his jaws with a heavy cord
which was also fastened to the stick. The stick kept the cord in, and
the cord kept the stick in so he was harmless. As soon as he felt his
jaws were tied he made no further resistance, and uttered no sound, but
looked calmly at us and seemed to say, "Well, you have got me at last,
do as you please with me." And from that time he took no more notice of
us.

We tied his feet securely, but he never groaned, nor growled, nor turned
his head. Then with our united strength we were just able to put him on
my horse. His breath came evenly as though sleeping, and his eyes
were bright and clear again, but did not rest on us. Afar on the great
rolling mesas they were fixed, his passing kingdom, where his famous
band was now scattered. And he gazed till the pony descended the pathway
into the canyon, and the rocks cut off the view.

By travelling slowly we reached the ranch in safety, and after securing
him with a collar and a strong chain, we staked him out in the pasture
and removed the cords.

Then for the first time I could examine him closely, and proved how
unreliable is vulgar report when a living hero or tyrant is concerned.
He had not a collar of gold about his neck, nor was there on his
shoulders an inverted cross to denote that he had leagued himself with
Satan. But I did find on one haunch a great broad scar, that tradition
says was the fang-mark of Juno, the leader of Tannerey's wolf-hounds--a
mark which she gave him the moment before he stretched her lifeless on
the sand of the canyon.

I set meat and water beside him, but he paid no heed. He lay calmly on
his breast, and gazed with those steadfast yellow eyes away past me down
through the gateway of the canyon, over the open plains--his plains--nor
moved a muscle when I touched him. When the sun went down he was still
gazing fixedly across the prairie. I expected he would call up his band
when night came, and prepared for them, but he had called once in his
extremity, and none had come; he would never call again.

A lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom, or a dove
bereft of his mate, all die, it is said, of a broken heart; and who will
aver that this grim bandit could bear the three-fold brunt, heart-whole?
This only I know, that when the morning dawned, he was lying there still
in his position of calm repose, his body unwounded, but his spirit was
gone--the old kingwolf was dead.

I took the chain from his neck