Badlands Billy 
In five minutes more they rose to the edge, 
and ahead of them was the great Black Wolf. 
He was loping as before, head and tail low. 
Power was plain in every limb, and double 
power in his jaws and neck, but I thought 
his bounds were shorter now, and that they had 
lost their spring. The Dogs slowly reached 
the upper level, and sighting him they broke 
into a feeble cry; they, too, were nearly spent. 
The Greyhounds saw the chase, and leaving 
us they scrambled down the canon and up 
the other side at impetuous speed that would 
surely break them down, while we rode, vainly 
seeking means of crossing. 
How the wolver raved to see the pack lead 
off in the climax of the chase, and himself held 
up behind. But he rode and wrathed and still 
rode, up to where the canon dwindled—rough 
land and a hard ride. As we neared the great 
flat mountain, the feeble cry of the pack was 
heard again from the south, then toward the 
high Butte’s side, and just a trifle louder now. 
We reined in on a hillock and scanned the 
snow. A moving speck appeared, then others, 
not bunched, but in a straggling train, and at 
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