26. animals from a farmyard or open filed on a brilliantly moonlit night such as this, and told Bill of my reasoning. "That's when we loose the stock though," he replied, "And that's when we hear the noise in the pass." I remember distinctly that Bill called it noise. That certainly wasn't the word for it; because almost at that instant we heard the sound from the depths of the shadowy woods. It wasn't a harsh cry, or a wild shriek from the throat of a cougar. I'd heard a cougar call one, far off, as a deep and revibrating echo. My father had shot him a few days later. I knew this wasn't a cougar. It seeped from its source like a soft chant floating out of a primeval forest. It oozed past our ears on the soft winds that almost constantly descended from the tops of the mountains, and then was gone. It sounded human, yet it did not. Bill was forbidden the use of his Father's 36-30 pump action carbine; but he fled to the house and returned presently with the huge weapon in his hands. I hadn't known his intentions when he scaled down the side of the shed, bit they were evident now. "Let's go see what it is," he quivered, motioning, me from the top of the building. "Hot on your life," I answered. "I'm not going up there. I still hadn't conquered my fear of the dark, and when something unknown, and supposedly dangerous lurked in it. I was quite willing to go the other way. Bill was older than myself by two years, but even that had no right to account for his untimely courage. I reasoned that he was doing a good job of showing off. "Well," he scoffed, "if you're scared, I'll go alone." I was scared all right, but I was also reasonably certain that he was too. If he was putting up a bluff, I could carry it as far as could he. "Let's go," I dared. I believe It was because neither Bill nor myself would back down that we found ourselves deep in the wooded pass. I still think that my friend had no intention of carrying 27. out his search when he started for the house to get his dad's rifle. It would have been rather awkward for him to back out after we had started on our frightening quest, however; and I was determined to carry out his game to the last, rather than have him earmark me a sissy. Had we known what to expect, or what we were so fearfully searching for, we could have prepared our nerves, or likely we would have both declined the weird trek into the pass; but youth is unswervingly superstitious, and we were to the mercy of the unknown. The shadows had deepened, and we could only discern the dim outlines of tall, stately pines, and scattered quaking aspen. The pass was beautiful in landscape during the day. and served well as graze land for milk cows. They had worn a fine path at the bottom of the ravine, and this we were following. A cool breeze brushed past us as we ascended, and then, for the second time I heard the weird call. It seemed to be much nearer now, but it still maintained a hushed morbidity that chilled me to motionless agony. I have never since been so frightened. Bill didn't speak. I believe he was psychologically incapable of sound at that momemt. I know I was. We continued. A loud cracking of underbrush, and a swift clumsy movement took a terrible possession of us as we neared an opening in the dense growth of trees. I'll never know what it was. Perhaps we had frightened a stray cow or horse from a semi-doze, or perhaps one of the huge fat bears that frequented the forests of that area in mid-summer found it more convenient to retreat than attack. At any rate, I'll never come closer to death from heart failure. A approximately the center of the pass, one side of the gorge was a stately group of rock cliffs. They were'n exceptionally high, but in the brilliant moonlight that flooded the clearing, they seemed very stark and imposing. As we were about to plunge into the semi-darkness of the opposite side of the clearing, we heard the cry once again, It was not unearthly this time, but fell from the top of the high, rocky walls in a soft, yet in-