Lobo 25 



deavoring to escape, and there revealed before 

 me stood Lobo, King of the Currumpaw, firmly 

 held in the traps. Poor old hero, he had never 

 ceased to search for his darling, and when he 

 found the trail her body had made he followed 

 it recklessly, and so fell into the snare prepared 

 for him. There he lay in the iron grasp of all 

 four traps, perfectly helpless, and all around him 

 were numerous tracks showing how the cattle 

 had gathered about him to insult the fallen des- 

 pot, without daring to approach within his 

 reach. For two days and two nights he had 

 lain there, and now was worn out with strug- 

 gling. Yet, when I went near him, he rose up 

 with bristling mane and raised his voice, and 

 for the last time made the caflon reverberate 

 with his deep bass roar, a call for help, the 

 muster call of his band. But there was none 

 to answer him, and, left alone in his extremity^ 

 he whirled about with all his strength and made 

 a desperate effort to get at me. All in vain, 

 each trap was a dead drag of over three hun- 

 dred pounds, and in their relentless fourfold 

 grasp, with great steel jaws on every foot, and 

 the heavy logs and chains all entangled together, 

 he was absolutely powerless. How his huge 

 ivory tusks did grind on those cruel chains, and 

 when I ventured to touch him with my rifle- 



