Mr. Pepin owned an extra violin, that was not a good violin and therefore out of commission. It abode in a black, oblong box, like a little coffin. Being the kindest of souls, he declined the thought of sale, and said that he would give it to Mr. Masterson’s friend, the Lone Wolf. He took it from its case, which on being opened displayed an advantageous lining of red. The Lone Wolf received it reverently, smelled to it, peered through the slashes in its bosom, placed it to his ear, and then with a kind of awe turned to Mr. Pepin. Was this “medicine” also full of ghosts? Mr. Pepin took it and bowfully showed him that it was a very hive of ghosts. The Lone Wolf declared that he would receive this inestimable “medicine” from Mr. Pepin. To simply handle it had given him a good heart. Its mere touch, to say nothing of the voices of those ghosts imprisoned in its cherry coloured belly, cheered him and thrilled him as had no other “medicine.” He would return to his people, and scowl in every man’s face. His squaws should again hold up their heads, his pappooses cease their crying. His dogs’ tails should proudly curl aloft, and his ponies snort contempt for the broncos of feebler folk. Altogether the Lone Wolf pictured for himself a balmy future. In conclusion, the grateful Lone Wolf set forth that, while he was proud to take this wondrous “medicine” as a gift, he must still bestow those pack ponies, with their cargoes of robes and furs, upon Mr. Pepin, who was his heart’s brother. The Lone Wolf told Mr. Masterson that he would put in the balance of the evening in Mr. Peacock’s Dance Hall. He desired to sit by the side of his heart’s brother and listen to the talk of his “medicine.” Mr. Pepin instructed the Lone Wolf how he might bind that precious fiddle-case to his shoulders with straps, and wear it like a knapsack. The Lone Wolf, being thus adorned, gave himself a new title. He was no more the Lone Wolf; he had lost that name in the Beaver with his old “medicine.” He had become “The-Man-who-packs-his-medicine-on-his-back.” After the Dance Hall revels were done, being alone together, the Lone Wolf and Mr. Pepin fell into closer talk. Two days later, no one could have found Mr. Pepin with a search warrant. The Lone Wolf, too, had disappeared. When Dodge realised the spiriting away of Mr. Pepin, a howl, not to say a hue and cry, went up. In the woeful midst of the excitement, Mr. Kelly informed the world of his negotiations with the contralto. This news created the utmost consternation. “It was that which run him out o’ camp,” said Cimarron Bill, referring to the departed Mr. Pepin. “You’ve stampeded him by sendin’ for his wife.”