The Last Herd 



his big knee crushed down on the calf, and his big 

 hands bound it helpless. 



Kentuck neighed. Jones saw his black ears go 

 &amp;gt;. ,. Danger threatened. For a moment the hunter s 

 blood turned chill, not from fear, for he never felt 

 fear, but because he thought the Indians were return 

 ing to ruin his work. His eye swept the plain. Only 

 the gray forms of wolves flitted through the grass, 

 here, there, all about him. Wolves! They were 

 as fatal to his enterprise as savages. A trooping pack 

 of prairie wolves had fallen in with the herd and 

 hung close on the trail, trying to cut a calf away from 

 its mother. The gray brutes boldly trotted to within a 

 few yards of him, and slyly looked at him, with pale, 

 fiery eyes. They had already scented his captive. 

 Precious time flew by; the situation, critical and 

 baffling, had never before been met by him. There 

 lay his little calf tied fast, and to the north ran many 

 others, some of which he must he would have. To 

 think quickly had meant the solving of many a plains 

 man s problem. Should he stay with his prize to 

 save it, or leave it to be devoured? 



&quot;Ha! you old gray devils!&quot; he yelled, shaking 

 his fist at the wolves. &quot; I know a trick or two.&quot; 

 Slipping his hat between the legs of the calf, he fast 

 ened it securely. This done, he vaulted on Kentuck, 

 and was off with never a backward glance. Certain 



