tures. All manner of the forest people passed them, sometimes in little groups, sometimes one by one. Often the deer sped by, seemingly almost flying in the long tree-lanes; once a coyote ran yapping, his fur singed by the fire, and once a great bull elk stalked soberly past. He seemed to give no thought to the man that walked behind the sheep,—the same form that had terrorized him that summer day beside the spring. Once a porcupine rattled his quills on a nearby hillside, and far away the brush crinkled and popped as a cougar passed through. And now—in the early night—a magnificent grizzly—that ancient and mystic nobleman of the forest—ambled past him at an awkward run.
But he was no longer gray. The red radiance was upon him, too. Hugh watched him, but for once the sheep paid him no heed. The terror behind them left no room for their usual fears. And the bear slowly reduced his pace to a walk and then stopped altogether.
Hugh couldn't have told why he kept his eyes upon the old bear with such entranced attention. For an instant he forgot his task, the dreadful beauty of the fire-lighted forest, and even Alice, riding back and forth on her horse. He seemed to know that from this shaggy forest creature he was to receive a sign that must not be ignored or missed. "The wild folk show the way," is one of the oldest maxims of the forest, and Hugh had learned his lesson. He was the shepherd, but
