On a pleasant morning, balmy with the presage of coming summer, as the two pioneers, David T. Denny and Thomas Mercer, wended, their way to their task of cutting timber, they observed some of the cattle lying down in an open space, and heard the tinkling bell of one of the little band wandering about cropping fresh spring herbage in the edge of the woods. They looked with a feeling of affection at the faithful dumb creatures who were to aid in affording sustenance, as well as a sort of friendly companionship in the lonely wilds. After a long, sunny day spent in swinging the ax, whistling, singing and chatting, they returned to their cabins as the shadows were deepening in the mighty forest. [Illustration: LOG CABIN IN THE SWALE] In the first cabin there was considerable anxiety manifested by the mistress of the same, revealed in the conversation at the supper table: "David," said she, "there was something wrong with the cattle today; I heard a calf bawl as if something had caught it and 'Whiteface' came up all muddy and distressed looking." "Is that so? Did you look to see what it was?" "I started to go but the baby cried so that I had to come back. A little while before that I thought I heard an Indian halloo and looked out of the door expecting to see him come down to the trail, but I did not see anything at all." "What could it be? Well, it is so dark now in the woods that I can't see anything; I will have to wait until tomorrow." Early the next morning, David went up to the place where he had seen the calves the day before, taking "Towser," a large Newfoundland dog with him, also a long western rifle he had brought across the plains. Not so many rods away from the cabin he found the remnants of a calf upon which some wild beast had feasted the day previous. There were large tracks all around easily followed, as the ground was soft with spring rains. Towser ran out into the thick timber hard after a wild creature, and David heard something scratch and run up a tree and thought it must be a wild cat. No white person had ever seen any larger specimen of the feline race in this region. He stepped up to a big fir log and walked along perhaps fifty feet and looking up a giant cedar tree saw a huge cougar glaring down at him with great, savage yellow eyes, crouching motionless, except for the incessant twitching, to and fro, of the tip of its tail, as a cat does when watching a mouse. Right before him in so convenient a place as to attract his attention, stood a large limb which had fallen and stuck into the ground alongside the log he was standing on, so he promptly rested his gun on it, but it sank into the soft earth from the weight of the gun and he quickly drew up, aiming at the chest of the cougar. The gun missed fire.