Badlands Billy 
there they trotted in line; and yonder they sepa- 
rated, going three different ways, to meet—yes 
—here—oh, what a sight, a fine Cow ripped 
open, left dead and wneaten. Not to their taste, 
it seems, for see! within a mile is another killed 
by them. Not six hours ago, they had feasted. 
Here their trails scatter again, but not far, and 
the snow tells plainly how each had lain down 
to sleep. The Hounds’ manes bristled as they 
sniffed those places. King had held the Dogs 
well in hand, but now they were greatly excited. 
We came to a hill whereon the Wolves had 
turned and faced our way, then fled at full 
speed,—so said the trail,—and now it was clear 
that they had watched us from that hill, and 
were not far away. 
The pack kept well together, because the 
Greyhounds, seeing no quarry, were merely 
puttering about among the other Dogs, or run- 
ning back with the Horses. We went as fast 
as we could, for the Wolves were speeding. Up 
mesas and down coulees we rode, sticking 
closely to the Dogs, though it was the roughest 
country that could be picked. One gully after 
another, an hour and another hour, and still the 
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