The Last of the Plainsmen 



other slip under the swinging weapon to grasp the 

 giant s hip. Jones s heard the rend of cloth, and 

 then he pounced like a cat, to drive his knife into the 

 body of the beast. Another nimble foe lunged at 

 Rea, to sprawl broken and limp from the iron. It 

 was a silent fight. The giant shut the way to his 

 comrade and the calves ; he made no outcry ; he needed 

 but one blow for every beast; magnificent, he wielded 

 death and faced it silent. He brought the white 

 wild dogs of the north down with lightning blows, 

 and when no more sprang to the attack, down on the 

 frigid silence he rolled his cry: &quot; Ho! Ho! &quot; 



&quot; Rea! Rea! how is it with you?&quot; called Jones, 

 climbing out. 



&quot; A torn coat no more, my lad.&quot; 



Three of the poor dogs were dead; the fourth and 

 last gasped at the hunters and died. 



The wintry night became a thing of half-conscious 

 past, a dream to the hunters, manifesting its reality 

 only by the stark, stiff bodies of wolves, white in 

 the gray morning. 



&quot; If we can eat, we ll make the cabin,&quot; said Rea. 

 &quot; But the dogs an wolves are poison.&quot; 



&quot; Shall I kill a calf?&quot; asked Jones. 



&quot; Ho ! Ho ! when hell freezes over if we must ! &quot; 



Jones found one 45-90 cartridge in all the outfit, 

 and with that in the chamber of his rifle, once more 



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