The Last of the Plainsmen 



At that moment the night wind wafted through 

 the forest a long, haunting mourn. The calves 

 shifted uneasily; the dogs raised sharp noses to sniff 

 the air, and Rea, settling back against a tree, cried 

 out: &quot; Ho! Ho! &quot; Again the savage sound, a keen 

 wailing note with the hunger of the northland in it, 

 broke the cold silence. &quot; You ll see a pack of real 

 wolves in a minute,&quot; said Rea. Soon a swift patter 

 ing of feet down a forest slope brought him to his 

 feet with a curse to reach a brawny hand for his 

 rifle. White streaks crossed the black of the tree 

 trunks; then indistinct forms, the color of snow, 

 swept up, spread out and streaked to and fro. Jones 

 thought the great, gaunt, pure white beasts the spec 

 tral wolves of Rea s fancy, for they were silent, and 

 silent wolves must belong to dreams only. 



&quot; Ho ! Ho ! &quot; yelled Rea. &quot; There s green-fire eyes 

 for you, Buff. Hell itself ain t nothin to these white 

 devils. Get the calves in the tepee, an stand ready 

 to loose the dogs, for we ve got to fight.&quot; 



Raising his rifle he opened fire upon the white foe. 

 A struggling, rustling sound followed the shots. 

 But whether it was the threshing about of wolves 

 dying in agony, or the fighting of the fortunate ones 

 over those shot, could not be ascertained in the 

 confusion. 



Following his example Jones also fired rapidly on 



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