fact that the doctor carried no weapons of any kind, there was nothing tangible to indicate the fact.
Dr. Saunders was in a pitifully nervous state; his eyes roving constantly, searching the surrounding blackness with an intense and never-resting gaze that bordered on the insane glare of a madman. When he spoke, his voice was jerky and high-pitched, and although his remarks were utterly rational, it was easy to see that he was near the breaking point. McDonald kept a cautious eye on his prisoner at all times, but I somehow caught the impression that there was more of pity than sternness in his regard.
For some time we chatted quite casually, and then I dropped a remark that proved to be a bomb-shell.
"The timbers are ranging south early this year," I said. "I suppose you heard that big boy{[bar|2}}"
"God!" groaned the doctor in the voice of a damned soul. "Will I never get away from the voice of those hellish beasts?"
"That's all right, Doc," said the big policeman soothingly. "There’s three of us here to see that no wolf comes around the camp." Then McDonald turned to us. "Doc had a mighty bad experience up on Tennlfip Bay,” he exclaimed. "Ran up against a mad wolf{[bar|2}}"
"No!" cried the doctor, his wild eyes searching our faces. "No! It was not a mad wolf. It was not, I tell you! Listen, and I will tell you myself all that happened. "We were{[bar|2}}"
"It'll get you all nerved up to tell the story again, Doc," interrupted McDonald. "Better turn in and get some sleep, eh?"
"No. I want to tell these men also, and see what they think," returned the doctor stubbornly. "You think I am mad, McDonald; I am not blind, you know."
The policeman colored a little under his bronze, but he simply shrugged his mighty shoulders and said nothing.
"It was this way," began Dr. Saunders, as calmly as though he were about to relate the most commonplace event. "I came up into the woods on a long hunting trip, seeking not so much a trophy as my health. My practise had worn me down in body and mind, and I knew from experience that a month or so up here in the bush would make another man of me.
"I made the decision to come, and left that same night, trusting to chance to find an outfitter and a guide after I got to the jumping-off place. There had been a lot of hunters this year, however, and the only guide I could find was a French-Indian breed known only as Victor. He had not been long in the country, and I gathered that he was pretty generally hated and mistrusted, but he had trapped last year in the very country I wished to hunt in, and so I took him.
"He was surly, silent, and at times almost savage, but had a most uncanny knack of finding his way in the bush, and of locating game. I saw him discover game on several occasions when it seemed that only the power of scent could have served him. Once or twice, upon awaking late at night, I found him missing from the tent, and always the following mornings he was more sullen and morose than ever. However, I am silent by nature myself, and my guide’s disposition, while it caused me some wonderment, gave me no concern whatever. Most of these men of the bush are odd characters.
"One night we were sitting around our fire just as we are sitting here now. It was very dark, without even a star showing through the heavy clouds overhead. I had become weary of my own thoughts, and gave
