On to the Siwash 



denizens. The lion crept like a shadow, crouched 

 noiselessly down, then leaped on his sleeping or 

 browsing prey. The lonely night stillness split to a 

 frantic snort and scream of terror, and the stricken 

 mustang with his mortal enemy upon his back, dashed 

 off with fierce, wild love of life. As he went he felt 

 his foe crawl toward his neck on claws of fire ; he saw 

 the tawny body and the gleaming eyes; then the 

 cruel teeth snapped with the sudden bite, and the 

 woodland tragedy ended. 



On the spot I conceived an antipathy toward lions. 

 It was born of the frightful spectacle of what had 

 once been a glossy, prancing mustang, of the mute, 

 sickening proof of the survival of the fittest, of the 

 law that levels life. 



Upon telling my camp-fellows about my discovery, 

 Jones and Wallace walked out to see it, while Jim 

 told me the wolf I had seen was a &quot; lofer,&quot; one of the 

 giant buffalo wolves of Buckskin; and if I would 

 watch the carcass in the mornings and evenings, I 

 would &quot; shore as hell get a plunk at him.&quot; 



White pine burned in a beautiful, clear blue flame, 

 with no smoke; and in the center of the campfire left 

 a golden heart. But Jones would not have any sit 

 ting up, and hustled us off to bed, saying we would 

 be &quot; blamed &quot; glad of it in about fifteen hours I 

 crawled into my sleeping-bag, made a hood of my 



211 





