tter cover. King and I thought "up," so pressed
westward along the ridge. But the others rode eastward, watching for a
chance to shoot.

Soon we had ridden out of hearing. We were wrong--the Wolf had gone
down, but we heard no shooting. The canyon was crossable here; we
reached the other side and then turned back at a gallop, scanning the
snow for a trail, the hills for a moving form, or the wind for a sound
of life.

"Squeak, squeak," went our saddle leathers, "puff-puff" our Horses, and
their feet "ka-ka-lump, ka-ka-lump."

X

WHEN BILLY WENT BACK TO HIS MOUNTAIN

We were back opposite to where the Wolf had plunged, but saw no sign.
We rode at an easy gallop, on eastward, a mile, and still on, when King
gasped out, "Look at that!" A dark spot was moving on the snow ahead.
We put on speed. Another dark spot appeared, and another, but they were
not going fast. In five minutes we were near them, to find--three of
our own Greyhounds. They had lost sight of the game, and with that
their interest waned. Now they were seeking us. We saw nothing there of
the chase or of the other hunters. But hastening to the next ridge we
stumbled on the trail we sought and followed as hard as though in view.
Another canyon came in our path, and as we rode and looked for a place
to cross, a wild din of Hounds came from its brushy depth. The clamor
grew and passed up the middle.

We raced along the rim, hoping to see the game. The Dogs appeared near
the farther side, not in a pack, but a long, straggling line. In five
minutes more they rose to the edge, and ahead of them was the great
Black Wolf. He was loping as before, head and tail low. Power was plain
in every limb, and double power in his jaws and neck, but I thought his
bounds were shorter now, and that they had lost their spring. The Dogs
slowly reached the upper level, and sighting him they broke into a
feeble cry; they, too, were nearly spent. The Greyhounds saw the chase,
and leaving us they scrambled down the canyon and up the other side at
impetuous speed that would surely break them down, while we rode,
vainly seeking means of crossing.

How the wolver raved to see the pack lead off in the climax of the
chase, and himself held up behind. But he rode and wrathed and still
rode, up to where the canyon dwindled--rough land and a hard ride. As we
neared the great flat mountain, the feeble cry of the pack was heard
again from the south, then toward the high Butte's side, an