here it is not this way," asserted A'tim,
after a pause; "a beautiful land, with pea-vine knee-deep, and
grass the Men call blue-joint, that fair tops my back when I walk
through it. As for drink! why, one day in a single tramp I
crossed sixteen streams of beautiful running water."

"Are you dreaming, A'tim?" asked Shag, touching the Dog-Wolf's
back with the battered point of his stub-horn.

"No, Bull; and there are few hunters in that land, and few of
your kind; and shelter of forest against the White Storm; and
buttes and coulees everywhere."

"An ideal Range," muttered the Bull; "is it far?"

"Perhaps half a moon--perhaps a whole moon from here to there,
just as one's feet stand the trail."

"You make me long for that great feeding," sighed Shag enviously.

"Yes, you'd be better in the Northland, Shag," said the Dog-Wolf,
sleepily--"better there. Here you are an Outcast, even as I am."

"Yes, after the big Kill to-morrow," sighed the Bull mournfully,
"I shall want to trail somewhere. Across Kootenay River is good
feeding-ground, but there the accursed Long Knives are filled
with the very devil of destruction, and kill even such as I am,
though my hide is not worth the lifting. I, who am an Outcast,
and have lost all pride, know this--I am worthless."

The bubbling monotone of the old Bull had put A'tim to sleep. He
was giving vent to gasping snores and plaintive whimpers, and his
legs were twitching spasmodically; he was dreaming of the chase.
Shag turned his massive head and watched the nervous Dog-Wolf
with heavy, tired eyes. "He is chasing the reed-legged Antelope
now; or, perhaps, even in his sleep, Camous pursues him with the
many-breathed Fire-stick. Well, well, by my hump, but we all have
our troubles; even this Dog-Wolf, who is not half my age, has
lived into the hard winter of life."

Then Shag rested his black-whiskered chin on the soft turf, his
tired eyelids, mange-shaved, drooped over the age-blurred eyes,
and these two Outcasts, so strangely mated, driven together by
adversity, slept in the coulee of Belly Buttes.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER TWO

A cold, weakling gray-light was touching with ghastly fresco the
Belly Buttes when A'tim stretched out his paw and scratched
impatiently at Shag's leather side. The Bull came back slowly out
of his heavy sleep.

"Gently, Wolf Brother," he cried petulantly; "your claws are
wondrous strong, and my side has many sore spots-