make them; but as you have blown the Japanese
trumpet, I think it is only fair I should blow a Russian one, if only to
show that the Russians can be, in an emergency, as brave as the Japs
themselves, which is the same as saying as brave as any man on this
earth, not excepting an Englishman of the true kind!'

* * * * *

Well, I was in Russia--I have been many times, as you know, getting a
little big or other game-shooting from my relations there. On this
occasion there were reports up from my cousin's 'shoot' of wolves having
been seen about; it was a cold season, and that is the kind of season in
which the sportsman gets a good chance of adding a wolf-skin or two to
his collection, for they become more accessible--tamer perhaps,
certainly bolder--when it is cold. It is not a matter of choice with the
poor creatures, but of stern necessity; they _must_ come nearer to the
villages, because food is difficult to obtain elsewhere. My cousin could
not respond to Michael the keeper's invitation to come down and make a
battue for the wolves. 'You can go by yourself if you like,' he said to
me; 'Michael will make you comfortable, and if there are any wolves he
will show them to you. Don't miss them, if he brings you within range,
for that is an unpardonable crime in Michael's eyes, and he would never
forgive you!'

Well, I went down to Dubrofda, prepared to stay for a week. I found that
Michael was away, trying to secure a family of elk, which he had
followed for several days. The under-keeper, Gavril, was there, however,
and under his auspices I hoped to find sport, though he informed me
sadly, on my arrival, that he had not seen wolves for several days.
'They came into the village after straying dogs one night,' he said,
'and pulled down a sheep of old Ivan Trusof's. Ivan fired his old
blunderbuss at them, and the noise seems to have scared them away.
To-morrow I will try after them, and if that fails we must see whether a
squeal-pig will attract them.'

'A squeal-pig?' I repeated, laughingly; 'what in the world is that?'

Gavril glanced at me in some displeasure. 'It is a common way of hunting
the wolves,' he said. 'Perhaps the method is not known in England.'

I explained that the last English wolf was killed many years ago. Then
Gavril described the process which he had called the squeal-pig method
of wolf-hunting.

'You get a very young pig,' he said, 'and put it into a sack. Now, no