J^obo 21 



the pack from approaching the meat, but one, 

 a small wolf, had evidently gone on to examine 

 the head as it lay apart and had walked right 

 into one of the traps. 



We set out on the trail, and within a mile 

 discovered that the hapless wolf was Blanca. 

 Away she went, however, at a gallop, and al- 

 though encumbered by the beef-head, which 

 weighed over fifty pounds, she speedily dis- 

 tanced my companion who was on foot. But 

 we overtook her when she reached the rocks, 

 for the horns of the cow's head became caught 

 and held her fast. She was the handsomest 

 wolf I had ever seen. Her coat was in perfect 

 condition and nearly white. 



She turned to fight, and raising her voice in 

 the rallying cry of her race, sent a long howl 

 rolling over the cafion. From far away upon 

 the mesa came a deep response, the cry of Old 

 Lobo. That was her last call, for now we had 

 closed in on her, and all her energy and breath 

 were devoted to combat. 



Then followed the inevitable tragedy, the 

 idea of which I shrank from afterward more 

 than at the time. We each threw a lasso over 

 the neck of the doomed wolf, and strained our 

 horses in opposite directions until the blood 

 burst from her mouth, her eyes glazed, her 



