And it was as true as instinct,—­a large black wolf, his pelt glossy and fresh with the renewal of the season, lay stretched dead in an instant upon the slope.  Emsden sprang from his horse, tossed the reins to “X,” and, drawing his knife, ran up the steep ascent to secure the animal’s skin.

Only vaguely, as in a dream, he heard a sudden deep roar, beheld a horned creature leaping heavily upon its fore quarters, tossing its hind legs and tail into the air.  Then an infuriated bull, breaking from the bushes, charged fiercely down upon him.  Emsden threw himself into a posture of defense as instantly as if he had been a trained bullfighter and the arena his wonted sphere, holding the knife close in front of him, presenting the blade with a quick keen calculation for the animal’s jugular.  The knife was Emsden’s only weapon, for his pistols were in the holster on the saddle, and his discharged rifle lay where he had flung it on the ground after firing.  He had only time to wonder that his comrades vouchsafed him no assistance in his extremity.  Men of such accurate aim and constant practice could easily risk sending a rifle-ball past him to stop that furious career.  He could see the pupil of the bull’s wild dilated eyes, fiery as with a spark of actual flame.  He could even feel the hot puffs of the creature’s breath upon his cheeks, when all at once the horned head so close above his own swerved aside with a snort from the dead body of the wolf at his feet.  The bull passed him like a thunderbolt, and he heard the infuriated stamping which fairly shook the ground in the thicket below, where this king of the herds paused to bellow and paw the earth, throwing clods high above the environing copse.

The woods seemed full of maddened, frightened cattle, and Emsden’s horse was frantically galloping after the cavalcade of hunters and their pack-train, all the animals more or less beyond the control of the men.  He felt it an ill chance that left him thus alone and afoot in this dense wilderness, several days’ travel from the station.  He was hardly sure that he would be missed by his comrades, themselves scattered, the pack-horses having broken from the path which they had traveled in single file, and now with their burdens of value all foolishly careering wildly through the woods.  The first prudential care of the hunters he knew would be to recover them and re-align the train, lest some miscreant, encountering the animals, plunder the estrays of their loads of hard-won deerskins and furs.

The presence of cattle suggested to Emsden the proximity of human dwellings, and yet this was problematic, for beyond branding and occasional saltings the herds ranged within large bounds on lands selected for their suitability as pasturage.  The dwellings of these pioneer herdsmen might be far away indeed, and in what direction he could not guess.  Since the Cherokee War, and the obliteration of all previous marks of white settlements in this remote region, Emsden was