a norther twenty-four hours in advance. Just which course deer would
graze he could predict by the quarter of the wind. In woodcraft he was
a trustworthy though unquoted authority. His young patron often showed
him his watch and explained how it measured time, but he had no use
for it. He could tell nearly enough when it was noon, and if the
stars were shining he knew midnight within a few minutes. This he had
learned when a shepherd. He could track a wounded deer for miles, when
another could not see a trace of where the animal had passed. He could
recognize the footprint of his favorite saddle pony among a thousand
others. How he did these things he did not know himself. These
companions were graduates of different schools, extremes of different
nationalities. Yet Alexander Wells had no desire to elevate the old
hunter to his own standard, preferring to sit at his feet.

But finally the appearance of blades of grass and early flowers
warned them that winter was gone and that spring was at hand. Their
occupation, therefore, was at an end. Now how to satisfy the folks
at home and get a further extension of time was the truant's supreme
object. While he always professed obedience to parental demands, yet
rebellion was brewing, for he did not want to go East--not just yet.
Imperative orders to return were artfully parried. Finally remittances
were withheld, but he had no use for money. Coercion was bad policy
to use in his case. Thus a third and a fourth winter passed, and the
young hunter was enjoying life on the Salado, where questions of state
and nation did not bother him.

But this existence had an end. One day in the spring a conveyance
drove up to the cabin, and an elderly, well-dressed woman alighted.
With the assistance of her driver she ran the gauntlet of dogs and
reached the cabin door, which was open. There, sitting inside on a