Luck favored us. Two wolves had killed a calf and dragged it into a
long patch of dense brush where there was a little spring, the whole
furnishing admirable cover for any wild beast. Early in the morning we
started on horseback for this bit of cover, which was some three miles
off. The party consisted of the Judge, old man Prindle, a cowboy,
myself, and the dogs. The judge and I carried our rifles and the cowboy
his revolver, but old man Prindle had nothing but a heavy whip, for he
swore, with many oaths, that no one should interfere with his big dogs,
for by themselves they would surely "make the wolf feel sicker than a
stuck hog." Our shaggy ponies racked along at a five-mile gait over the
dewy prairie grass. The two big dogs trotted behind their master, grim
and ferocious. The track-hounds were tied in couples, and the beautiful
greyhounds loped lightly and gracefully alongside the horses. The
country was fine. A mile to our right a small plains river wound in long
curves between banks fringed with cottonwoods.
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