the cowboy song,
"The Wolf Hunt."

"Over the hills on a winter's morn,
In the rosy glow of a day just born,
With the eager hounds so fleet and strong,
On the gray wolf's track we jog along."

As she paused at the end of the first verse she thought she heard an
echo of it. It seemed that off to the north somewhere she had heard an
eerie "Ai-i-e!" But she listened attentively, bringing Magpie to a stop,
and hearing it no more, concluded that she had been mistaken.

Then she galloped on, still singing at the top of her voice from sheer
happiness and good spirits, the other verses of the wolf song, and,
although she paused frequently for the repetition of the cry, she did
not hear it until she had sung the refrain for the last time:

"The race is o'er, the battle won,
The wolf lies dying in the sun;
His midnight raids are of the past,
He's met the conquering foe at last.
Well done, brave hounds! Thy savage prey
Was shrewdly caught and killed to-day."

As she stopped and looked around her at the brown, rocky hills, once
more she heard that shrill and heart-searching wail.

"What can it be?" muttered Stella, reining in her horse. "Is it a woman,
or is it a beast trying to lure me on? It sounds like a woman in
distress, and yet cougars can cry like that, also."

She meditated a moment, and then decided to take a chance.

She would search out the creature that had sent forth that desolate cry.

"Ai-i-e!" cried Stella, imitating the other.

"Ai-i-e!" came the reply.

It came from the north, and seemed only a short distance away.

Slowly Stella crept forward up the rocky hillside, pausing now and then
to listen.

Once more she heard the wail. This time it seemed to be under her very
feet, and, guarding against treachery, she drew her revolver, and walked
softly on.

Suddenly she stopped in amazement. At her feet lay a young Indian girl.

She was lying on a blanket, and the yellow front of her deerskin tunic
was stained with blood.

Without an instant's hesitation Stella was on her knees beside the girl,
working with swift and gentle fingers to unfasten the tunic.

As she did so the girl opened her eyes, and, seeing Stella, smiled.

Then her Indian stoicism failed her, and she uttered a groan and
fainted.

"Poor thing," muttered Stella. "Poor, wounded, wild thing. Here lies the
wild wolf 'dying in the sun,' as the song says. I wonder if she knew the
song."

But b