irmed. "If one of em' turns up
missin', I'll go without my coffee."

"They jes' know we ain't loaded to kill," Henry remarked at bed-time,
indicating the gleaming circle that hemmed them in. "If we could put a
couple of shots into 'em, they'd be more respectful. They come closer
every night. Get the firelight out of your eyes an' look hard--there!
Did you see that one?"

For some time the two men amused themselves with watching the movement of
vague forms on the edge of the firelight. By looking closely and
steadily at where a pair of eyes burned in the darkness, the form of the
animal would slowly take shape. They could even see these forms move at
times.

A sound among the dogs attracted the men's attention. One Ear was
uttering quick, eager whines, lunging at the length of his stick toward
the darkness, and desisting now and again in order to make frantic
attacks on the stick with his teeth.

"Look at that, Bill," Henry whispered.

Full into the firelight, with a stealthy, sidelong movement, glided a
doglike animal. It moved with commingled mistrust and daring, cautiously
observing the men, its attention fixed on the dogs. One Ear strained the
full length of the stick toward the intruder and whined with eagerness.

"That fool One Ear don't seem scairt much," Bill said in a low tone.

"It's a she-wolf," Henry whispered back, "an' that accounts for Fatty an'
Frog. She's the decoy for the pack. She draws out the dog an' then all
the rest pitches in an' eats 'm up."

The fire crackled. A log fell apart with a loud spluttering noise. At
the sound of it the strange animal leaped back into the darkness.

"Henry, I'm a-thinkin'," Bill announced.

"Thinkin' what?"

"I'm a-thinkin' that was the one I lambasted with the club."

"Ain't the slightest doubt in the world," was Henry's response.

"An' right here I want to remark," Bill went on, "that that animal's
familyarity with campfires is suspicious an' immoral."

"It knows for certain more'n a self-respectin' wolf ought to know," Henry
agreed. "A wolf that knows enough to come in with the dogs at feedin'
time has had experiences."

"Ol' Villan had a dog once that run away with the wolves," Bill cogitates
aloud. "I ought to know. I shot it out of the pack in a moose pasture
over 'on Little Stick. An' Ol' Villan cried like a baby. Hadn't seen it
for three years, he said. Ben with the wolves all that time."

"I reckon you've called the turn,