III

My next meeting with Gingersnap was not as different from the first as

one might have expected. He jumped on me, made much vigorous pretense

to bite, and growled frequently, but it was a deep-chested growl and

his stump waggled hard.

The Penroofs had had a number of Wolf-hunts since I was with them, and

were much disgusted at having no better success than before. The Dogs

could find a Wolf nearly every time they went out, but they could not

kill him, and the men were not near enough at the finish to learn why.

Old Penroof was satisfied that "thar wasn't one of the hull miserable

gang that had the grit of a Jack-rabbit."

We were off at dawn the next day--the same procession of fine Horses

and superb riders; the big blue Dogs, the yellow Dogs, the spotted

Dogs, as before; but there was a new feature, a little white Dog that

stayed close by me, and not only any Dogs, but Horses that came too

near were apt to get a surprise from his teeth. I think he quarrelled

with every man, Horse, and Dog in the country, with the exception of a

Bull-terrier belonging to the Mendoza hotel man. She was the only one

smaller than himself, and they seemed very good friends.

I shall never forget the view of the hunt I had that day. We were on

one of those large, flat-headed buttes that give a kingdom to the eye,

when Hilton, who had been scanning the vast country with glasses,

exclaimed: "I see him. There he goes, toward Skull Creek. Guess it's a

Coyote."

Now the first thing is to get the Greyhounds to see the prey--not an

easy matter, as they cannot use the glasses, and the ground was covered

with sage-brush higher than the Dogs' heads.

But Hilton called, "Hu, hu, Dander," and leaned aside from his saddle,

holding out his foot at the same time. With one agile bound Dander

leaped to the saddle and there stood balancing on the Horse while

Hilton kept pointing. "There he is, Dander; sic him--see him down

there." The Dog gazed earnestly where his master pointed, then seeming

to see, he sprang to the ground with a slight yelp and sped away. The

other Dogs followed after, in an ever-lengthening procession, and we

rode as hard as we could behind them, but losing time, for the ground

was cut with gullies, spotted with badger-holes, and covered with rocks

and sage that made full speed too hazardous.

We all fell behind, and I was last, of course, being least accustomed

to the saddle. We got several glimpses of the Dogs flying over the

level plain or dropping from sight in gullies to reappear at the other

side. Dander, the Greyhound, was the recognized leader, and as we

mounted another ridge we got sight of the whole chase--a Coyote at full

speed, the Dogs a quarter of a mile behind, but gaining. When next we

saw them the Coyote was dead, and the Dogs sitting around panting, all

but two of the Foxhounds and Gingersnap.

"Too late for the fracas," remarked Hilton, glancing at these last

Foxhounds. Then he proudly petted Dander. "Didn't need yer purp after

all, ye see."

"Takes a heap of nerve for ten big Dogs to face one little Coyote,"

remarked the father, sarcastically. "Wait till we run onto a Gray."

Next day we were out again, for I made up my mind to see it to a finish.

From a high point we caught sight of a moving speck of gray. A moving

white speck stands for Antelope, a red speck for Fox, a gray speck for

either Gray-wolf or Coyote, and which of these is determined by its

tail. If the glass shows the tail down, it is a Coyote; if up, it is

the hated Gray-wolf.

Dander was shown the game as before and led the motley mixed

procession--as he had before--Greyhounds, Wolfhounds, Foxhounds, Danes,

Bull-terrier, horsemen. We got a momentary view of the pursuit; a

Gray-wolf it surely was, loping away ahead of the Dogs. Somehow I

thought the first Dogs were not running so fast now as they had after

the Coyote. But no one knew the finish of the hunt. The Dogs came back

to us one by one, and we saw no more of that Wolf.

Sarcastic remarks and recrimination were now freely indulged in by the

hunters.

"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 that it was not safe to meddle with his person. "Here,

Snap, take hold," I said, and held my quirt to him. He seized it, and

by that I lifted him to the front of my saddle and so carried him home.

I cared for him as though he had been a baby. He had shown those

Cattle-men how to fill the weak place in their pack; the Foxhounds may

be good and the Greyhounds swift and the Russians and Danes fighters,

but they are no use at all without the crowning moral force of grit,

that none can supply so well as a Bull-terrier. On that day the

Cattlemen learned how to manage the Wolf question, as you will find if

ever you are at Mendoza; for every successful Wolf pack there has with

it a Bull-terrier, preferably of the Snap-Mendoza breed.