adventures when they get back," Treachy consoled, and they went cheerily in to eat.

Ralph explained sketchily to his friends, as they fox-trotted onward, the general scheme of the round-up. The herd, scattered through the different pastures, was to be gathered together in one pasture after the other, in order to separate the fat steers and drive these finally to the shipping yards at the railway.

"We begin on the range farthest away, of course, up there on the ridge to the west. There're a lot of small cañons that have to be combed through, and when we get the cattle all out we push 'em along to the gate in the next pasture, looking them over a bit as they go through and leaving behind as many of the cows and calves as possible. Then we cut out the beef steers, and drive all the rest back into the first pasture. Next we work on through the second pasture, and so on. Time we get back home we'll have all that Dad wants to ship ready to start off to the railroad. We have to take it easy. If you get the cattle nervous they're liable to break back, or to stampede. You boys can't do any of the cutting-that takes a heap of practice but you can help a lot in making sure we get a look at everything in the pastures."

At noon they joined the chuckwagon and the remuda. Scotty rode to meet them.

"It's sure a sight for sore eyes to see you boys along," he greeted. "Blondy an' Slim'll be a heap grateful to have you doin' their work for 'em. They sure like to take life easy. But don't you let 'em put nothin' over on you."

"Go on," Blondy retorted. "Because you're always soldierin' ain't no sign others do. Slim an' me eats work."

"Talkin' of eats," said Shorty, another cowboy, "what about that there banquet Mister Albright's gittin' ready for us?"

"Ef Shorty was as long as you are, Slim," observed Blondy, "there wouldn't never be nary a bite for the rest of us. Lucky he ain't got more room inside him!"

Shorty, flourishing his quirt, spurred his horse in Blondy's direction, but at that instant the voice of the cook rose in a long-drawn howl:

There was a rush to turn the horses into the corral and the men tumbled over each other to reach the chuck-wagon. Albright was heaping the tin plates with fried beef and boiled potatoes, pouring out huge tin cups of coffee, his face red, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, his khaki overalls stained with grease and ashes. Grabbing each a plate, the men squatted on their heels to eat, their wide-brimmed hats tipped back on their heads, the vests they wore over their striped or checked shirts flapping, their leather or woolly chaps cast aside. They ragged each other and the boys, told their brief yarns, ate leisurely, smoked cigarettes, yawned. Canned peaches finished the repast, and a moment later all were astir, the hour of rest and food over.

The camp lay beside a small spring, at the foot of the ridge which rose sharply behind, gashed by gulleys and cañons and fairly well covered with lodge-pole pines. In the draws the pasture was good, and there the cattle fed. Mounted on fresh horses the men scattered in twos, but Slim told Ralph to take Zack and Enley with him and show them how to work.

"Don't let them outen your sight," warned Blondy, as he rode off with Shorty. "Might get bit by a rabid skunk or fall offen a precipice."

They jeered back at him, and galloped across a stretch of grassy hillside to the little valley which had been assigned them. Enley was rumbling one of his selfinvented chants as he plugged along behind Zack and Blondy. His heart too was singing with pure joy. What a marvelous, sparkling, delicious day it was, how brightly the sun shone, how good the air smelt, and how incredibly fine he felt from head to foot!

Presently Ralph turned in his saddle and waved an arm toward the right:

"There'll likely be some cattle up that branch cañon behind those trees, Enley. You go round that way while Zack and I keep straight up the draw."

The round-up, for Enley, had begun! A dream of his life was being fulfilled.

a

beyond till he reached the barbedwire fence marking the extreme boundary of the Star-C in that direction. Now he quartered slowly downward, finding a couple of cows and a huge bull with a shaggy white face and short horns. These he sent along quietly toward the group lower down, which consisted of four cows and three fine steers. At the rattle of his horse's hoofs they looked up, began moving slowly away.

Enley rode gently after them, as he had been told to do. In his two-gallon hat, his leather chaps, his checked flannel shirt, his quirt hanging from his wrist, his spurs heavy on his heels, he felt like the very best thing in cowboys. Now he rode to one side, now to another, herding his small flock in the proper direction. This was marvelous!

Suddenly, however, the bull lowered his head, bellowed and made for one of the steers. There was a scramble, the steer made off, his two companions ran with him, the cows scattered, the whole bunch was in disorder. Enley spurred his horse, rode first to the left, then whirled to head off the big bull who was swinging after the cows to the right. But they all got by, and went crashing up through bushes and over rocks, heading back up the cañon.

By the time Enley had turned the steers, gathered the rest of the bunch, including the bull, and had them all started once more to the foot of the valley, he understood that rounding up cattle wasn't an easy, restful occupation. His horse was in a lather, he had twice almost pitched out of the saddle when the pony dodged to head a cow-quicker than Enley to know what must be done he had to dismount once to retrieve his hat, knocked off by a low bough, and had had the dickens of a time to catch his mount, which seemed determined to go just one step faster than he could, holding its head cleverly to one side to avoid stepping on the trailing reins. "Darn it!" muttered Enley, and caught the animal at last.

However, here he finally was, out in the open, his small herd intact, and, he felt sure, not another cow or calf behind him, for he had gone over every inch of his ground. To his surprise he saw that the sun was already dropping behind the western peaks. He had been (Continued on page 328)

MID such desolation it would

AMII

almost have seemed impossible for life to exist. It was a land in which, as a matter of fact, life did exist, but only the strong could survive. There are no weaklings in the great North Country, no indolence, none of the lazy, languorous life that teems among the forests and jungles of far-away, milder climes. The eternal fight for the vital fuel which drives the creatures of the snows in their relentless struggle for existence, is never ending, and always bitter.

The cold light of the arctic day gleamed over a wide waste of

barren, snowspotted landscape stretching southward for hundreds of miles in unchanged sameness. Along the shores of Coronation Gulf, the waves of the boreal sea beat with sullen thunder against the icy rocks that rose in huge masses, at times assuming cliff-like proportions which bordered the gulf to the westward. The short arctic summer was at hand, and brief liberation from the relentless grip of the Ice King was being granted to the harassed land and its inhabitants.

Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull

There was regal bearing in the poise of the large head, with its coal black eyes, circled by the yellow iris, as they gazed out over the domain which he ruled, with a kind of haughty superiority. Such was the King, the majestic snowy owl of the North Country, the Ung-puk of the Eskimo.

He sat motionless in the ever brightening radiance, his large eyes taking in every detail of the scene before him; the far-flung tundra, the curving shore-line, and the wide expanse of shimmering waters to the northward. Suddenly, he spread his wings, and glided soundlessly from the stub. The promptings of his insatiable appetite were warning him to be up and doing. He winnowed out over the tundra, and sailed over a low hill near the shore, toward a broken ridge in the bowl-like center of a slight depression. On the summit of the ridge, a few feet from a large boulder, was another regal bird, sitting with fluffed-out feathers upon the mossy ground, the broadbars of brownish on the back blending with the broken colors of white and green about it.

For many weary months storms from the pole had raged across the barrens, covering the rocks, cliffs and hummocks with a deep blanket of white, while for great distances out into the gulf, the sea had been a solid mass of ice. The foxes, deep in their dens, had slept warm and snug while the gales roared overhead, and the awful northern darkness wrapped the land in its somber folds. But now the severity of the elements was abated, and spring had come with a rush.

Patches of rock and soil were to be seen thrusting their way through the widespread covering of snow, and in the crevices, here and there, sprigs of green, and beautiful little

flowers were lifting their heads in grateful enjoyment of the sunlight.

On the hummocky tundra, the close-growing ground-mosses took on the hue of spring, and the yapping of the active foxes sounded shrilly on the still air.

Near the shore-line, half buried in the hard ground, was a large piece of timber, which had once been part of a whale-ship, lost on the bleak coast. Curving from the tip was a tall, splintered stub about ten feet high, and on the top of this stub sat a bird, a bird of the Northland, a king.

His plumage was like the snow, pure, spotless white, with a beautiful flush of lemon yellow suffusing the feathers. A few bars of rich brown marked the back, while upon the broad forehead were flecks of the same color. The strong and cruel-looking feet were feathered to the toes, and the sharp, curved talons, which gripped the stub, were shining black.

Ung-puk glided up to the boulder, and lit upon it, looking down at the still form of his sitting queen. Turning her head, she gazed at him a moment, then rose, shook herself slightly, and flapped up to the rock beside him, disclosing a neatly rounded hollow in the moss, holding four, nearly spherical, smoothtextured, creamy eggs. Ung-puk touched her lightly with his beak, lifted himself lightly into the air and sailed off over the tundra, while his mate, glancing sharply about, again settled upon the eggs.

The white owl's flight took him

straight out over the barren, his piercing eyes taking in every movement beneath him. The little flowers nodded their heads in the light airs, tiny streams of melted snow trickled over the rocks only to lose themselves in the soft moss. A wandering butterfly sailed fitfully close to the ground, stopping every now and then at an inviting blossom. For a while nothing of interest showed itself. Once a fox, trotting along the brow of a low rise, glanced upward as the white form glided over him, and a soundless snarl curled the sharp nose, as he bared his fangs at the King, who paid him not the slightest heed.

On he floated, viewing the changing panorama beneath him, his broad pinions beating the air with soundless motion. Suddenly his eyes hardened, he checked his flight slightly, and circled back over a lichen-covered rock, beside which grew a patch of green. Snuggled down in the mossy ground was a large white hare, industriously chewing the remains of its morning's repast.

The hare's long ears waved slowly back and forth, and its protruding eyes searched the landscape in front and to the side. Acute as was the hearing of these marvelously attuned organs, they failed to register the almost inaudible hiss of air as the wings of Ung-puk swung him back upon his

course.

Gliding up behind the hare, the great owl set his wings, and slanted swiftly toward the earth. When he was almost upon his prey, the armored feet shot out, and, with a steel-like grip, closed upon the back and sides of the unsuspecting hare. The latter, galvanized into action, gave an agonized leap, dragging Ung-puk, despite the reversed flapping of his wings, toward the burrow. Ung-puk brought forth more of his hunting strategy, and releasing one foot from the hare's back, stretched it backward, dragging it along the ground clutching at the rocks, moss and other obstacles, at the same time beating his wings heavily in the reversed stroke.

This brake was too much for the hare, and after a few more agonized efforts he sank gasping to the earth, the steel talons imbedding themselves ever deeper in the

A film gathered over the large eyes, the breath came in a

choking cough, the muscles slowly relaxed.

Ung-puk had taken toll again of the subjects of his domain. He at once proceeded to make his meal, and, after satisfying his hunger, wiped his beak upon a mossy rock, raised himself into the air with the remains of the hare in his talons. Winging his way back to his incubating mate, he laid the mangled carcass before her, and soon nothing but a smear of blood marked the moss.

For perhaps an hour Ung-puk sat immovable atop the boulder near the nest, while his mate quietly carried on with the allimportant task of incubation. Around them, the life of the tundra went ceaselessly on. A few hundred yards away, at the foot of a rock-strewn hillock, where two boulders had rolled together, leaving a crevice of perhaps an inch above the ground, a sharp little snout, surmounted by a pair of sparkling black eyes, thrust itself into the outer air.

From his rock-bound citadel, the shrew gazed out over the expanse in front with keen interest. A blackand-red butterfly, floating near, hovered over a patch of little blue flowers, not three feet in front of the crevice. the crevice. With gently fanning wings, it dropped lightly down until it rested upon the cluster, and regaled itself on the nectar of the blossoms. In the crevice behind, the shrew, taking in the situation, glanced sharply to right and left, then launched itself with a soundless rush upon the brilliant insect. Into the flower cluster he sprang, pinning the butterfly beneath, and, staying not a moment, snatched it up in his tiny jaws, turned and raced back into the crevice.

In a slight depression of the tundra, among a growth of coarse mosses, an eider-duck sat upon a down-fringed nest, jealously guarding her six olive-gray eggs, while out in the waters of the bay, her mate, together with several of his kind, swam and dived in care-free enjoyment.

High up on one of the cliff-like eminences along the shore-line, a ledge of rock jutted outward to form a rough shelf. This was the home of a pair of duck-hawks, fearless, dashing falcons, which stand in awe of no living thing. The three reddish-brown eggs had hatched several days previously, and the young hawks, covered with

Merciless nature ruled with an iron hand, the lesser falling before the greater, the victor becoming the victim, each in turn giving way to the law that the strong shall prey upon the weak, and only the strong shall survive.

Soon came a day when the four treasures in the home of Ung-puk, and his mate, resolved themselves from pale, round eggs, into small, fuzzy balls of down, with queer, odd-looking faces, small, but needle-pointed feet and the most amazing appetites. The demand. upon the two old birds was now incessant. They traveled miles on tireless wings in their ceaseless quest for food. One could almost see the little ones grow. Sinew and muscle were put on with amazing rapidity, but the appetites lessened not. Ducks, hares and lemmings were brought many times a day to the nest, the royal pair going farther and farther afield after their prey.

On these trips, both Ung-puk and his consort had noted the falcons' nest upon the cliff. A kind of armed neutrality existed between the snowy owls and the hawks. Ung-puk, always successful in his hunting, thought seldom of the falcons; it remained for his mate, much the fiercer of the pair, to violate the truce.

One morning, after bringing a duck to the nest, and allowing the young to fall to with beak and talon, she rose into the air, circled once above her home, and sailed away on soundless wings toward the rugged,

rugged, rock-bound crag, where lay the falcons' aery. As she cruised along the face of the cliff, the nest, with the clamorous, half-grown young, came into view, and she saw that neither falcon was at home. Her mind was made up in an instant.

Checking her flight, she swerved sharply from her course, and straightened out toward the face of

the cliff. A swift shadow fell across the nest and the young hawks crouched fearfully against the rock. Before one squawk had issued from its throat, one nestling had felt the burning pain of armored feet as they drove inexorably into its vitals. A spasmodic twitching, a choking gasp, and it was jerked into the air, dangling limply from the talons of the white marauder.

The remaining nestlings stared stupidly at the retreating form, then cowered back against the rocks, whimpering softly in dazed bewilderment. Far out over the gray waters, a black speck was speeding toward toward the aery on swiftly beating wings, and in a few moments, this speck resolved it Iself into the female falcon. She sailed along the cliff face, wheeled sharply as she came abreast the nest, and lit upon the narrow platform.

Her quick, anxious eyes glowed strangely as she saw the huddled forms of her remaining nestlings, crouching a few feet away. Then her gaze swung out and down over the sullen waters. Suddenly a fierce light blazed in them. With a shrill cry, she launched herself into space, and spiraled upward until she became, once more, a speck in the circling dome of sky. Ung-puk's mate, with the young hawk in her talons, beat her way a short distance up the coast-line. Spying a jutting rock, about which the water washed softly, she planed downward, alit upon it, and after a searching glance in all directions, set about satisfying her hunger. Tearing mouthfuls of the tender flesh, she ate rapidly, and the body of the young hawk was speedily reduced to bloody fragments. She was wrestling with a piece of bone and muscle, her head close to the rock, when a sharp, whistling rush of air sounded in her ears.

Instantly she straightened, but too late. A feathered thunderbolt, descending from the upper air with the speed of a meteor, fell upon her, a wild scream echoed in her very face, razor-edged talons shot out from the hurtling ball of hardened feathers, and struck her full upon the head. Slipping limply from the rock, she floated slowly away upon the tide. The falcon, shooting upward after her meteoric descent, directed her flight toward the aery on the cliffs,

a defiant scream echoing faintly along the rocky shore-line.

WITH the disappearance of his mate, a thing which Ung-puk could in no way account for, or understand, the full responsibility of supplying the ravenous family now fell upon his shoulders. Far and near he ranged, covering mile after mile in the quest for food, with always that strange longing, the bewildered wonderment which arose from the inexplicable ceasing to be of his consort. Although his hunting was, in the main, satisfactory, his journeys now took him much farther afield and it was on one of these long flights that he first saw the little cluster of tents, in a sheltered hollow near the coast, which formed the camp of a scientific collecting party.

This party consisted of a small band of men, accompanied by Eskimo guides, who were making collections of arctic bird and animal life for a museum far to the southward, where the bustle and roar of civilization reigned, and where people knew little about the life in the great white north. Ung-puk, who was familiar with the occasional sight of a wandering Eskimo hunter, thought little of them. He avoided the proximity of the camp, naturally, and for a few days, gave it a very wide berth; but no untoward incident happening, his caution became less pronounced.

One afternoon as he was returning to his nest, his course took him some distance to the eastward of the camp, along the shore-line. Suddenly he wheeled, and circled back over the tundra, his eyes marking a still, trim shape upon the ground close to the water. The body of a good-sized fish lay in full view on the rough shingle. Slanting downward on set wings Ung-puk soared swiftly over the stones, his feet shot out, and grasping the fish, he veered up at a sharp angle, and continued his journey to the nest. On the following day, some distance behind the camp, he came unexpectedly upon the body of a lemming lying dead upon the mossy tundra soil. Pouncing on it at once, he devoured it with relish.

For several days, always at some distance from the camp, he came across such provender, and his hunting was, as a result, greatly aided by these finds.

So

accustomed had Ung-puk become to finding the delectable morsels provided by an unknown hand, that he always included this district in his foraging expeditions.

Circling about, one afternoon, after poor hunting elsewhere, he winged his way toward the camp and immediately spied the carcass of an eider duck, lying on the ground at the foot of a small hummock. Swinging about, he sailed softly downward, and dropped lightly upon the still form. Instantly, two iron jaws leapt up from beneath the body of the duck, and with a muffled thud, closed inexorably about his leg. As quick as a flash of light, the great wings shot Ung-puk into the air, but just as quickly, he was jerked rudely back as the light trap chain tautened.

In a wild frenzy, the white owl tore with beak and talon at the unyielding grip upon his foot. Soil and moss whirled away in clouds as the strongly threshing wings beat the air. For a few moments this struggle continued, then died away.

Ung-puk stood motionless, eyeing the thin steel jaws about his foot, while his agile brain fought to unravel the difficulty. After a short while he began pulling steadily upon the trap, until an intolerable pain in his thigh warned him to desist. Sideways he pulled, with the same result. Then, his fury gaining the upper hand, he attacked the trap in desperate, rending rage. The pain was, of course, greatly increased by his violent movements, but this he did not notice while the paroxysm of rage was upon him. Exhaustion soon claimed him, however, and he sank backward, panting, upon the ground.

Shortly afterward, three men appeared around the edge of the hummock, and advanced toward him, exultation plainly written upon their faces. Drawing himself erect, Ung-puk awaited them. Surrounding him, they gazed with undisguised admiration at the royal captive, noting the free foot, armed with the keen black talons, with respectful interest.

"Let's take him out, and have done with it," said one. "The trap isn't doing his foot any good, you know." Accordingly, one of them proceeded to shake out a blanket, which Ung-puk eyed with amazed trepidation. Holding it by two corners, the man walked