122 WOLF DAYS IN PENNSYLVANIA. 



scraping the thick oil out with the point of a knife 

 blade I found the lock would work all right. After 

 putting the lock back in place we retraced our steps 

 back down hill to the flat rock, wondering all the time 

 at what made the path end so abruptly at that point. 

 Two or three years prior to this a beech tree that stood 

 at the upper edge of the rock had broken off and fallen 

 down the hill over this rock. The force of this tree 

 falling down hill had carried the butt of the tree about 

 half way across the rock. As we got to this rock old 

 Rover trotted through the bed, jumped on to the butt 

 of the tree, trotted down the log until he got among 

 the limbs, jumped off on the right side, and as soon as 

 he started from the log I could see the path very 

 plain. I stopped him, went down to where he was. 

 told him to go on ; he went about five rods to the side 

 of a large rock that was about fifteen feet high and 

 about thirty feet square. The dog walked along to 

 the corner of the rock, turned to the right, and as soon 

 as I turned this corner the dog was looking into a 

 large hole under and about the middle of the rock. The 

 first glance told us we had the den sure, whether we 

 got any wolves or not. We let the dog go in under the 

 rock and after a minute called him out by chirping to 

 him. The young wolves followed him to the mouth 

 of the hole. There were seven of them, pretty little 

 '"cusses," too, but how were we to get them? That 

 was the perplexing problem. We began to look for a 

 small sapling that forked out three or four feet from 

 the ground. We soon found one, the prong being 



