d just a
trifle louder now. We reined in on a hillock and scanned the snow. A
moving speck appeared, then others, not bunched, but in a straggling
train, and at times there was a far faint cry. They were headed toward
us, coming on, yes! coming, but so slowly, for not one was really
running now. There was the grim old Cow-killer limping over the ground,
and far behind a Greyhound, and another, and farther still, the other
Dogs in order of their speed, slowly, gamely, dragging themselves on
that pursuit. Many hours of hardest toil had done their work. The Wolf
had vainly sought to fling them off. Now was his hour of doom, for he
was spent; they still had some reserve. Straight to us for a time they
came, skirting the base of the mountain, crawling.

We could not cross to join them, so held our breath and gazed with
ravenous eyes. They were nearer now, the wind brought feeble notes from
the Hounds. The big Wolf turned to the steep ascent, up a well-known
trail, it seemed, for he made no slip. My heart went with him, for he
had come back to rescue his friend, and a momentary thrill of pity came
over us both, as we saw him glance around and drag himself up the
sloping way, to die on his mountain. There was no escape for him, beset
by fifteen Dogs with men to back them. He was not walking, but
tottering upward; the Dogs behind in line, were now doing a little
better, were nearing him. We could hear them gasping; we scarcely heard
them bay--they had no breath for that; upward the grim procession went,
circling a spur of the Butte and along a ledge that climbed and
narrowed, then dropped for a few yards to a shelf that reared above the
canyon. The foremost Dogs were closing, fearless of a foe so nearly
spent.

Here in the narrowest place, where one wrong step meant death, the
great Wolf turned and faced them. With fore-feet braced, with head low
and tail a little raised, his dusky mane a-bristling, his glittering
tusks laid bare, but uttering no sound that we could hear, he faced the
crew. His legs were weak with toil, but his neck, his jaws, and his
heart were strong, and--now all you who love the Dogs had better close
the book--on--up and down--fifteen to one, they came, the swiftest
first, and how it was done, the eye could scarcely see, but even as a
stream of water pours on a rock to be splashed in broken Jets aside,
that stream of Dogs came pouring down the path, in single file
perforce, and Duskymane received them as