e and
the meat was beyond the reach of wolf.

But the wolves tried for it, nevertheless. Dick awakened Albert
the first night after this invention was tried and asked him if
he wished to see a ghost dance. Albert, wrapped to his eyes in
the great buffalo robe, promptly sat up and looked.

They had filled four neighboring saplings with meat, and at least
twenty wolves were gathered under them, looking skyward, but not
at the sky--it was the flesh of elk and buffalo that they gazed
at so longingly, and delicious odors that they knew assailed
their nostrils.

But the wolf is an enterprising animal. He does not merely sit
and look at what he wants, expecting it to come to him. Every
wolf in the band knew that no matter how hard and long he might
look that splendid food in the tree would not drop down into his
waiting mouth. So they began to jump for it, and it was this
midnight and wilderness ballet that Albert opened his eyes to
watch.

One wolf, the biggest of the lot, leaped. It was a fine leap,
and might have won him a championship among his kind, but he did
not reach the prize. His teeth snapped together, touching only
one another, and he fell. Albert imagined that he could hear a
disappointed growl. Another wolf leaped, the chief leaped again,
a third, a fourth, and a fifth leaped, and then all began to leap
together.

The air was full of flying wolfish forms, going up or coming
down. They went up, hearts full of hope, and came down, mouths
empty of everything but disappointed foam. Teeth savagely hit
teeth, and growls of wrath were abundant. Albert felt a
ridiculous inclination to laugh. The whole affair presented its
ludicrous aspect to him.

"Did you ever see so much jumping for so little reward?" he
whispered to Dick.

"No, not unless they're taking exercise to keep themselves thin,
although I never heard of a fat wolf."

But a wolf does not give up easily. They continued to leap
faster and faster, and now and then a little higher than before,
although empty tooth still struck empty tooth. Now and then a
wolf more prone to complaint than the others lifted up his voice
and howled his rage and chagrin to the moon. It was a genuine
moan, a long, whining cry that echoed far through the forest and
along the slopes, and whenever Albert heard it he felt more
strongly than ever the inclination to laugh.

"I suppose that a wolf's woes are as real as our own," he
whispered, "but they do look