So, filling my canteen from the spring, I set out again, taking the spring run for my guide.  Before I had followed it two hundred yards, it sank into the ground at my feet.  I had half a mind to be superstitious and to believe that we were under a spell, since our guides played us such tricks.  However, I determined to put the matter to a further test, and struck out boldly to the left.  This seemed to be the keyword,—­to the left, to the left.  The fog had now lifted, so that I could form a better idea of the lay of the land.  Twice I looked down the steep sides of the mountain, sorely attempted to risk a plunge.  Still I hesitated and kept along on the brink.  As I stood on a rock deliberating, I heard a crackling of the brush, like the tread of some large game, on the plateau below me.  Suspecting the truth of the case, I moved stealthily down, and found a herd of young cattle leisurely browsing.  We had several times crossed their trail, and had seen that morning a level, grassy place on the top of the mountain, where they had passed the night.  Instead of being frightened, as I had expected, they seemed greatly delighted, and gathered around me as if to inquire the tidings from the outer world,—­perhaps the quotations of the cattle market.  They came up to me, and eagerly licked my hand, clothes, and gun.  Salt was what they were after, and they were ready to swallow anything that contained the smallest percentage of it.  They were mostly yearlings and as sleek as moles.  They had a very gamy look.  We were afterwards told that, in the spring, the farmers round about turn into these woods their young cattle, which do not come out again till fall.  They are then in good condition,—­not fat, like grass-fed cattle, but trim and supple, like deer.  Once a month the owner hunts them up and salts them.  They have their beats, and seldom wander beyond well-defined limits.  It was interesting to see them feed.  They browsed on the low limbs and bushes, and on the various plants, munching at everything without any apparent discrimination.

They attempted to follow me, but I escaped them by clambering down some steep rocks.  I now found myself gradually edging down the side of the mountain, keeping around it in a spiral manner, and scanning the woods and the shape of the ground for some encouraging hint or sign.  Finally the woods became more open, and the descent less rapid.  The trees were remarkably straight and uniform in size.  Black birches, the first I had ever seen, were very numerous.  I felt encouraged.  Listening attentively, I caught, from a breeze just lifting the drooping leaves, a sound that I willingly believed was made by a bullfrog.  On this hint, I tore down through the woods at my highest speed.  Then I paused and listened again.  This time there was no mistaking it; it was the sound of frogs.  Much elated, I rushed on.  By and by I could hear them as I ran.  Pthrung, pthrung, croaked the old ones; pug, pug, shrilly joined in the smaller fry.