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NE afternoon about the end of September, 

 1885, I was sitting in my office sending 

 telegraphic messages. 



Without any rap or other warning, a young 

 half-breed Indian boy rushed in. He was bare- 

 headed and barefooted and I immediately saw by 

 his excited appearance that something serious had 

 happened. I thought at first that some gun acci- 

 dent had occurred. Before I could question him, 

 he exclaimed excitedly: "Meigan! Meigan!" 

 (Wolves! Wolves!) adding in his own language, 

 "your rifle, quick !" 



I hurriedly asked him if any person had been 

 attacked or killed, to which he answered, "No." 

 As his excitement cooled down, I found that he 

 and his uncle had just come from the river, where 

 they had seen the tracks of a pack of wolves 

 about fifteen in number, and that they were still 

 quite close, as they had heard them howling fear- 

 fully. 



My rifle was a good one, the old Kentucky 

 Ballard, 46 cal. rim fire, but it was a single load- 

 er; and tackling fifteen wolves was, I thought, 

 perhaps a little too much for a single gun. I 

 therefore preferred taking my 10 bore Greener 

 double-barrelled gun, for which I had a lot of car- 



