BIG WOLVES
It happened the next day that Jack was riding circle on the far side
of the ground that was being covered. Almost all day he rode without
seeing any cattle, and it was well along in the afternoon when he came
up to the top of a ridge and stopped his horse just before he reached
its crest. Here he dismounted and, walking up, peeped over to see what
there might be on the other side. This of course was not at all what
most cowboys would have done, but the habits of caution taught Jack by
Hugh in the early days of his travels in the West were too firmly fixed
to be overcome, and when alone Jack always looked over a hill in this
way.
Rather to his surprise he saw down in a little flat, five hundred yards
away, a small bunch of cattle--perhaps eighteen or twenty head. This
was a surprise, partly because he had seen none during the day, but
chiefly because the cattle were close bunched, as if brought together
by a herder. For an instant he did not comprehend what this meant, but
then his eye caught two gray animals--big wolves--which were slowly
walking about the herd. Evidently the cattle had come together for
protection, and were standing there, heads out, ready to repel an
attack if it should be made on them. Jack felt that he ought to ride
down and drive off the wolves and bring the cattle in, but, on the
other hand, he was very curious to see what the wolves would do. More
than once he had seen coyotes trying to take from a cow a young calf
that was by her side, but this was the first time he had seen big
wolves round up cattle. He waited, therefore, to see what would happen,
thinking that after a little while the wolves would probably give up
the job and go off in search of some single animal which they could
run down and kill, as he had once seen them do on his way out from the
railroad to his uncle's ranch.
For two or three minutes nothing happened, and the wolves continued
to walk around the bunch. Then, suddenly, one of them made a dash at
the bunch of cattle, going so close to them that Jack expected to see
the wolf caught on a steer's horns and thrown into the air. When the
wolf rushed up, the bunch of cattle seemed to tremble; that is to say,
there was apparently a slight movement by every individual in the herd,
and Jack recalled similar movements which he had seen years before in
British Columbia among a school of salmon far below the surface of the
water, when some one darted down toward the fish a spear which nearly
reached them. It seemed to him that every animal yielded a little, yet
no one of them perhaps moved more than six or eight inches.
A moment or two later one of the wolves made another rush, which was
followed by a similar slight movement of the bunch; and then the wolves
continued their slow march about the cattle. This happened several
times, but at last when the wolf dashed toward the bunch, one animal--a
full-grown one--burst out of the herd and started to run. In an instant
the wolf was behind it, between it and the other cattle; and a moment
later the second wolf had joined the first one, and they loped quietly
along after the single animal. Presently, running side by side, they
drew up close to its heels, and then, separating, one of them made a
vicious snap at the cow's leg while the other sprang and caught it in
the flank; and in an instant, too quickly for Jack to see how it was
done, the beast was on its side and the wolves were tearing at its
belly. Jack jumped to his horse and rode over the ridge, charging down
toward the wolves. They paid no attention to him until he was within
less than a hundred yards, and then, suddenly looking up, they galloped
away. He fired four or five shots after them, but without result.
The animal that they had pulled down was a two-year-old heifer, big,
strong and fat. Her whole flank was torn out, and she was dead. There
was nothing to be done with her. The brand was not one with which Jack
was familiar, and he thought she was a stray from some distant ranch.
He drove the remaining cattle slowly toward camp, and after a time met
some of the other boys bringing in another bunch, and turned his in
with theirs.
That night, after supper, he talked with Hugh about the wolves and the
harm they did, and also about the tremendous power that seemed to be
wrapped up in one of those not very large hides. Hugh had seen wolves
pull down cattle, and had a great respect for the way in which these
animals were able to supply themselves with food.
"You know more about big wolves, son, than most men do," said Hugh.
"You've picked up what we can all see on the prairie here; and, besides
that, you've had a tame wolf of your own. I reckon that you found,
after you got to know him well, that your wolf was just nothing but a
big dog--bigger and stronger, and ten times more enduring, of course,
than any dog you ever saw, but still just pretty nearly plain dog. Of
course he and his father and grandfathers for a good many generations
had always been wild dogs, but up to within a few generations wolves
were no more afraid of people--in this country, I mean--than they were
of any other animals. You see in old times Indians never chased wolves,
or frightened them at all. They did kill some, but they didn't kill 'em
in a way to scare 'em. I reckon I've told you already--if not I, the
Blackfeet have told you--about how the Indians used to catch wolves in
old times. If the Blackfeet haven't described it to you, you surely
must have had some stories told you that explained how they caught 'em."
"Why, yes, Hugh," Jack replied, "I remember one such story; but I never
thought to ask much about how they caught wolves--they spoke about
setting snares around the _pis'kun_ and catching the wolves in this
way, but I didn't ask much about it."
"That's just what they used to do. You see, there were always holes
left in the _pis'kun_ walls, mostly small holes, and through
these holes the wolves and coyotes used to go into the _pis'kun_
to feed on the carcasses or the offal that was left there after the
butchering. Well, the people liked wolf skins: they used them for
robes, or for hats, or to cut up into wide strips to sew on the edges
of a buffalo robe to make it look nice; and so around these holes they
used to set loops of sinew with a running knot. When the wolf was
squeezing through a hole he would put his head through one of these
nooses and, drawing it up, would choke to death in no time at all.
Catching wolves in this way didn't scare 'em and they were always very
tame."
"But, Hugh, I should think that after a while all the wolves in a
certain section of the country would have been killed off."
"Not a bit of it," declared Hugh. "Wolves were great travelers and used
to follow the buffalo around, especially in winter. When buffalo were
plenty they really didn't have to do any hunting to amount to anything;
they would just wait around the edge of the herd. Animals were
constantly getting hurt--bulls were fighting; calves getting trampled
on; buffalo of all sizes were getting drowned when crossing the stream,
or being mired down in some soap hole. I tell you, the wolves lived fat
in those days, especially along the Missouri River. Mr. Sturgis told me
one time about reading in the book that Lewis and Clark wrote, telling
the story of their trip up the Missouri River, that about one buffalo
pound they came to, wolves were so plenty and so gentle that one of the
men killed one with a kind of spear that they carried. The wolf let the
man walk right up to him."
"Yes, I remember that story," said Jack. "I remember it because the
book says that the man killed the wolf with an espontoon. I didn't know
what that was, and it took me quite a little time to find out. It seems
it's a kind of halberd--a sort of cross between a spear and an ax.
Anyhow, it had a long handle."
"Well, of course," commented Hugh, "when a man can get close enough to
an animal to stick a spear into it, the animal isn't what you'd call
shy."
"I should say not," answered Jack.
"Well," Hugh said, "I was talking about the wolf being a big dog. You
know, I reckon, that wolves and dogs will cross."
"Yes; I've read that in books a good many times; and the books talk
about Indian dogs being like wolves. I remember the first day I came
out to Swift Water, the time that Uncle Will killed the bear, I saw a
coyote, and when I saw him, I thought it was an Indian dog, and that
there must be a camp of Indians somewhere near."
"I remember," chuckled Hugh; "I remember that day well. You certainly
had a lot of excitement that day, considering how old you were, and
where you came from."
"Didn't I! I tell you, those early days were mighty exciting."
"More so than anything that's likely to happen to you again out in this
country," drawled Hugh.
"You were saying that the wolves were dogs; and I know that's just what
Swiftfoot always seemed to be. He would get scared like a dog; when
he was pleased he would wag his tail and lay back his ears and show
his teeth like a dog; if I took him out in the country and turned him
loose, he hunted like a dog; and finally, when he got lost and could
not see me, he became confused and lost his wits like a dog."
"Well, I've seen a lot of half-breed wolves, and if these half-breeds
get away, and become wild, they're worse than the wolves themselves;
they're a good deal smarter, and it seems as if they were hungrier,
and they certainly have plenty of courage. I never saw many of these
half-breeds that had gone wild, but I do remember one bunch down near
the Dismal River, in Nebraska, that certainly made a lot of trouble.
Old Lute North killed a number of 'em, and I got the story from him,
and got it straight, and if you'd care to hear it, I'll tell it to you."
"Sure, Hugh, I'd give anything to hear it."
"Well," said Hugh, "this is what Captain North told me. It didn't
happen so very long ago. It seems that one fall Major Frank North
brought up to the ranch at the head of the Dismal River a big mongrel
dog that some one in Columbus had given him. The dog was big and black,
that's about all you could say about him. His hair was longish--not so
long as that of a Newfoundland, but a good deal longer than that of a
Great Dane. In fact, he looked as if he might be a cross between those
two breeds.
"About the middle of that winter this dog went off from the ranch one
night with a big gray wolf, and the next morning Lute followed their
tracks in the snow for several miles, but could not find them. The dog
was never seen again, and Lute always believed that the wolves killed
him, for he saw places in the snow on the trail where the dog and a
wolf had fought.
"Next spring, Al Pratt, one of the cow punchers at the Cody and North
ranch, saw an old she-wolf traveling and seven puppies following her.
Four of these puppies were black, and three were gray. Al chased the
wolves and managed to get close enough to them to kill two of the black
ones. All through the summer the others were seen now and then, but
nobody could get near enough to get a shot at them. That fall Bill
Burke, another puncher, shot and killed one of the gray puppies, and
that winter a trapper poisoned the other gray ones. The only ones of
the family now left were the mother and two black puppies, but they
were a fearful trouble on the range. They would kill stock of all
kinds. They were just as ready to take a steer as a calf, and Lute told
me that one time he found where they'd killed a cow, a two-year-old and
a yearling in one day. They were very shy and always on the lookout,
and they seemed never to go back to the animal that they had killed for
a second meal, so it was impossible to poison them. Lute said, too,
that there was a band of six or eight coyotes traveling around behind
'em, and that after the wolves had eaten all they wanted when they
killed, then the coyotes had their chance.
"Lute told me that he hunted those wolves a good many days; and, of
course, bein' out riding all the time, and all the time on the lookout,
and bein' the kind of a shot he is, it seemed pretty sure that finally
he would get 'em.
"When he did get his shot, it was just by accident. He was hunting a
big black-tail deer, creeping along the ground and trying to get within
shot, when he saw one of the black half-breeds standing on a sand-hill
nearly a mile away. He watched him, and after a time the wolf lay down.
Then Lute began to hunt him, and I expect he did some mighty careful
hunting. Anyhow, he told me it took him a couple of hours to get to
the foot of the hill they were on. The hill was steep, and you may
guess something about what it is to climb one of those steep hills in
that sand. I reckon Lute was about out of wind when he stopped to get
his breath. He stood looking toward the top of the hill, when the old
mother wolf, who was lying in a sand blow-out, raised up and stood with
her fore feet on the bank looking down at him.
"There wasn't any time to think, and he jerked his rifle to his
shoulder and fired, and she disappeared. He scrambled up the hill as
fast as he could, and when he got to where he could look over, he could
see the two black wolves going down the side of the hill. They were
jumping up on their hind legs and looking back for their mother.
"As soon as Lute came in sight they began to run, and he shot at one
of them just as they were passing out of sight. A moment later one
of them came in sight again and Lute shot at him. That fellow kept
running for perhaps a quarter of a mile, and then settled down into a
walk, and Lute knew that he was hit. He sat and watched until the wolf
disappeared in some low sand-hills, and then went back to the blow-out
where he had seen the old wolf, and there she was. This hole was about
three feet deep and it was all Lute could do to lift her out. He said
she was the biggest wolf he'd ever seen. He now got his horse and went
after the wounded one. Finally he found him, and after running him a
couple of miles killed him. The other black one was never seen again
after that, and it's probable that Lute killed him with his second shot.
"Lute told me that he counted something like seventy head of cattle
that he knew they had killed that one winter. When Lute killed the old
mother and the black fellows, that bunch of coyotes was close to them.
He saw them run away from the hill. The black wolf looked just about
like a wolf, with a sharp nose and sharp ears. He measured seven feet
from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail."
"That's one of the most interesting stories I've ever heard, Hugh; and
people who don't know anything about animals, I expect, would hardly
believe it."
"That's so," said Hugh. "When you're talking to people about something
that they don't know anything about, they're likely to think that
you're stringing 'em. You see most of us measure up everything we hear
by what we've seen, or what we've heard and believe to be true; and
when we hear anything outside of that little narrow range, we're mighty
likely to think that people are lying to us."
"Of course, that's so," Jack assented. "I know sometimes back East I've
told about common everyday things that happened here, and the people
I was talking to thought at first that I was just inventing stories.
Have you seen a great many of these half-breed wolves? I mean crossed
between a dog and big wolves, not coyotes?"
"Yes," said Hugh; "in my time I've seen quite a number; but most of 'em
had been brought up at home with their mothers. They were always timid
and afraid of strangers, but they never did any particular harm around
the house, except maybe to kill chickens, or something like that. Of
course, a wolf--or a dog either, for the matter of that--always likes
to hunt; and if anything runs, it's bound to chase it. You recollect,
I reckon, some tame coyotes that Charley Powell had one while several
years ago, and don't you remember that he had to kill one of them
because it got into the way of killing his chickens?"
"That's so," answered Jack; "I remember that now. But I never heard
that those big wolves he and Bessie had ever did any harm."
"No," replied Hugh, "neither did I."
Tulare Joe, who had been sitting by listening to this talk, now asked a
question.
"Mr. Johnson, have you ever seen any black wolves in this country?"
"Not in this country; but way farther south I saw one once; and down
there they have red wolves, as you've probably seen yourself. I saw
black wolf skins out on the Coast."
"Yes," said Joe, "down in Texas I've seen red wolves myself, but it
didn't look to me as if they were as big as these gray wolves that we
have up in this country. Anyhow, down in the southern country most of
the animals like those we have up here seem much smaller: the deer are
smaller, and it seems to me that the wolves and the antelope don't run
so large. The jack-rabbits, though, are bigger; but then they're not
just like our jack-rabbits up here--they're some different."
By this time the fire was burning low and the boys were leaving it
to spread down their beds at different points on the prairie. The
discussion of wolves was given up. Hugh smoked a last pipe, and
presently they all went to bed.