"Pah--scairt, plumb scairt," was the father's disgusted comment on the
pack. "They could catch up easy enough, but when he turned on them,
they lighted out for home--pah!"

"Where's that thar onsurpassable, fearless, scaired-o'-nort Tarrier?"
asked Hilton, scornfully.

"I don't know," said I. "I am inclined to think he never saw the Wolf;
but if he ever does, I'll bet he sails in for death or glory."

That night several Cows were killed close to the ranch, and we were
spurred on to another hunt.

It opened much like the last. Late in the afternoon we sighted a gray
fellow with tail up, not half a mile off. Hilton called Dander up on
the saddle. I acted on the idea and called Snap to mine. His legs were
so short that he had to leap several times before he made it,
scrambling up at last with my foot as a half-way station. I pointed and
"sic-ed" for a minute before he saw the game, and then he started out
after the Greyhounds, already gone, with energy that was full of
promise.

The chase this time led us, not to the rough brakes along the river,
but toward the high open country, for reasons that appeared later. We
were close together as we rose to the upland and sighted the chase half
a mile off, just as Dander came up with the Wolf and snapped at his
haunch. The Gray-wolf turned round to fight, and we had a fine view.
The Dogs came up by twos and threes, barking at him in a ring, till
last the little white one rushed up. He wasted no time barking, but
rushed straight at the Wolf's throat and missed it, yet seemed to get
him by the nose; then the ten big Dogs closed in, and in two minutes
the Wolf was dead. We had ridden hard to be in at the finish, and
though our view was distant, we saw at least that Snap had lived up to
the telegram, as well as to my promises for him.

Now it was my turn to crow, and I did not lose the chance. Snap had
shown them how, and at last the Mendoza pack had killed a Gray-wolf
without help from the men.

There were two things to mar the victory somewhat: first, it was a
young Wolf, a mere Cub, hence his foolish choice of country; second,
Snap was wounded--the Wolf had given him a bad cut in the shoulder.

As we rode in proud procession home, I saw he limped a little. "Here,"
I cried, "come up, Snap." He tried once or twice to jump to the saddle,
but could not. "Here, Hilton, lift him up to me."

"Thanks; I'll let you handle your own rattlesnakes," was the reply, for
all knew now th