Cowmen and Rustlers | Page 2

that it was to be devoted to the exhilarating amusement.
"We will leave the house at 8 o'clock," said Fred at the supper table, "and skate to the mouth of Wild Man's Creek and back."
"How far is that?" inquired Monteith Sterry.
"About ten miles."
Pretty Jennie's face took on a contemptuous expression.
"Not a bit more; we shall be only fairly started when we must turn back."
"Well, where do you want to go, sister?"
"We shouldn't think of stopping until we reach Wolf Glen."
"And may I inquire the distance to that spot?" asked Sterry again.
"Barely five miles beyond Wild Man's Creek," said she.
Those were not the young men to take a "dare" from a girl like her. It will be admitted that thirty miles is a pretty good spurt for a skater, but the conditions could not have been more favourable.
"It's agreed, then," remarked Sterry, "that we will go to Wolf Glen, and then, and then--"
"And then what?" demanded Jennie, turning toward him.
"Why not keep on to Boston and call on my folks?"
"If you will furnish the ice we will do so."
"I couldn't guarantee ice all the way, but we can travel by other means between the points, using our skates as the chance offers."
"Or do as that explorer who is to set out in search of the north pole--have a combination skate and boat, so when fairly going we can keep straight on."
"I will consent to that arrangement on one condition," interposed the mother, so seriously that all eyes were turned wonderingly upon her.
"What is that?"
"That you return before the morrow."
The countenances became grave, and turning to Sterry, on her right, Jennie asked, in a low voice:
"Is it safe to promise that?"
"Hardly. Let us leave the scheme until we have time in which fully to consider it."
"You will start, as I understand, at eight," remarked the mother, speaking now in earnest. "You can readily reach Wolf Glen within a couple of hours. There you will rest a while and return as you choose. So I will expect you at midnight."
"Unless something happens to prevent."
The words of Monteith Sterry were uttered jestingly, but they caused a pang to the affectionate parent as she asked:
"What could happen, Monteith?"
Fred took it upon himself to reply promptly:
"Nothing at all."
"Is the ice firm and strong?"
"It will bear a locomotive; I never saw it finer; the winter has not been so severe as some we have known, but it has got there all the same; Maine can furnish the Union with all the ice she will want next summer."
"There may be air-holes."
"None that we cannot see; they are few and do not amount to anything."
Here Sterry spoke with mock gravity.
"The name, Wolf Glen, is ominous."
"We have wolves and bears and other big game in this part of the State, but not nearly as many as formerly. It hardly pays to hunt them."
"I hope we shall meet a few bears or wolves," said Jennie, with her light laugh.
"And why?" demanded the shocked mother.
"I would like a race with them; wouldn't it be fun!"
"Yes," replied Sterry, "provided we could outskate them."
"I never knew that wild animals skate."
"They can travel fast when they take it into their heads to turn hunter. I suppose many of the bears are hibernating, but the wolves--if there are any waiting for us--will be wide awake and may give us the roughest kind of sport."
Fred Whitney knew his mother better than did his friend and understood the expression on her face. So did Jennie, and the couple had such sport of their Boston visitor that the cloud quickly vanished and Monteith felt a trifle humiliated at his exhibition of what might be considered timidity. Nevertheless he quietly slipped his loaded revolver in the outer pocket of his heavy coat just before starting and when no one was watching him.
Precisely at eight o'clock the three friends, warmly and conveniently clad, with their keen-edged skates securely fastened, glided gracefully up-stream, the mother standing on the porch of her home and watching the figures as they vanished in the moonlight.
She was smiling, but in her heart was a misgiving such as she had not felt before, when her children were starting off for an evening's enjoyment. The minute they were beyond sight she sighed, and, turning about, resumed her seat by the table in the centre of the sitting-room, where, as the lamplight fell upon her pale face, she strove to drive away the disquieting thoughts that would not leave her.
It was a pleasing sight as the three young people, the picture of life, health and joyous spirits, side by side, laughing, jesting, and with never a thought of danger, moved out to the middle of the river and then sped toward its source, with the easy, beautiful movement which in the accomplished skater is the ideal of grace. The motion