him again; they angled slightly and he watched them draw
gradually together, their courses converging on the center of his line
of flight till they were once more running well bunched,--and gaining.

His lead was being steadily cut down, the gap perceptibly lessened; the
specks showed larger with every backward glance till every dog was
clearly visible. Shady was fleet but her speed was no match for Breed's
and he would not leave her. The high-pitched sinister yelps sounded from
behind him as the eager dogs closed up, putting forth every effort to
end the race before the wolves reached the choppy badland breaks at the
far edge of the flat. Shady's pace was lagging, and they gained the
first gulch of the broken country a bare fifty yards ahead of the
leading hound.

The gulch feathered out into a maze of branching draws and Shady lost
Breed on the first sharp turn and ran on alone while the dogs streamed
past after the yellow wolf.

Breed slowed his pace, fear for Shady's life surmounting even the fear
for his own, but as the lead dog flashed into view without any sound of
a fight behind him, Breed knew that his mate was safe and he turned on
the reserve speed he had not been free to use while she ran with him.

The country ahead was a tangle of small flat-tops, crisscrossed by a
network of badland washes and cut-bank draws, and for two miles he
eluded the dog pack by sheer brainwork and cunning. But the hounds
pressed him hard. Their speed was greater than his own and each time
they lost sight of him they spread out both ways. Whenever he crossed a
flat-top bench some one of them always sighted him and bored straight
for the spot, and his team-mates, noting this sudden burst of speed,
wheeled as one and fell in behind him.

Breed's one aim was to reach the hills, knowing that once among the
trees he could shake them off. His course led him ever nearer to the
base of the spur but he knew at last that he could not make his goal.
His muscles had lost their spring and his breath came in leaky gasps;
the dogs would pull him down on the first sagebrush slopes of the hills
before he could gain the shelter of the trees.

He broke cover and started up the last long sloping bench that led to
the base of the spur. The mouth of every gulch behind him seemed to
belch forth a dog and they raced across the bench, spread out for two
hundred yards.

Then Breed sprung one last desperate trick,--a coyote trick. A badland
wash inte