Wolves and Wolf-Hounds. 401 



a hound. Not Gushing when he steered his little launch 

 through the black night against the great ram Albemarle, 

 not Custer dashing into the valley of the Rosebud to die 

 with all his men, not Farragut himself lashed in the 

 rigging of the Hartford as she forged past the forts to 

 encounter her iron-clad foe, can stand as a more perfect 

 type of dauntless valor. 



Once I had the good fortune to witness a very exciting 

 hunt of this character among the foot-hills of the northern 

 Rockies. I was staying at the house of a friendly cow- 

 man, whom I will call Judge Yancy Stump. Judge Yancy 

 Stump was a Democrat who, as he phrased it, had fought 

 for his Democracy ; that is, he had been in the Confed- 

 erate Army. He was at daggers drawn with his nearest 

 neighbor, a cross-grained mountain farmer, who may be 

 known as old man Prindle. Old man Prindle had been 

 in the Union Army, and his Republicanism was of the 

 blackest and most uncompromising type. There was one 

 point, however, on which the two came together. They 

 were exceedingly fond of hunting with hounds. The 

 Judge had three or four track-hounds, and four of what 

 he called swift-hounds, the latter including one pure-bred 

 greyhound bitch of wonderful speed and temper, a dun- 

 colored yelping animal which was a cross between a grey- 

 hound and a fox-hound, and two others that were crosses 

 between a greyhound and a wire-haired Scotch deer-hound. 

 Old man Prindle's contribution to the pack consisted of 

 two immense brindled mongrels of great strength and 

 ferocious temper. They were unlike any dogs I have 

 ever seen in this country. Their mother herself was a 



