Badlands Billy 
dwelt on the wonderful prowess of “that thar 
cussed old Black Wolf of Sentinel Butte,’ and 
related the many attempts to run him down or 
corner him—an unbroken array of failures. For 
the big Wolf, with exasperating persistence, con- 
tinued to live on the finest stock of the Penroof 
brand, and each year was teaching more Wolves 
how to do the same with perfect impunity. 
I listened even as gold-hunters listen to 
stories of treasure trove, for these were the 
things of my world. These things indeed were 
uppermost in all our, minds, for the Penroof 
pack was lying around our camp-fire now. 
We were out after Badlands Billy. 
VIIl 
THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT AND THE BIG 
TRACK IN THE MORNING 
One night late in September after the last 
streak of light was gone from the west and the 
Coyotes had begun their yapping chorus, a 
deep, booming sound was heard. King took 
out his pipe, turned his head and said: “That’s 
144 
San BY oH i: 
‘< eS fs 
A Gir go 
