that fellow at the Portage last summer."

One morning on approaching the post Bingo's every hair stood on end, his
tail dropped and quivered, and he gave proof that he was suddenly sick
at the stomach, sure signs of terror. He showed no desire to follow up
or know more of the matter, but returned to the house, and half an hour
afterward his mane was still bristling and his expression one of hate or
fear.

I studied the dreaded track and learned that in Bingo's language the
half-terrified, deep-gurgled 'grr-wff' means 'timber wolf.'

These were among the things that Bingo taught me. And in the after time
when I might chance to see him arouse from his frosty nest by the stable
door, and after stretching himself and shaking the snow from his shaggy
coat, disappear into the gloom at a steady trot, trot, trot, I used to
think:

"Ahh! old dog, I know where you are off to, and why you eschew the
shelter of the shanty. Now I know why your nightly trips over the
country are so well timed, and how you know just where to go for what
you want, and when and how to seek it."

V

In the autumn of 1884, the shanty at De Winton farm was closed and Bingo
changed his home to the establishment--that is, to the stable, not the
house--of Gordon Wright, our most intimate neighbor.

Since the winter of his puppyhood he had declined to enter a house at
any time excepting during a thunderstorm. Of thunder and guns he had a
deep dread--no doubt the fear of the first originated in the second, and
that arose from some unpleasant shot-gun experiences, the cause of which
will be seen. His nightly couch was outside the stable, even during
the coldest weather, and it was easy to see he enjoyed to the full
the complete nocturnal liberty entailed. Bingo's midnight wanderings
extended across the plains for miles. There was plenty of proof of this.
Some farmers at very remote points sent word to old Gordon that if
he did not keep his dog home nights, they would use the shot-gun, and
Bingo's terror of firearms would indicate that the threats were not
idle. A man living as far away as Petrel said he saw a large black wolf
kill a coyote on the snow one winter evening, but afterward he changed
his opinion and 'reckoned it must 'a' been Wright's dog.' Whenever
the body of a winter-killed ox or horse was exposed, Bingo was sure
to repair to it nightly, and driving away the prairie wolves, feast to
repletion.

Sometimes the object of a night foray was