The Bungalow Boys North of Fifty-Three

er penetrated the silences that lie north of Fifty-three, t

wolves. He has no use for them, but he does not fear them; and the wolv

lulation that told them of the "gray brothers" wishing each other "good hunting." It was quite another feeling: the sense of their isolation, t

ack, glancing about him, as if he expected to see a

good old Yukon Rover," agreed Tom. "I wish we could find some trapper's shack or hut here

a long time in the woods," said

ow to keep on that trail till we find t

n good all day, and he had looked upon the chase rather

ng howl of hunting wolves, which ever and anon swelled and died out in the dista

ry voice a

er will be better than nothing, and who knows that we may not come on some Indian camp or

ginning to get fagged. It was small wonder. They had come thirty-five miles that day, as Tom's speedometer showed, which is a fair journey for a grown man, let alone boys. A seasoned woodsman can make fifty miles a day

e they then were, in a grove of hemlocks and st

, old boy! Ta

t's

you kno

do

orse woodsman tha

plain. Have y

. Don't you s

h! Yes, I

d smoke means a fire, and

man being may-

el

a lot of trouble; for instance

Wait right here till

rd. He made not a sound as he went except when now and again the snow

skin. Yet now that he might be at hand, almost within earshot of them, Tom found his heart pounding in a most uncomfortable way

as a scout. But suddenly, as he bent forward, his rifle that he carried slung by a bandolier over his

"if that rascal want

to a qui

nd of the tra

ver a slight rise, which had prevented h

ick. About it was a clearing where the logs to build it had been felled. But what br

they had sensed at a distance. Tom stood as still as a graven image for a minute, lis

ick hitch so that it would be in readiness to his hand, he