“Well,” continued Martin, as he lighted his pipe by dipping it into the embers and scooping up a small coal; “Well, Mark Shuff and a friend of his by the name of Westcott, had a shanty one winter over on Tupper’s Lake; they were trappin’ martin, and mink, and muskrat, and wolves, when they could get one.  They shantied on the outlet, just at the foot of the lake, below the high rocky bluff round which the little bay there sweeps.  There wasn’t any house then nearer than Harriets Town, down by the Lower Saranac; but there was a company of lumbermen having a shanty up towards the head of the lake, near where the Bog River enters.  Mark, one cold winter’s morning, started on an errand to the lumber shanty I speak of, calculatin’ to return the same evening.  The lake was frozen over, and he took to the ice, as being the nearest and best travelin’.  The winter had set in airly, and the snow had lain deep for months, and the game of the woods had got pretty well starved out.  Mark did’nt take his rifle with him, thinkin’ of course that he would see no game on the ice worth shootin’, and a gun would only be an incumbrance to him.  Well, he did his errand at the shanties, and started for home.  I don’t know whether he took a drop or not, but they generally keep a barrel of old rye in the lumber shanties, and my opinion is that Mark was invited to take a horn, in which case, I’m bold to say, the horn was taken.

“However that may be, Mark started for home along in the afternoon, and took to the ice, as he did when he went up in the morning.  Everything went right until he got within may be a mile of home, when he heard, from a point of land, a little to the left of him, a sharp, fierce bark, and turning that way, he saw a great shaggy, fierce-looking wolf trot out from behind a boulder and squat himself down on his haunches, and eye him as if calculating the probabilities of his making a good supper.  While Mark was looking at him, feelin’ a little oneasy, he heard another sharp bark, and from a point just ahead of him another great wolf trotted out on to the ice, and sat himself down, eyeing him with suspicious intensity.  In a moment, another came out right opposite to him, and then another, and another, until Mark swears to this day that there were more than a dozen of these fierce and hungry savages squatted on their haunches within fifty yards of him.

“Mark, as I said, had no rifle, his only weapons being a hunting knife and a heavy walking stick, which he carried in his hand.  To say that he was not frightened, would be stating what I don’t believe to be true, and I’ve heard him tell how his huntin’ cap seemed to be lifted right up on his head, as if every hair pointed straight towards the sky.  He looked at the wolves a moment, and then walked on; but the animals trotted along with him, still, however, keepin’ at a respectful distance.  Those in advance seemed inclined to cross his path, as if to turn him towards the centre