COURSING THE GRAY WOLF. 477 



search of our wily foes. How the day comes back to me 

 now as my mind reverts to it, and 



" Old memories crowd upon me; 

 Old forms go trooping past." 



The day was perfect. The breath of spring was in the 

 air; a subtle perfume rose from the tender grass crushed 

 under our horses' feet as they moved under us with that 

 strong and springy step which is in itself a joy. Our gallant 

 dogs were all eagerness as they threw their lithe forms in 

 the air and bounded with delighted yelps around us. We 

 were all true friends and comrades. What more could 

 mortal wish ? 



In the distance rose the abrupt wall of the great Staked 

 Plain, and around us stretched the gently rolling Valley of 

 the Canadian, with its emerald carpet of buffalo-grass -an 

 ideal coursing-ground. Antelope were in sight in many 

 places; but to-day our thoughts were on fiercer game, and 

 we avoided them, keeping the dogs close to us. Thus we rode 

 for several miles, keeping a sharp lookout for Wolves, but 

 beginning to fear that we were doomed to disappointment. 



At length, glancing toward a ridge on the left, I caught a 

 fleeting glimpse of some animal disappearing over its crest. 

 Hardly daring to hope that it was a Wolf, we galloped to 

 the top of the ridge, and a simultaneous yell broke from our 

 lips as, less than two hundred yards away, moving along 

 with that indescribably lazy and insolent lope he assumes 

 when he thinks a safe distance is between him and an 

 enemy, we saw a large Gray Wolf. 



At the sound of our voices, he glanced back, and, drop- 

 ping his insouciance, lit out like a gray streak; and well he 

 might, for behind him the dogs were vaulting across the 

 prairie with the velocity, almost, of so many arrows, and 

 were closing in on the fated prowler despite his most 

 strenuous efforts to leave them behind. The horses, strain- 

 ing every nerve, as in a quarter-race, were keeping well up; 

 while, to ease our minds, encourage the dogs, and rattle the 

 Wolf, we were giving vent to yells which would not have 

 discredited a Comanche. The dos were runniii"; well 



