musical and fierce, as it echoed through the canyon. At the same instant, what seemed like a shadow from among the rocks met him on the bound. What a mix-up followed! It was a revolving mass of dog and lion; snarling, snapping, baying. It lasted only an instant; then the prospector, whom I had not seen in my excitement, was bending over the gashed and mutilated body of his poor, ugly, Bowery-like mongrel. The lion easily escaped among the rocks. I met the prospector where the gulch broadened out below the canyon, and he was disheartened, for he had a great affection for his dog. When a mountain man has taken several seasons to train a dog for lions and other big game, that dog is without price: he is like the favorite horse of an Arab. The sheep-men had gone with their flock to another corral some miles above, when we returned. Unfortunately, they had left us no mutton, so the prospectors suggested our going to a deer-lick that evening, to kill a deer; for our camps were nearly out of meat. My friend and I begged off, for we should have to be out all night, if no game was killed in the evening; and then we should have to be at the lick before the faintest signs of daylight began to glimmer through the trees, for at the first tint in the eastern sky, the deer leave for higher grounds. When you are in the mountains, the luxurious warmth of the blankets is too genial to be left unnecessarily for the early morning mists and hungry mosquitoes. However, such laziness. was not to go unrebuked, and it received one that left a lasting regret in my mind. "Looks like our neighbors have got a buck," my companion said, looking up the gulch the next morning. We were sitting in the sun enjoying our pipes and discussing the program for the day. Sure enough, they were coming down, one man carrying both rifles, and the other had over his shoulder what appeared to be a saddle of venison. Coming to our tent, he threw his pack on the ground, saying: "Reckon I'm about even with that fellow now." It was the skin and head of a mountain lion; and as he unrolled it, the size astonished me. "It's the one we were after. See them marks on his throat and shoulders? That's whar the old dog had him." And the marks that he pointed out had been made by some animal only a little less powerful than the lion itself. The story he told was, that they found no deer in the evening, so had camped near by, and in the morning they went again to the lick, reaching it before daylight. The lick was a small marsh surrounded by trees and thick-growing bushes. The two hunters approached it cautiously. Occasionally a gentle splash told that some animal was feeding in the marsh, and when objects began to show, they saw a small deer a few rods from them. As only a buck would be killed, they waited for better light, so that no mistake might be made. In looking about, something among the thick branches of a fir tree between them and the light attracted the attention of one of the hunters. After watching closely for a few minutes, he became satisfied that it was some large animal. Calling his companion's attention to it, they determined to kill it if possible and leave the deer for another time. Both of the hunters took aim and at the word, fired. The smoke hung over them in the heavy air, hiding the tree, but a mighty splash and struggle in the marsh followed. When they dragged the animal out, they were delighted to find that they had killed our big mountain lion. I begged and bargained for the skin, but the erstwhile owner of the dog was obdurate. He declared that he should always have a feeling of satisfaction in its possession; keep it he intended to, and keep it he did. ΤΗ By Frank S. Wells. HE bicycle element in the little town of Hampton was bubbling over with excitement. The cause of this unusual state of affairs was the announcement that the president of the Ladies' Health Cycle Club had offered a gold watch as a prize to the member that could ride to Halseyville and return in the shortest time. The distance was just one hundred miles. Now, the president had some ideas of her own about what a woman could do, and declared that if a man had made the run, so could the girls. On several occasions, by starting early in the morning and riding the whole day, the trip was made one way; but none had been brave enough to attempt the round trip, and there was much difference of opinion as to whether there was a girl in the club with the needed endurance. win the race. Day after day he rode with her to the race track at the old driving park, and watched her as she spun over the smooth surface, mile after mile. Sometimes he would ride with her, setting the pace; constantly cautioning her about breathing improperly; correcting the awkward and unnecessary motion of her ankles in pedaling; noticing every defect in position and action. At home he had enlisted her mother's aid, and established the most rigid rules as to what should and what should not be BETH GOODWIN. Beth Goodwin had been riding only one season, but she was a strong, healthy girl, and soon outclassed the majority of her companions, who had had greater experience; there were only a few in the whole club that could keep up with her on their weekly runs. She was the most enthusiastic of all the girls over the offer, and had trained hard and thoroughly under the critical eye of Guy Bruce, who was a particular friend of Beth's, and an allround athlete. He had taken pride in coaching Beth in her training, and fully believed that she would eaten. As the result of this system, his pupil was a very attractive specimen of womanhood; her face shone with health and strength and beauty; her form was grace and symmetry themselves, and Guy would say, with pardonable pride: "That's what cycling does for women." Beth had imbibed the confidence of her train er, and when the eventful day broke bright and clear, she rose at an early hour with a light heart, and after her training breakfast," as she laughingly called it, started on her wheel for the village post office, where the riders were to start promptly at seven o'clock. As she rode slowly along, enjoying the fresh morning air, she was overtaken by Marion Holmes, another member of the club, who was also on her way to the meeting place. It was still early, and as they were in no hurry, they turned down a shady lane that led in a roundabout way to their destination. Never before had Beth been in such excellent spirits or so confident of success. "Why, Guy Bruce told me only yesterday that he knows I will win,' she declared, because I have such 'good wind.' He says that I'm a 'stayer,' whatever that is." As they rode gaily along, she did not hear the faint s-s-s, s-s-s, at each revolution of the forward wheel, nor did she detect anything wrong until the wheel struck a rut; then she felt the wooden rim come suddenly in contact with the ground. Somewhat startled, she leaped from her wheel to make an examination. One look was enough. The front tire was perfectly flat! A look of disappointment came over her face, and two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as the cause of the trouble became evident. .* "Punctured," she she groaned, and dropped in a discouraged heap by the roadside and buried her face in her hands. The bright outlook of a moment before was a thing of the past. Her companion, forgetting that Beth was her most dangerous competitor, picked up the disabled wheel and stood it against the fence. "I don't believe it's much of a hole, Beth," she said, after looking it over carefully; "I can't find it at all. Perhaps the valve leaks, or maybe you didn't screw the cap on tight. Hold my wheel while I blow it up again; maybe it's all right after all. Marion soon had the little tirepump screwed to the valve and was puffing away at the damaged wheel, while Beth's face brightened hopefully as the tire began to fill. Slowly the tube regained its rotundity, and Beth gave a sigh of relief as she unscrewed the pump and refitted the valve-cap. "I thought that I was out of the race, but it doesn't appear to leak now," she said. They mounted and set off at a good pace for the post office, for it was almost seven o'clock, and they had no time to lose. But Beth soon found that she had been mistaken, for they had ridden only a short distance when she again discovered that her tire was flat. Another stop was necessary, but this time her companion did not dismount but rode on, calling back that she would tell Guy Bruce to come and help her. Beth gloomily followed, trundling her disabled steed. When Marion Holmes offered to tell Guy of Beth's accident, she fully intended to do so; but on arriving at the post office, she found the other riders lined up ready for the start, and forgetting all else in the excitement of the moment, she took her place just as the word was given, and amid shouts of encouragement from the friends of the different riders, they glided rapidly down the road toward Halseyville. As for Beth, when she arrived at the little square in front of the post office, she found it deserted. With a heavy heart, she led her wheel slowly up the village street toward the store where Guy worked, stopping now and then to explain to her curious acquaintances why she had not started with the rest. Guy, who was unable to be present at the start, was standing in the door as she drew near. He gave a low whistle of surprise and disappointment, and hurried forward to meet her. It took only a moment for Beth to explain, and when Guy had examined the tire, he stood up with a frown and exclaimed: "It was a mean trick for Marion not to tell me. You could have started just as well as not, for it will take only a few minutes to plug the hole. If it wasn't so late, you could start yet, but they have too much of a lead for you to catch them now. But I'll fix the wheel right away, so that you won't miss having a ride this pleasant morning." "All right, Guy. I'll go home and tell mother that I didn't make the start; and then I'll go for a little run in the country." At nine o'clock Beth returned, and the young man was just wheeling her machine out as she approached. It shone and sparkled in the morning sun as though fresh from the factory. "Oh, Guy, how did you fix it so nicely? And in such a short time, too!" cried Beth, as she saw it. "It looks just like new." "Well, there wasn't much to do; trade has been dull this morning, so I gave it a good cleaning while I was at it. That enamel is without a scratch, and it took only a little rubbing to make it bright. After thanking him with a smile. that more than repaid him for his work, Beth mounted her wheel, trusting that the exhilarating exercise of a run would cause her disappointment to be forgotten. Unconsciously, she took the direction of the morning's race. Mile after mile, she rode at a rapid pace over the smooth roads, passing green fields and comfortable-looking farm-houses, pastures and meadows; but she gave them little thought, for her mind was still dwelling on the events of the morning. Finally, she began to realize the speed at which she had been riding, and that she was somewhat weary. Stopping at a farmhouse, she thoroughly enjoyed a glass of milk and a luncheon, which the woman of the house insisted on preparing for her. Thanking the good woman for her hospitality, Beth was about to mount her wheel for the homeward ride, when the woman exclaimed: "Say, ye ain't one of them girls thet went by here toward Halseyville this mornin', be ye?" "No, I am not one of them, but I would like to know about what time you saw them pass," said Beth," and how far is this from Hampton?" quicker with the team. Es fur them girls, they went past here about an hour ago, a-ridin' like wild. I only seen two of 'em, but my daughter, Mary says she seen another earlier in the mornin'." Beth was making some rapid calculations. "Why," she thought, "they're only riding about six miles. an hour, for it's only a little after twelve o'clock, and they started at seven. If they passed here an hour ago, they made the distance in four hours, while I started at nine and reached here at twelve-just an hour quicker than they made it. Now, if I thought the first girl that passed wasn't going to hold out the whole distance, I would ride on and try to overtake them." Thoughtfully, she mounted her machine and rode on toward Halseyville, thinking that she would turn around at the top of the next hill and make her way back home. She felt greatly refreshed by her rest, and, assisted by a light wind at her back, she seemed to fairly fly over the ground. Along the "stake-and-rider' fence that skirted the road, a squirrel darted as if challenging the young cyclist to a race; everything seemed so bright that Beth forget all about her disappointment of the morning, and fairly revelled in the glories of the day. The hill, where she purposed ending her journey, lay just ahead, and was the only bad spot between the two towns. The slope on the Halseyville side was abrupt, road was full of cobble stones and there were numerous breaks made by heavy rains. At the bottom, a brook wound its way across the road and was spanned by a rickety bridge that was nothing more than a lot of rotten old planks, some of them rudely fastened with nails, while others were held in place by large stones placed on either end. the When Beth reached the spot where the descent began, she dismounted from her wheel and looked down the hill, half inclined to continue her ride |