the battling infant in its folds, rolling it over and over and swaddling down those rebellious claws securely, and leaving only the tiny black and pink muzzle free to spit its owner's indomitable protests. With a bit of twine from his pocket he lashed the squirming bundle safely, but with tender consideration for the comfort of its occupant, tucked it under his arm, and turned to retrace his steps down to his camp in the valley. Then it suddenly occurred to him that by and by the fox would return to the den for his prey. Being absurdly angry with that fox, he took the trouble to carry off—the two dead kittens, tying them together and slinging them to his belt. His purpose was to throw them into the torrent which brawled down the valley, in order to make quite sure the fox should not profit by his kill.
For about a day the spotted youngster was irreconcilable; but hunger and Merivale's tactful handling soon brought it to terms. It took kindly to a diet of condensed milk, well diluted with warm water, and varied by a little raw rabbit or venison. It throve amazingly, and by the time Merivale was ready to break camp and move back to his ranch on the skirt of the foothills, it was as tame as a house-cat and as devoted to its master as a terrier.
Merivale maintained his ranch in the Western foothills—which was run the year round by a
