THE WOLF HUNTERS 



"Let it be so," said I, and I so dated my let- 

 ter, and from that time on we spoke of our win- 

 ter home as Camp Coyotelope. 



Nothing unusual happened while Tom was gone. 

 Jack tended his traps, while I did the wolf baiting 

 and skinning. 



On the second evening, just in time for supper, 

 Tom returned from Fort Larned, bringing our 

 mail, and as we gathered around the table we 

 asked him anxiously what he had learned about 

 the dead man. 



"A whole lot," replied the old man between 

 mouthfuls, "an' not just what I wanted to find out, 

 either. None of 'em could make out the man's 

 name or where he come from any nigher than we 

 did. I went right to the adjutant's office, where 

 I found several of the officers, an' when I brought 

 out the bones an' told 'em the story they be- 

 came interested. One officer had heard something 

 about a party of hunters being wiped out by the 

 Injuns about a year ago, but he didn't know the 

 particulars. That writing on the old shoulder- 

 blade attracted 'em most, an' each one had to 

 take it an' examine it. But they couldn't make 

 it out. 



"I suggested to the adjutant that maybe French 

 Dave might know something, an' he sent an or- 

 derly for Dave right away, an', sure enough, the 

 ol' French-Canadian did know something. 



"Ol' Dave asked me: 'Where you find 'em?' 

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