sweat to find his heart beating like a trip-hammer. Finally he gave up trying to sleep and waited impatiently for the sound of the alarm clock in the bunk house. When it finally sounded he sprang out of bed with alacrity and hastily dressed. This was the first time during nearly a year that he had lived on the ranch that he had ever been awake when the alarm clock rang.

He hastened outside to see what he could learn of the tragic events of the night before. His uncle and Big Bill were already on the scene looking at the tracks in the snow. Larry could make little of these hieroglyphics in the snow, but to experienced trailers like his uncle and Bill the story was as plain as the printed page in a book.

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Rh worried face as she greeted them at the door they knew without being told that no word had been received from Chet.

"They didn't turn back," said Iola, almost tearfully. "We waited all afternoon and evening expecting Chet back, but he didn't come. They must have gone straight ahead into the storm."

"Did the post card come?" asked Joe.

She shook her head.

"We haven't heard from him at all. And Chet promised faithfully he'd write to us from Hawk Cove. The card should have been in the morning mail. Chet always keeps his promises. I'm so afraid something dreadful has happened."

"Oh, there's no need to be alarmed," consoled Frank. "Perhaps the storm delayed them so that they didn't reach Hawk Cove until it was too late to catch the mail. Or perhaps they stopped off at one of the other fishing villages down at the entrance to the bay. A dozen things might have happened. You'll probably hear from him to-morrow—or to-night, perhaps."

"That storm was too terrible!" declared the girl. "They should never have gone on. They should have turned back when the rest of us did."

"I guess they didn't want to turn back once

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 perhaps if I knew, I might be able, if not to remove, at least to lessen."

"Oh, no, madam," exclaimed Madeline with involuntary quickness, terrified at the idea of revealing her hopeless passion.

"Then heaven forbid (cried the Countess), I should seek to probe a wound I could not heal."

"Forgive me, madam (said Madeline), I spoke unthinkingly. I know of none more qualified to heal the sorrows of the heart than you are; but—but my feelings (continued she, hesitating and blushing), require more the exertions of my own reason, than the sympathy of a friend; and—and be assured, madam I, to the utmost of my power, will use those exertions."

"I trust so, my love," said the Countess, who guessed the sorrow of Madeline proceeded from the disappointment of her hopes relative to de Sevignie."

"I trust so, my love; not only on your own account, but your father's, who, from your happiness, hopes to receive some consolation


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 "You see, it was this here way," said Bill when he had examined all the tracks carefully, "Old Two Toes was snooking about the place and surprised Billy and fell upon him like a thunder bolt, but Billy managed to ward him off for a few seconds by leaping about and dodging. But finally the old killer got the death grip, then it was that Billy set up that unearthly yelling and you couldn't blame him.

"Patches was probably the first one to hear this call of his friend for help and he went over the corral fence like a rocket although it is seven feet high. He fell on that Old Two Toes like a ton of brick and the old killer suddenly remembered that he had very urgent business in another part of the ranch and he lit out for parts unknown going about twelve feet at a jump and Patches after him. But after the first hundred feet or two Patches turned back to see how Billy was and escorted him to the bunk house steps. When he saw you had taken his chum inside, he again went after the wolf."

Immediately after breakfast Hank Brodie and Larry saddled their horses and started out to find the truant Patches. Larry was mounted upon the Jack Rabbit which Pony had loaned for the occasion.

They were able to follow the tracks of the wolves and the horse for about two miles, until Old Two Toes took to the timber. Here Patches was joined by some

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 other horses and his track could not be told from the rest of the herd.

Larry and his uncle rode hither and you over the ranch and it was not until about four o'clock in the afternoon that they caught sight of Patches. And then they found him standing upon a swell on the upper plateau, away to the north over close to the perimeter of the mountains. He seemed to be gazing intently across the snow and almost immediately Hank Brodie saw three other horses standing upon nearby swells, all in this watchful attitude. Larry was overjoyed to see his chum and at once started after him using the shrill whistle that he always employed when he wished to call the horse. But to his great surprise when he came within about sixty yards of his chum Patches threw up his head and galloped off and they saw him no more that day.

"Well," said Hank Brodie, "I guess we've lost him for this time but we'll get him to-morrow."

Larry was loathe to give up the pursuit, but finally seeing that his uncle was right he reluctantly turned back to the ranch house.

Early the following morning they were out on the range again looking for Patches. This time they were more successful in locating him and discovered him about noon. But he was still as wary as he had been the day before. He would allow Larry to approach

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 for the numerous, the dreadful, the unprecedented calamities of his youth."

"Ah, Heavens (cried Madeline, starting, and forgetting, in the horror and agitation of the moment, the resolution she had once formed of never attempting to discover the nature of those calamities), you shock my very soul by your words. Oh, why, why is there such a silence observed as to his former life!—a silence which makes me tremble lest some heavy misfortunes, in consequence of the events of it, should still be hanging over him."

"Madeline (said the Countess in a solemn voice), in my concern for your father, I spoke unguardedly; and I already repent having done so from the situation I see you in: but, as some atonement for doing so, I will take this opportunity of cautioning you against all imprudent curiosity; let no incentive from it ever tempt you to seek an explanation of former occurrences; be assured your happiness depends entirely on your ignorance of them: was the dark volume


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 within fifty yards, then he would throw up his head and trot away. The boy followed him for hours thinking he would wear out this persistent aloofness, but all to no purpose. When night fell he was still as far from securing his horse chum as ever.

"Don't be discouraged, son" saidson," said [sic] Big Bill to him that night as he recounted the day's futile pursuit, "when he gets good and ready he will let you catch him. Until then there ain't much use chasing him. I'd jest let him alone."

But Larry could not content himself with idleness and every day for two weeks he went out to look for Patches. Some days he didn't see the horse at all and then a great fear would seize him. Perhaps he had ventured into the timber and the wolves had pulled him down. But the following day Larry would usually find him.

It seemed to Larry that the brightest and best thing in his life had been taken from him. He never could have imagined he would miss a mere animal so terribly. But Patches was more than an animal; he was a chum, a companion in the day's work. He and Larry had ranged the ranch together early and late, in spring, summer, autumn, and winter and they had come to be inseparable. If Patches missed Larry he gave no sign for at the end of two weeks he still eluded him just as he had the first day.

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 originals. Unfortunately, no accurate information is obtainable as to the time when the factory at Ch'u-chou-fu ceased to be active. The date may, however, be approximately fixed at the early part of the sixteenth century. Up to that time the characteristic iron-red pâte and thick, lustrous glaze of the Lung-chuan-yao were produced without much difficulty. A little later, during the Wan-li era (1573-1619), there flourished an expert nicknamed Hu-kung (Mr. Pots), or Hu-yin-tao-jên (the Taoist hidden in a pot), whose reproductions of the Kuan-yao and Ko-yao céladons of the Sung dynasty enjoyed considerable reputation. He appears to have shown some want of strength in respect of crackle, but his work was sufficiently excellent to make his name remembered, a fact from which it may safely be inferred that the manufacture of céladons of the old type had ceased to be carried on successfully before his time. Tradition says that he marked his pieces Hu-yin-tao-jên, but if this be so they must have been at once distinguishable from their prototypes.

Contemporaneous with, or perhaps a little earlier than, Hu-kung, an artist named Ngeu, who worked at the factory of Yi-hsing (a place situated on the western shore of the Tai-wu Lake, some few miles inland from Shanghai), is recorded as having imitated the ancient Ko-yao and Kuan-yao céladons. His ware was known as Ngeu-yao.

Neither of these manufactures possesses much practical interest except as showing that, at the close of the sixteenth century, céladons of the recognised class had become so difficult of production that skilled artists acquired permanent fame by imitating them. It is not to be supposed, of


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 One evening before sundown Larry went to the top of the pinnacle above Piñon Valley where his uncle had taken him on that memorable day when he had shown him "the cattle on a thousand hills."

Larry scanned the country through his glass for a long time before he made out anything that interested him. But finally he discovered on the upper plateau a dog-like animal trotting towards the cul-de-sac or neck of the bottle which led through into Piñon Valley.

At first he thought it was surely an enormous dog, then as the animal drew nearer he saw to his great surprise that it was a gigantic wolf, perhaps Two Toes himself.

Larry's surprise on discovering the wolf had barely subsided when he noticed a horse following about seventy-five yards behind the wolf, but he was not alone for presently Larry discovered nearly a dozen other horses all spread out in an elliptical shape behind the wolf, and then he saw that the horse leading was Patches.

Then Larry noticed that the great wolf seemed very tired, for he trotted wearily along and not with the usual springy lope of the lobo wolf.

But soon he lost him as he disappeared in the neck of the bottle. He turned his glass upon the point where he must reappear at the upper end of Piñon Valley.

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 Presently he saw him come trotting wearily forth. He had not covered more than a third of the distance through the valley when Patches and his little band of horses broke out of the cul-de-sac. When Larry had last seen them they had been trotting leisurely but now they broke into a wild gallop and swept down the valley upon the solitary wolf like a whirlwind.

Larry thought he had seen range horses run before but he had never seen such running as he now beheld on the part of this little flying squadron. They gained steadily upon the wolf who looked back once and saw the on-coming menace. He seemed to appreciate his danger for he put forth his utmost strength and ran belly to earth, but even so the flying squadron of riderless cavalry gained on him. When about half way down the valley Old Two Toes turned to the left to escape, if possible, in the piñons and junipers upon the steep hillside. But Patches who was leading that wing of the charging herd let out a great burst of speed and quickly headed the gray wolf back to the center of the valley. Then the beleaguered wolf tried the right side but this wing of Patches' little troop of cavalry increased its speed and headed him back. Slowly the two jaws of this phalanx of pounding hoofs were closing in upon him. Again he tried the straight away run down the valley but the flying horses increased their speed. Once the wolf hesitated and

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 of your father's fate ever opened to your view, peace would for ever forsake your breast; for its characters are marked by horror, and stained with blood."

Madeline grasped the Countess's arm in convulsive agitation;—"I swear (said she, raising her other hand, and looking up to heaven), from this moment, never, by any means, direct or indirect, to try and discover ought that my father wishes to conceal."

"I rejoice to hear this resolution (cried the Countess, kissing her cheek); I rejoice at it on your own account. And now, my love, let us change this discourse. You have promised (she continued) to try and recover your spirits; and I shall attentively watch to see whether you fulfil that promise. Oh, Madeline, grief in the early season of youth, is like frost to a tender flower, unkind and blighting; and no tongue can describe, no heart, except a parental one, conceive the bitter, the excruciating anguish which a


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 looked, first this way and that for an escape and this hesitation was his undoing, for closing up their ranks the squadron passed over him like an express train and left him limp upon the snow. About fifty yards beyond the prostrate wolf, they wheeled as though by command of unseen riders and charged back. By this time the wolf had raised upon his fore-legs but his hind quarters seemed paralyzed and once again the charging horses passed over him.

Larry's heart gave a throb of fear as he saw the mighty wolf spring at Patches' throat but the pounding hoofs crushed him to earth and the flying broncho passed by unscathed. Once again the maneuvering squadron paused about fifty yards from the prostrate wolf, but this time Patches went back alone. He came up close to the fallen destroyer and reared upon his hind legs and brought down his forefeet like pile drivers upon the wolf. This he repeated thrice; then, concluding that all life had been crushed out of him, he returned to his little band.

Larry waited to see no more but made all haste down through the piñons and junipers, sending snow and sand sliding down before him. He reached Piñon Valley excited and breathless.

He found Patches and his little band of mustangs still bunched together just as he had last seen them. He thrust two fingers into his mouth and blew the

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 shrill whistle with which he had called Patches so many times in days gone by. And this time to his great joy his chum nickered and trotted eagerly toward him while the rest of the mustangs galloped away in the direction from which they had come.

Patches seemed overjoyed to be with his master once more and immediately began nosing about his pockets for the bag of lump sugar that Larry had been carrying for the entire two weeks and which he had held up for Patches' inspection whenever he came near him. Patches ate a couple of lumps, kissed his master upon each cheek and bowed low. He got two more lumps and then he had to shake hands. From his manner it was apparent to Larry that the horse had lost none of his affection for him; he had simply been upon other business during the strange two weeks.

When Larry had petted him to his heart's content and Patches had eaten the last lump of sugar in the bag, Larry took the bridle and saddle from Baldy who had been hitched in the piñons nearby and put them on Patches. He put the halter that he had carried on his saddle bow for the past two weeks upon Baldy. Then by means of his lariat he bound the lobo wolf to Baldy's back. The old mustang objected at first but finally decided to carry the load. When the wolf had been made secure Larry mounted Patches and leading Baldy started triumphantly back to the ranch.

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 course, that the Ch'u-chou-fu potters had lost all their old ability. Doubtless they could still produce Lung-chuan-yao of the ordinary variety. But such tours de force as the delicate colours of the Chang brothers and of the Kuan-yao and Ju-yao, being to a great extent dependent upon individual expertness, had ceased to make their appearance in the market, and the connoisseurs of the Ming dynasty had learned to be so exacting that the comparatively heavy, impure monochromes of the Ch'u-chou factory no longer found favour in their eyes. It may be concluded that the ordinary class of céladons preserved in Japanese collections, as well as those to be found throughout the area of mediæval commerce described above, and finally the not infrequent specimens of inferior quality offered for sale in the markets of China to-day, date from a period prior to 1550.

It may, perhaps, seem to the reader that over much space is here devoted to the discussion of céladon alone. He must remember, however, that great misconceptions have hitherto been entertained by Western virtuosi as to the proclivities of Chinese amateurs in ancient times and the direction taken by the genius of early Chinese keramists. It is essential to clear away these errors if the student desires to form any just estimate of the progress of the keramic art. Alone among European authors, Mr. A. W. Franks, of the British Museum, with his wonted judgment, discerned something of the truth when he wrote in the preface to his well known Catalogue:—"Among the simple colours (of Chinese ware) the first place must be assigned to the bluish or sea-green tint, termed by the French céladon. It is probably of considerable antiquity, and it is remarkable that one of the earliest


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 That evening by the long table in the ranch house he told the story to an excited audience. He told it well, not omitting any of the high-lights in Patches' performance. When he had finished Big Bill brought his fist down upon the table with a blow that made the dishes rattle.

"By heaven, gents, it is jest as I thought," he said. "I knowed it all the time but I reckon it is easier to prophesy after a thing is over that it is before it happens, but I knowed it jest the same.

"That air Patches has been camping on the trail of that old lobo wolf these two weeks. Whenever he came out in the open, he and his hosses were right after him a-wearing him down and pestering the life out'n him. They were waiting for the right opening to come and when he trotted into Piñon Valley he was as good as dead.

"Don't ever tell me again that a hoss ain't got some reasoning power. I knowed they have and they've got hoss sense besides, and that's more than some folks got."

When they came to weigh and measure the lobo wolf all the cow-punchers were amazed at his dimensions, for he stood thirty-five inches at his shoulders and weighed one hundred and forty-two pounds. When we remember that a large timber wolf only weighs about ninety pounds it will be seen that Two Toes was a giant among his fellows. The loss of their

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46 they had started," ventured Joe. "Biff doesn't like to admit he's licked."

"Neither does Chet," the girl replied. "They're both headstrong and I guess they thought we'd make fun of them if they had to come back to Bayport and start over again."

"Well, we'll be back to-morrow. I'm sure you'll hear from him by then," said Frank reassuringly. "And if we hear anything we'll let you know."

"Please do."

The Hardy boys walked back to their motorcycles. When they were out of hearing Frank remarked in a low voice:

"I don't like the looks of this, at all! I'm beginning to think something has happened."

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 leader immediately demoralized the band of gray hunters and they were seen no more on the Crooked Creek ranch, and Patches got the credit of ridding the ranch of these destroyers.

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LD Ephraim should have stayed in Yellowstone Park where he was well off, but like many humans he became dissatisfied with his lot and sought his fortunes in other regions and so came to grief. In the park he was protected by the government, with plenty of forage on the dumps of the many tourists' hotels, and, if he took a notion, he could kill an elk calf, for elk were very plentiful in the park being protected just as Old Ephraim was. But he failed to appreciate all of his blessings and so came into our story.

Old Ephraim was the facetious name which hunters and frontiersmen in the west had given to the Rocky Mountain grizzly bear. Before the discovery of the great Kodiak bear on Kodiak Island in Alaska it was thought that the Rocky Mountain grizzly was king among carnivorous animals in the western hemisphere, but the discovery of the Kodiak bear took this palm from him.

Old Ephraim at the time of our story was five or six years old and while he was not of record-breaking

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 parent feels at seeing a beloved child wasting the bloom of youth in wretchedness,—pining, drooping, sinking beneath its pressure.—From such wretchedness may heaven preserve your father! Oh, never, never may the distresses of his child precipitate him to his grave!"

Madeline almost started, she looked earnestly at the Countess; and fancied that the energy with which her words had been delivered, declared a self-experience of the sorrow which she mentioned. The idea however was but transitory; and as she dismissed, she wondered she had ever conceived it. "No," she said to herself, "the Countess has felt no sorrow but what the common casualties of life have occasioned."

Both were silent for some minutes; Madeline at length spoke:—"It grows late, my dear madam, and I fear your staying longer in the night air may hurt you."


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 size yet he was most formidable. Six or seven hundred pounds of bear meat armed with death-dealing paws and prodigious claws are about as much bear as even a brave man would want to see coming after him unless he was heavily armed.

Old Ephraim had come from his hibernation about April first. He had been fat in autumn when he had begun the long winter sleep, but now his coat was dull and lifeless. His flesh had disappeared and his digestive organs were also at a low ebb. So for the first ten days after coming forth from his long winter's sleep he ate little but grasses and roots, leaving his digestive organs to recover their vigor. Then it was that the blood-lust came upon him. Even so he might have satisfied it with an elk calf but that was not to his liking. He remembered the year before having tasted mutton and now a great desire to feed upon that delicacy came over him. So one April morning he left the park and pointed his nose to the southeast and started on his long journey. He was very lucky in his quest for sheep and discovered a small sheep ranch towards the close of the first day. Like a good hunter he waited until after dark and then fell on the flock and killed several sheep and so satisfied his longing for mutton and warm blood. He was not like Two Toes the Terrible, killing merely for the excitement of the chase for Old Ephraim killed to satisfy his appetite.

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 The following day he found more meat for he discovered a mule deer which had broken a fore-leg in a windfall. She was quite at his mercy and he broke her neck with a terrific left-hand blow from his great paw, for most bears are left handed.

The third day of his peregrinations he found a convenient stream where trout and suckers were very plentiful and he spent the better part of the day fishing. He would crouch upon a flat stone close to the stream and whenever a fish came to the surface to snap up a fly that had fallen upon the water, with one stroke of his great paw he would knock the fish out upon the land and eat it at his leisure.

On the fourth day of his travels he discovered a beetree and had the time of his life driving out the owners of the sweet and possessing himself of the results of many months of toil. He did not mind that he got stung upon his nose and lips for the delicious honey well repaid him for the smart of the bee stings.

The fifth day he crossed the mountains above Crooked Creek ranch and came down into Aspen Draw, a little gulch close to the timber above the upper mesa and Piñon Valley.

Here the following day he killed a yearling heifer and so his presence upon the ranch became known. Larry was the one who discovered the kill as he was doing most of the range riding. He examined the carcass to

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 the best of his ability but he did not have the trained eyes of a woodsman, so failed to note all the signs. One thing he was sure of, it was probably not the work of the wolves for nothing had been seen of the gray pack since the loss of Old Two Toes.

When he conducted his uncle, Hank Brodie, to the spot, this veteran trailer at once pointed out the large track in the soft dirt close to the heifer. It was as large as the palm of a man's hand with the fingers outspread. At the perimeter of the track were five large claw prints.

"What do you make of that, son?" inquired Hank Brodie pointing to the unmistakable sign.

"Whew," returned Larry, "how did I ever overlook that? He must be a whopper whatever he is."

"It is Old Ephraim," his uncle returned. "That is the frontier name for the great Rocky Mountain grizzly. We certainly got an important visitor this time, but we will wait and see what he will do. I don't think he will be as bad as the wolves."

But Old Ephraim was hungry and the Crooked Creek calves and yearlings tasted good to him so he killed a fresh one every day. Finally Hank Brodie had to see what he could do with traps.

So three or four of the cow-punchers set out one day with axes to build a pen trap. They built it on the edge of the timber close to Piñon Valley. It was made

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 specimens of porcelain that can be referred to as having been brought to England before the Reformation, viz., the cup of Archbishop Warham, at New College, Oxford, is of this kind. By Persians and Turks it is termed martabani, and it is much valued by them as a detecterdetector [sic] of poisonous food. Specimens of this porcelain were sent to Lorenzo de Medici in 1487 by the Sultan of Egypt. It owes its preservation, no doubt, to its great thickness." Probably the best examples of the ware to be found in Europe are those in the Kremlin at Moscow, where they were placed by the Empress Catherine.

Apart, too, from the historical aspect of the question, Chinese céladon is interesting for its own sake. Nothing but the evidence of actual observation could convey an idea of the enthusiastic admiration lavished upon this ware by both Chinese and Japanese amateurs. An estimate of its value, however, can be formed from the fact that for single pieces prices have been given far in excess of any European precedent. Even now the choicest specimens are so highly prized in China and Japan that very few find their way westward, more especially as the merits of the ware are by no means calculated to strike an uneducated eye. Like everything possessing real excellence, it improves upon acquaintance, and the collector can be very certain that, long after he has grown weary of elaborately decorated and brilliantly enamelled pieces, he will experience an ever-growing appreciation of the refined céladon, with its glaze of velvet-like lustre and its delicate green or bluish-green colour, which has baffled the skill of all Western workmen and can no longer be produced by the Chinese themselves.


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 of lodge-pole pines about ten inches in diameter. These were notched at the ends and the corners were locked together just as the old time log cabin was built. Poles were put across the top of the pen, when the sides were completed, to make a roof and heavy stones were laid upon them to make the roof secure. Then a log door was built and this was held up by a strong rope which passed over the roof of the house and down the backside and through the wall to the trigger inside. When everything was in readiness the trap was baited with a freshly killed calf's head and the cow-punchers went home to await developments.

For two days Old Ephraim did not seem to discover the pen trap but on the third night he entered it and pulled the trigger and the door went down with a great bang. Judging from the appearance of the house the next day, the mighty grizzly had been infuriated on being entrapped in this way. He had evidently reared to his full height and placing his strong shoulders against the roof had literally lifted the poles and the boulders upon them and thrown them to the ground. He had done a very thorough job in demolishing the pen trap for he had not only stripped off the entire roof but he had also torn out one side of the trap. Evidence of his fury could be seen where he had stripped the bark from the lodge-poles leaving great claw marks, some of them a foot long.

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 "That old paw would make a man sick if he ever raked it down his back," said Uncle Hank as he pointed to the signs of Old Ephraim's fury.

Hank next tried a deadfall. He secured a log about fifteen feet long and drove down stakes each side of it until he had made a lane with the log in the middle of it. Then one end was raised to the height of perhaps eight feet and held in place by means of a figure four. On the spindle of the figure four was placed a frame of honey which a cow-puncher had ridden twenty miles to secure.

Old Ephraim evidently was suspicious of this deadfall for he did not go very near it for a day or two, but finally the honey became too much for him. Even then he did not venture into the lane under the deadfall but pulled up several stakes at the sides and then thrust his arm in and secured the honey without injury to himself although the deadfall was sprung.

Hank next tried a half dozen of the heavy steel traps that he had used for the wolves. Old Ephraim finally blundered into two of them, but he merely took the log to which they were fastened on his shoulder and carrying it to the nearest tree had beaten the traps against it until they came to pieces. Parts of them were seen strewn on the ground.

This last failure discouraged Hank Brodie and he did not try further to catch the big bear, but tried poi-

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 The Countess instantly rose, thanked her for her kind solicitude about her; and, leaning on her arm, returned to the house; they supped together in her dressing-room, and parted soon after for the night.

Madeline retired to her chamber deeply affected by the incidents of the day,—incidents which had increased the dejection she felt in consequence of those she had experienced at V to a most painful degree. Instead of undressing, she sat down to indulge her melancholy thoughts, but was soon interrupted by a tap at the door; on desiring it to be opened, Floretta, one of the Countess's women, entered.

Whenever attendance was necessary, it was she that waited upon Madeline, who liked her much for her liveliness and good-nature; she had been in the Countess's suite at the time she stopped at Clermont's, and was daughter to an old and favourite deceased


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 son instead. He put arsenic and strychnine into pieces of meat near each kill when it was found, but Old Ephraim's nose could not be deceived and he always let poisoned meat strictly alone.

There is no telling how long the grizzly would have remained on the Crooked Creek ranch had not an unforeseen meeting taken place, one which gave all parties participating considerable surprise.

Larry and Patches had been riding on the upper mesa looking for spring calves and had just ridden into Aspen Draw, when, as they neared a fringe of bushes at the side of the canyon, Patches suddenly snorted and became very excited and pranced about. Larry was much astonished as he had never seen him act like this before but the fear of the horse was immediately explained. For the next instant a mighty grizzly bear reared on his haunches and looked over the tops of the bushes at the horse and rider. He was not over forty feet away and to Larry he looked a veritable mountain. Hank Brodie had cautioned the boy against shooting at the grizzly if he should ever come upon him at close range for he might infuriate him and precipitate trouble.

Larry forgot this warning and instinctively his hand slid to his six gun, and, before he could formulate a plan of escape, he had raised his revolver and fired. The bullet struck the bear a glancing blow upon the

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 shoulder which did no damage, but threw Old Ephraim into a towering rage.

With a roar of pain and fury the old grizzly charged straight at the horse and rider. Now while a grizzly bear is rather slow in a straight away run, in a sudden charge he can often put forth a great burst of speed which almost approaches that of the mountain lion.

And this was what Old Ephraim did. He had been attacked without provocation and he intended that somebody should smart for it. Before Larry had time to tighten the line in his left hand the bear had taken two jumps. Then in the excitement Larry dropped his .45 and clutched the quirt and brought it down on Patches' side. The horse wheeled partly about as though to run and then seemed to change his mind, or perhaps he was rooted to the ground with fear. Anyhow he did not break into the wild gallop Larry had expected. Instead he stood rigidly, his forefeet planted like pile drivers and Larry felt the horse's muscles beneath the saddle grow tense. Patches, looking back over his shoulder, timed his attack just as a baseball player swings his bat to meet the flying ball. So when the great grizzly executed his fourth jump, which would have carried him upon the horse's flank, Patches lashed out with both heels in a terrific kick which hit the bear squarely. One hoof struck the side of his neck, and the other caught him beneath the jaw. Larry heard

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 waiting-woman, whose place since her death she had filled.

"I was longing, Mademoiselle (said she with a smile and a courtesy), for an opportunity of welcoming you back to the castle. I hope you had a pleasant time at V; but indeed I dare say you had, for Madame Chatteneuf sees a power of company they say; and she is in the right of it—company is the life of one; besides, it gives her daughter a chance of being married soon; I warrant she has a number of admirers; and I make no doubt but you, Mam'selle, came in for your share."

"You are mistaken indeed Floretta," said Madeline smiling.

"Not entirely, Mam'selle: Lord, didn't Jacques and Philippe tell me the first evening you went to Madame Chatteneuf's, there was no one there half so much admired as you were; and how you danced with the handsomest gentleman present who looked so tender on you, Monsieur—lord, I for-


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 something break, which sounded like breaking wood, and the thought flashed through his mind that Patches had broken his own leg. The recoil from the kick was terrific, and it threw Patches forward upon his knees; while Larry went flying over the horse's head striking on his own head and shoulders on the ground. For two or three seconds he seemed to lose consciousness and a faint sick feeling gripped him and everything was dark. But almost immediately his vitality reasserted itself, and his mind cleared. He raised to a sitting position only to see, not ten feet away, a mighty grizzly also struggling to his feet. He was working his jaw and winking his eyelids. He seemed as dazed as Larry himself and very much bewildered about what had happened.

For a moment Larry was paralyzed with fear, then he remembered his six gun and his hand went to the holster, but it was empty. Just at this moment he noticed that he was kneeling upon something hard and looking down he discovered his revolver half buried in the dirt. Frantically he clutched it and without realizing what the results might be, fired the remaining five shots in quick succession into the great bear. Then seeing that his gun was useless, in a fit of frenzy, he threw the revolver with all his might at the bear's head and ran for his life.

In the New England high school which Larry had attended he had been considered something of a

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 sprinter. He had run one-hundred yards in ten and three-fifths seconds, which is very fast for a high school boy. But he never ran on the track under a watch as he now fled down Aspen Draw. It seemed to him with every jump that the great bear was close upon him and he began zigzagging this way and that thinking by so doing he might escape the mighty paw of his pursuer. Once he imagined he could even feel the hot breath of the great beast upon his back.

By the time he had covered one-hundred yards his breath came in gasps, but he could not stop or slacken his speed. At the end of one hundred and fifty yards his breath was coming in a wheezy whistle. He had to slacken his pace for a second to breathe, so he looked back for his pursuer, but to his surprise there was no bear in sight. He stood for about ten seconds gazing back up the draw, but there was no grizzly on his track. But this did not hinder him making all haste to Patches, who was waiting for him another fifty yards down the draw. With what remaining strength Larry had he climbed into the saddle and putting spurs to the horse he galloped back to the ranch house. Pony was the only cow-puncher that he could find at the ranch house, and he, at first, greeted Larry's story with shouts of derision and laughter. But, finally, seeing how much in earnest the boy was and discovering that Patches had

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 skinned one of his knees he saddled the Jack Rabbit and together they returned to Aspen Draw.

They approached the spot where Larry had last seen Old Ephraim, with drawn revolvers, but this precaution was entirely unnecessary for they found on drawing near that the great bear was lying on the ground motionless where Larry had last seen him.

They took the precaution to throw stones at him before they approached very near, but finally discovered that he was quite lifeless. Careful examination of the grizzly showed that Patches' terrific kick had dislocated his neck and broken his lower jaw, while five of Larry's bullets had taken effect. This was quite enough for one bear so it was no wonder Old Ephraim was dead.

By the light of two lanterns and the May moon they skinned the grizzly and after cutting out twenty pounds of bear steak they took the skin and the steak home and left the remainder for the coyotes.

That evening as they sat about the supper table, Larry told the story in detail. And it was Big Bill who summed up the sentiments of the company.

"That air hoss, Patches," said the big fellow, accenting his remarks with a blow on the table, "is a wonder. He is the all-fired'st hoss I ever heard of. He bagged that old Two Toes when government hunters had been

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 after him for five years. Now he has bagged the grizzly. If that ain't some doings for a hoss."

"That hoss is worth a thousand dollars in gold," put in Pony.

"He is worth more than that," said Larry stoutly. "I wouldn't sell him for all the money in Wyoming."

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F there was one subject which fascinated Larry above all else, it was the cattle industry. He was never tired of hearing about it, and on warm summer evenings, when it was too hot to play polo, his uncle and the rest of the cow-punchers would stretch out on the grass under a big cottonwood near the ranch house and spin yarns of the cattle business. Such old timers as Big Bill, Long Tom, and Pony could by the hour recite tales of the old days; days of the Gilson and Santa Fe trails; of desperate fights between rival ranchmen in New Mexico and on the Panhandle. In addition to that there was the endless strife between the cattle men and the sheep men. If there was one individual in the whole world that a cattle man despised above all others it was a shepherd, and he in turn despised a goat man. Large herds of goats, however, were rarely seen in Wyoming.

Then in addition to these natural foes the cattle men had always had to fight the homesteaders, especially that drifting portion of homesteaders known as floaters or nesters. And worst of all there was the rustler, an

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 get his name, but I dare say you recollect, Mam'selle."

Too well, thought Madeline. She sighed, but made no reply; and, rising, began to undress in order to conceal the agitation which the mention of de Sevignie had excited in her mind.

"You are come back to a dismal house, Mam'selle (said Floretta, echoing her sigh, which she imputed to regret for past pleasures), to a dismal house indeed, (shaking her head), now that my poor lady is ill."

"Its gloom on that account will soon be dissipated I trust (cried Madeline), by the perfect restoration of her health."

"Alas! I fear not (said Floretta with a greater seriousness than Madeline had ever before remarked in her countenance), her mind is too much disturbed to permit me to think it will."

"Disturbed! (repeated Madeline in an accent of the greatest surprise, and turning


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 In order to complete this important branch of the subject, it will be advisable at once to carry the history of céladon down to modern times. In addition to the Lung-chuan-yao manufactured at Ch'u-chou-fu in Chêkiang, up to the middle of the sixteenth century, and the imitations of Ko-yao and Kuan-yao made by Hu-kung and Ngeu about the close of that century and the beginning of the next, céladons were also produced during the Ming dynasty at the Imperial Keramic Factory of Ching-tê-chên, in the province of Kiang-si. This factory's early history will presently be given. Here it is enough to say that, under the Ming emperors, its experts had become incomparably the most renowned in the Middle Kingdom. They produced many varieties of ware showing the highest technical skill and artistic excellence, and among these céladons were undoubtedly numbered. It is recorded that, in the year 1430, some twenty-five kilns, established at the beginning of the dynasty (1368) for the manufacture of large fish-bowls ornamented with dragons, were converted into céladon (Ching-yao) kilns, and that the ware produced at them, being intended for the use of the Court, was termed Kuan-yao. That these céladons, in name identical with, and in appearance closely resembling, the original Kuan-yao of the Sung dynasty, may often have been mistaken for the latter by connoisseurs of later times, is easily conceivable. They were, at any rate, beautiful examples of their class, and there can be no doubt that some of the most prized specimens of céladon now extant came from the hands of the Ching-tê-chên experts. How then are these Ching-tê-chên pieces to be distinguished from similar wares of earlier date and different place of manufacture?


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 unscrupulous scoundrel who fattened upon other people's labors and reaped where he had not sown.

In addition to all of these menaces to the cattle industry there were the wolves and the bears, not to mention the coyotes who were not really a serious menace.

Many of the battles which the cattle men waged with their human foes were fought over the water holes, for water was most important in both the cattle and the sheep industries.

In the very early days of the industry good grazing land had been so plenty that it was not worth fighting for. In those glorious old days a cattle man had been a king indeed and he ruled with an iron hand, but gradually the homesteader had driven him farther and farther west. He had seen the best grazing land set apart by the government for homesteading and his own despotic power had gradually waned.

Up to the early '90's, however, he had been king, and no one had really questioned his authority for he always backed up his claims with force. But things had come to a head one spring morning in the early '90's when about two hundred cow-punchers, armed to the teeth, had met an equal number of sheriffs composed of homesteaders and their sympathizers. The cow-punchers had come out to eject some homesteader from land which they thought they owned. The two little armies had been drawn up face to face and a desperate encounter

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 would have ensued had not a troop of United States cavalry intervened. This blow by the homesteaders had broken the power of the cattle men for all time.

The setting of this stirring drama of the cattle business was certainly picturesque; the broad prairies with their thousands of acres of bunch grass, the low-lying land with its bluejoint, and even the timber land where the juicy pine grass grew so plentifully, were all a veritable wonderland. It was no wonder that the cow-punchers should spin such yarns with such a background.

So, while Larry knew all the history and the tradition of the cattle business and all of its theories, yet he often found that in practice there were many exceptions to these theories and often difficulties and problems arose which he had never dreamed of.

For instance, he had never imagined that he would live to see a flock of sheep on the Crooked Creek ranch, or that they would be subjected to the menace of floaters or nesters, or even more unthinkable than either of these possibilities was the probability that they would ever suffer from rustlers, yet all three of these unforeseen possibilities came to pass under his very eyes.

One morning about the first of June, Larry had been sent by his uncle into the unfenced land of the Crooked Creek ranch which lay to the southeast. There were thousands of acres there which were used by the cow

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 punchers only during the winter time. It was not very good grassland for it was rather sandy and rugged, being broken with many draws and buttes, but in the winter time it was sheltered and the cattle often weathered a long hard storm in these friendly little canyons.

Hank Brodie had told his nephew to ride over the country and see how it looked and if there were any signs of nesters. It must not be imagined, however, that this territory was entirely devoid of grassland for there were several small intervales of fifty or a hundred acres each where there was good feeding.

Larry's astonishment can well be imagined, when on approaching the largest of these intervales, he found it fairly white with sheep. There were not only hundreds of them, but it seemed to Larry that there were thousands and tens of thousands, although there really were only three thousand. But in every direction as far as his eyes could reach, the grassland was white with sheep. Knowing of the hostility between the cattle men and the sheep men, Larry did not approach any of the three or four shepherds that he saw with the sheep, but contented himself with reconnoitering from a distance. When he had secured all the information that he wanted he returned in hot haste to report to his uncle.

As Larry had expected, his uncle was thrown into consternation by the news, but lost no time in bewailing

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 the fact. He went at once to the corral to saddle his horse.

"You'll have to come along with me, Larry," he said, "I don't just like to take you on such an errand, but there don't seem to be anyone else around and I want a witness."

Larry was not altogether surprised when he saw his uncle buckle on two .45's. He also insisted on inspecting Larry's own gun.

"We probably won't have to use them this time, but it is always best to be prepared. These sheep men are the scum of the earth," said his uncle.

Half an hour later they arrived at the intervale where Larry had found the large herd of sheep and Hank Brodie saw that his nephew had given a faithful report of the conditions. There were four shepherds in charge, and the head cow-puncher of the Crooked Creek ranch at once sought out the foreman of the shepherds.

"What in the devil are you and your stinking sheep doing on my land?" thundered Hank.

"It ain't your land any more than its our'n," returned the shepherd coolly. "It belongs to the government and what belongs to them is as much our'n as it's your'n."

"It doesn't belong to the government," returned Hank, vigorously, "We've grazed it for twenty years

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 to her), why what has happened to disturb her mind?"

"Lord, don't you know?" asked Floretta with a kind of eager stare.

"No, I can't even conjecture," said Madeline.

"Well, I could never have supposed my lady would have been so secret with you (cried Floretta, after the pause of a minute); though after all it does not surprise me, for I know it shocks her to have any one suspect his wickedness."

"Whose wickedness (asked Madeline eagerly)? you astonish me beyond expression by your words."

"Aye, and I could astonish you much more, Mam'selle (said Floretta), if I was to tell you all I know; for, from my mother's being a favourite with the Countess, and from my being always in her service, I know more of her affairs than perhaps any other person except Agatha does; often and often she has made me promise to keep them all profoundly secret; and to be sure so I have, and


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 and it belongs to us and there ain't no stinking sheep men going to take it away from us."

"Have you got a deed to it?" sneered the shepherd.

"That's my business," returned Hank. "It is ours, I tell you, and you have got to get out."

"We have looked up the titles down at Wyanne and it ain't no more yours than it's our'n. Here we are and here we stay," returned the shepherd.

Although Larry had heard much of the strenuousness of the cattle men and their domination of the land, yet he was amazed at his uncle's next words. He was usually a quiet-spoken man with a pleasing voice, though now: it became ominous and his words were hissed through partly set teeth. To Larry it seemed that the two men as they glared at each other were like two savage beasts fighting over some recent kill. And that is just what it really was, it was a case of primeval man asserting by force his right to the land.

"This is my last word to you," hissed Hank Brodie between his teeth. "We've got ten good cow-punchers up at the Crooked Creek ranch and they all own a .45 and some of them tote two. We've got four or five Winchesters kicking around also. We're coming down here to-morrow morning at sunup and if any of you stinking sheep men are around, we'll shoot you so full of holes that you won't be able to cast a shadow. Now take your choice, go or stay."

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 With this threat Hank wheeled Baldy sharply about and galloped away and his nephew had nothing to do but follow. When they had gone half a mile Hank pulled Old Baldy down to a trot and allowed Larry to come alongside.

"I ought not to get you into such a fuss as this," he said. "I should have taken one of the old hands along with me. Don't let it bother you, boy."

"Will you and the rest of the boys come down here to-morrow morning and shoot them full of holes as you said?" inquired Larry incredulously.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation Hank laughed.

"Well, it probably won't come to that. If they really stick it out we may shoot their boot heels off and stampede their sheep into Crooked Creek, but we probably won't kill any of them. We won't worry about tomorrow until tomorrow comes."

There was great excitement that evening at supper time when Hank told of the encounter and the cow-punchers of the Crooked Creek ranch were very indignant and ready to back up the head cow-puncher at any cost.

The following morning when Larry awoke, he found the bunk house empty. The alarm clock had not gone off. Old Bill had purposely turned the alarm off, and he and the rest of the men had tip-toed silently out an

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 would always, except (continued Floretta, whose passion for telling secrets was equal to her passion for hearing them), except with a little hesitation, to such a friend as you are to her."

Highly as the curiosity of Madeline was raised, she instantly recoiled from the idea of learning the Countess's private affairs through the channel of a servant.

"No, Floretta (said she), except from the Countess, I can never hearken to such secrets as you would impart; had she wished me to know them, she would have communicated them herself. Had I been surprised into listening to them, I should have blushed tomorrow when I beheld her face, from the consciousness of having acted meanly and basely towards her; and so would you I am confident, at the idea of having violated your promise, and betrayed what should be ever sacred to you, the confidence of your Protectress and friend."


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 hour before. Larry dressed in great haste wondering what was up until he remembered the encounter with the sheep men and his uncle's threat. He hurried outside but could not find any of his brother cow-punchers. The ranch house, the saddle shed, the corral, and the stables were all deserted and an ominous silence reigned.

When he asked Mrs. Morgan what had become of the cow-punchers, she seemed strangely non-committal. So there was nothing to do but to wait developments. Larry got a book and sat under a friendly cottonwood, awaiting the return of the cow-punchers. Soon he heard them coming up the wagon trail at a brisk gallop. As they drew near he heard them laughing and jesting. They seemed in good spirits.

"It's all right, son," shouted Hank as they galloped into the yard. "The bluff worked. There ain't a sheep to be seen anywhere in the lowlands this morning. We called their bluff good and proper and they just lit out."

About a month after the discovery of the sheep men in the lowlands below Crooked Creek ranch Larry made another discovery for it was he who was doing most of the range riding. This time he found some nesters in the intervales where he had discovered the sheep men. They must have been there for some time for they had erected a two-room log cabin, a small horse corral, and a cow corral. It looked as though they in-

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 tended to stay for they had made themselves quite at home and had chopped a large pile of cord wood. They had helped themselves very generously to cottonwood and lodge-pole pines both in the construction of their corrals and cabin and for the wood pile.

Larry did not go very near their new neighbors but contented himself with reconnoitering through his field glass. He finally made out that there were eight in the family, the father, the mother, and five boys, three of whom were nearly man-grown, and a small girl perhaps eight years of age with whom Larry afterwards became quite friendly.

The new interloper was one Fritz Ganzer, an alien of German extraction. Life had become too cramped for him in the homeland and he had sought his fortunes in the new world. He had been victimized by some land sharks down at Wyanne. He imagined that he had bought a quarter section and thought that he could homestead another quarter section, making three hundred and twenty acres in all. This amount of land he had preempted.

When Larry reported to his uncle, the latter seemed much surprised.

"The sheep men were bad enough," he commented, "but this German will be worse. If a German once gets an idea in his head, there is no getting it out."

Hank Brodie never told Larry just what he intended

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 to do and he was so slow in making the first move that his nephew thought he had forgotten about the floaters.

But one evening shortly after dark, without warning, the Ganzer family were suddenly attacked by eight or ten Indians, or at least they looked like Indians. They were generously smeared with war paint, wore sumptuous headdresses, and gorgeous blankets, and their feet were clad in moccasins, and they yelled in true redskin style.

The Ganzer family retreated to their cabin and replied in a desultory manner to the hail of bullets which spattered upon the chimney of their cabin and splintered the door posts, but did no other harm. During the melee the bars of the corral were let down and the two horses and the three cows were driven away. They were not lost permanently, but were found the following day two or three miles down Crooked Creek.

The ruse might have worked had it not been for an unfortunate episode in the attack. One of the redskin's horses was killed by a lucky shot from the little German and the rider fled in haste.

The Ganzer family found on examining the dead horse the following morning that he bore the tell-tale C C R with the encircling barbed wire fence which was the brand of the Crooked Creek ranch.

The next morning a little after sunup the little German accompanied by three of his stalwart sons ap-

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 peared at the ranch house. He was very angry and sputtered away in his broken English.

"Vot in the tevil do you mean? You dress up your cow-puncher men like Indians and you come down to my place and you shoot up my ranch. I vant to be a good neighbor. I am a good man. I vant to live in America and I vant to farm this land and you do this bad thing. Vot you mean?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean," replied Hank Brodie. "You will have to explain more fully if you want me to understand."

"Last night, me and my vife, Gretchen, and my boys, we were all eating supper when bang, bang, a lot of Indians ride out of the woods and they shoot and shoot and take down my bars and drive away my horse and my cow. Vot you mean by that?"

"You say they were Indians. I don't know anything about any Indians. It must have been some of the Sioux from the reservation. They get filled up with fire water once in a while and go on a rampage. You had better look out for they may sweep down on you some night and scalp you and your family."

"I tell you they was not Indians. It was your cow-puncher men who make up like Indians and try to drive away my cow."

"I don't know anything about any Indians," replied

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 Hank Brodie. "You will have to look elsewhere. Go to the government, they have charge of the Indians."

But the little German could not be placated. The more Hank talked the angrier he got and the more he railed in his broken English. Finally he left but with this threat.

"I vill get even with you, Mr. Cow-puncher Man. You think you shoot up my place and drive me out of the country. But this country belongs to me as much as to you. Your government man down at Wyanne he told me so. You try to keep all of the land but I vill keep vot I got and I vill get even with you."

Although there was no further immediate hostility between the family of Fritz Ganzer and the Crooked Creek ranch, yet bad blood between the two factions continued.

A couple of weeks after this interview the German's big police dog wandered up on the ranch and was shot by the cow-punchers. This was really not an act against the German for the cow-punchers always made it a rule to shoot stray dogs thinking they would frighten the calves. But Fritz interpreted the deed as a further act of war upon him and his family.

A week or two later while the Ganzer family were peacefully sleeping the bars of their corral were once more let down and the stock driven away. This time it took them half a day to recover it.

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 But no matter what the cow-punchers of the Crooked Creek ranch did to the family of the little German they still stayed by their guns and went on with their preparations for homesteading.

Just what form his revenge upon the Crooked Creek ranch would have taken is problematical had not nature played into his hands. The summer was a very dry one. There had been no rain for weeks. The feed upon the ranch which was usually of the best became brown and crisp. Leaves upon some of the trees even curled up. The land which was usually well watered became thirsty as a dry sponge and all the ranch especially the lower plateau was like a tinder box.

Under such conditions as these one can well imagine the consternation into which the cow-punchers were thrown one morning about the middle of July when one of their number came galloping in from the lower plateau shouting that the mesa was on fire in half a dozen places.

The lower plateau was perhaps four miles long and two miles wide. Crooked Creek which came down through Piñon Valley from the mountains above, skirted it on two sides and then continued on its way into the lowlands. Hank Brodie at once marshalled his little army to fight the fire and to extricate the six thousand head of badly frightened cattle from the dilemma in which they had been placed. The fire had

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 "But I am sure (she continued, seeing the cheeks of Floretta covered with blushes, while she trembled so she could not stand), you spoke without thought, or perhaps from an idea that the disclosure of the secrets you hinted at would have gratified me; but be assured, Floretta, that would not have been the case, for I early learned, my good girl, that pleasure could never be attained by acting contrary to truth and virtue; and I hope you either do or will in future believe the justness of that saying as firmly as I do."

"Yes, that I shall to be sure, Mam'selle (cried Floretta, somewhat recovered from her confusion, and again raising her head). As you have said, Mam'selle, nothing indeed but an idea that I should have gratified you by revealing my lady's secrets could ever have tempted me to mention them."

Madeline did not appear to doubt her, but said she would no longer detain her.


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 apparently been kindled with diabolical skill so as to entrap the herd. It was later learned that Fritz Ganzer and one of his boys had been seen to leave the mesa that very morning and several brands which had been used in kindling the fires were afterward discovered.

Pandemonium reigned on the mesa. Calves and yearlings were dashing about with tails up while the younger cows were greatly excited over their calves.

It was so dry that great clouds of dust rose above the excited herd and this, added to the dense clouds of smoke, obscured the summer sun. Hank saw at once by acting quickly that the better part of the herd could be driven into Piñon Valley and thence to the upper plateau. But the cattle were not as tractable as usual; they were unreasonable and the cow-punchers had great difficulty in making them go in the right direction. It was desperate work for the air was filled with smoke and dust and since the sun and the distant mountains were hidden from sight they were not always sure of the direction. After half an hour of desperate work they had managed to pilot four thousand head safely into Piñon Valley and start them on the way to the upper plateau. But the other two thousand head seemed trapped. The narrow strip of grass along which they had driven the rest of the parada was now burning feverishly.

Hank Brodie at once sized up the situation. There

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was but one thing to do and he at once gave the order. "Cut the fence along Crooked Creek and stampede the rest of the herd across Crooked Creek into the timber on the side of the mountain."

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 Floretta therefore courtesied, and retired with great humility.

Left to herself, Madeline reflected on all she had heard, and the more she reflected, the more she was astonished at it: to surmise how or by whom the Countess was distressed, was impossible.—"But to know the source of her grief could scarcely, I think, augment my regret for it (cried Madeline); alas! what an aggravation of my sorrow is it to know that the two beings I love best in the world, are oppressed by griefs which, by concealing, I must suppose they deem too dreadful for me to be acquainted with it."

She continued in melancholy meditation till the whole castle was wrapped in silence. She then retired to bed; but her rest was broken and disturbed by distressing dreams; and she longed for the return of morning to chase away the gloomy horrors of the night. She arose at an earlier hour than usual, before any of the family, except some of the