Frank felt rather stiff and sore on the following day. He was satisfied to hang about camp, and let his chums do the hunting, for once.
Jerry could not be restrained, for his sporting blood demanded that he keep going all the while. Will was just as eager to do his style of shooting, and even wandered down the river to get a view of the Cree teepee before the family of Running Elk broke camp.
Bluff took a notion to try fishing, and with considerable success. Later in the day Frank also wet a line, and between them they managed to secure a decent mess of fat trout for the whole party.
When Jerry came in he reported that he had had a shot at an elk, but failed to stop his flight. He also declared that he had seen what he believed to be a wolf skulking through the timber.
"Oh, I don't doubt it," said the old stockman, when Frank looked questioningly at him. "The pesky critters like to hang around here, looking for a nice calf that happens to stray away from its mammy's side. Winter and summer, it's all the same to them, so long as we don't get after the pack too hot. Never lose a chance to knock over a wolf, my boy."
"
I never mean to," said Jerry, holding up a piece of gray fur.
"That's wolf, all right; and look here, what did you do to him?" demanded Mr. Mabie.
"I was very kind to the scamp, and hung him up in a tree, where the rest of his tribe couldn't get at him to tear his hide to pieces. You see, I had a notion that I'd like to have that skin for a rug, and that later on, perhaps, one of the boys might go out with me and remove it much better than I could," grinned Jerry.
"Thank you, my lad. I feel that you've done me a favor. Every wolf that goes across the Great Divide means more calves to grow up; and you shall have your rug, I pledge you my word."