they came. A feeble spring, a
counter-lunge, a gash, and "Fango's down," has lost his foothold and is
gone. Dander and Coalie close and try to clinch; a rush, a heave, and
they are fallen from that narrow path. Blue-spot then, backed by mighty
Oscar and fearless Tige--but the Wolf is next the rock and the flash of
combat clears to show him there alone, the big Dogs gone; the rest
close in, the hindmost force the foremost on--down-to their death.
Slash, chop and heave, from the swiftest to the biggest, to the last,
down--down--he sent them whirling from the ledge to the gaping gulch
below, where rocks and snags of trunks were sharp to do their work.

In fifty seconds it was done. The rock had splashed the stream
aside--the Penroof pack was all wiped out; and Badlands Billy stood
there, alone again on his mountain.

A moment he waited to look for more to come. There were no more, the
pack was dead; but waiting he got his breath, then raising his voice
for the first time in that fatal scene, he feebly gave a long yell of
triumph, and scaling the next low bank, was screened from view in a
canyon of Sentinel Butte.

We stared like men of stone. The guns in our hands were forgotten. It
was all so quick, so final. We made no move till the Wolf was gone. It
was not far to the place: we went on foot to see if any had escaped.
Not one was left alive. We could do nothing--we could say nothing.

XI

THE HOWL AT SUNSET

A week later we were riding the upper trail back of the Chimney Pot,
King and I. "The old man is pretty sick of it," he said. "He'd sell out
if he could. He don't know what's the next move."

The sun went down beyond Sentinel Butte. It was dusk as we reached the
turn that led to Dumont's place, and a deep-toned rolling howl came
from the river flat below, followed by a number of higher-pitched howls
in answering chorus. We could see nothing, but we listened hard. The
song was repeated, the hunting-cry of the Wolves. It faded, the night
was stirred by another, the sharp bark and the short howl, the signal
"close in"; a bellow came up, very short, for it was cut short.

And King as he touched his Horse said grimly: "That's him, he is out
with the pack, an' thar goes another Beef."

THE BOY AND THE LYNX

I

THE BOY

He was barely fifteen, a lover of sport and uncommonly keen, even for a
beginner. Flocks of Wild Pigeons had been coming all day across the
blue Lake of Cayggeonull, and perching in l