Badlands Billy 
The next hour was a hard repetition of the 
gully riding, but it was on the highlands where 
there was snow, and when again the pack was 
split, we strained every power and succeeded in 
keeping them on the big “ five-fifty track,” that 
already was wearing for me the glamour of 
romance. 
Evidently the Dogs preferred either of the 
others, but we got them going at last. Another 
half hour’s hard work and far ahead, as I rose 
to a broad flat plain, I had my first glimpse of 
the Big Black Wolf of Sentinel Butte. 
“ Hurrah! Badlands Billy! Hurrah! Bad- 
lands Billy!” I shouted in salute, and the others 
took up the cry. 
We were on his track at last, thanks to him- 
self. The Dogs joined in with a louder baying, 
the Greyhounds yelped and made straight for 
him, and the Horses sniffed and sprang more 
gamely as they caught the thrill. The only 
silent one was the black-maned Wolf, and as I 
marked his size and power, and above all his 
long and massive jaws, I knew why the Dogs 
preferred some other trail. 
With head and tail low he was bounding over 
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