they topped a little rise, and pulled up. No need to
doubt their eyes now. Just before them lay the mangled remains of the
lame yearling, very little being left to tell the story of how the
animal had met its fate.

"Wolves!" said Frank, gloomily, as he sat looking down at the torn hide.

"I don't know the signs as well as you, Frank, but I'd say the same from
general indications. And they had a royal good feast, too. This makes a
round half dozen head your father has lost in the last month, doesn't
it?" asked Bob.

"Seven, all told. When Bart Heminway told me he had noticed that one of
those fine yearlings seemed lame, I wondered if something wasn't going
to happen to it soon. And then, when we missed it from the herd last
night, I guessed what had come about. They caught her behind the rest,
and pulled her down. The poor thing didn't have a ghost of a show
against that pack of savage wolf-dogs."

"I'd like to have just one chance at them, that's all," grumbled Bob, as
he let his hand fondle the butt of a modern repeating rifle, which he
carried fastened to his saddle.

"This is sure the limit, and it's just got to stop!" declared Frank,
grimly.

"Right now?" queried his chum, eagerly.

Two pairs of flashing eyes met, the black ones sending a challenge
toward the blue.

"Why not?" said Frank, shutting his jaws hard, "the day is before us
still; and we're well primed for the business of hunting that pack to
their den. Look at that bunch of rocks a few miles off; that must be
where they hang out, Bob! Queer that none of the boys have ever thought
of hunting in this quarter for that old she-wolf Sallie, and her brood."

"Then you think she did it, do you?" asked Bob.

"Sure she did. You can see for yourself where her jaws closed on the
throat of the poor yearling. Everybody knows her trademark. That sly
beast has been the bane of the cattle ranches around here for several
years. They got to calling her Sallie in fun; but it's been serious
business lately; and many a cowboy'd ride two hundred miles for a chance
to knock her over."

"And yet none of the rough riders have even thought to search that rocky
pile for her den, you say?" Bob continued.

"Why, you see, the killings have always been in other directions," Frank
explained. "Just as shrewd animals often do, up to now Sallie has never
pulled down a calf anywhere near her den. I reckon she just knew it
might cause a search. But this time she's either gro