I drove away and left them.

There seemed only one solution of the failure. The Hounds were swift
and strong, but a Gray-wolf seems to terrorize all Dogs. They have not
the nerve to face him, and so, each time he gets away, and my thoughts
flew back to the fearless little Dog that had shared my bed for the
last year. How I wished he was out here, then these lubberly giants of
Hounds would find a leader whose nerve would not fail at the moment of
trial.

At Baroka, my next stop, I got a batch of mail including two letters
from the landlady; the first to say that "that beast of a Dog was
acting up scandalous in my room," and the other still more forcible,
demanding his immediate removal. "Why not have him expressed to
Mendoza?" I thought. "It's only twenty hours; they'll be glad to have
him. I can take him home with me when I go through."

III

My next meeting with Gingersnap was not as different from the first as
one might have expected. He jumped on me, made much vigorous pretense
to bite, and growled frequently, but it was a deep-chested growl and
his stump waggled hard.

The Penroofs had had a number of Wolf-hunts since I was with them, and
were much disgusted at having no better success than before. The Dogs
could find a Wolf nearly every time they went out, but they could not
kill him, and the men were not near enough at the finish to learn why.

Old Penroof was satisfied that "thar wasn't one of the hull miserable
gang that had the grit of a Jack-rabbit."

We were off at dawn the next day--the same procession of fine Horses
and superb riders; the big blue Dogs, the yellow Dogs, the spotted
Dogs, as before; but there was a new feature, a little white Dog that
stayed close by me, and not only any Dogs, but Horses that came too
near were apt to get a surprise from his teeth. I think he quarrelled
with every man, Horse, and Dog in the country, with the exception of a
Bull-terrier belonging to the Mendoza hotel man. She was the only one
smaller than himself, and they seemed very good friends.

I shall never forget the view of the hunt I had that day. We were on
one of those large, flat-headed buttes that give a kingdom to the eye,
when Hilton, who had been scanning the vast country with glasses,
exclaimed: "I see him. There he goes, toward Skull Creek. Guess it's a
Coyote."

Now the first thing is to get the Greyhounds to see the prey--not an
easy matter, as they cannot use the glasses, and the ground was c