Badlands Billy 
times there was a far faint cry. They were 
headed toward us, coming on, yes! coming, but 
so slowly, for not one was really running now. 
There was the grim old Cow-killer limping over 
the ground, and far behind a Greyhound, and 
another, and farther still, the other Dogs in 
order of their speed, slowly, gamely, dragging 
themselves on that pursuit. Many hours of 
hardest toil had done their work. The Wolf had 
vainly sought to fling them off. Now was his 
hour of doom, for he was spent; they still had 
some reserve. Straight to us for a time they 
came, skirting the base of the mountain, crawl- 
ing. 
We could not cross to join them, so held our 
breath and gazed with ravenous eyes. They 
were nearer now, the wind brought feeble notes 
from the Hounds. The big Wolf turned to the 
steep ascent, up a well-known trail, it seemed, 
for he made no slip. My heart went with him, 
for he had come back to rescue his friend, and 
a momentary thrill of pity came over us both, 
as we saw him glance around and drag himself 
up the sloping way, to die on his mountain. 
There was no escape for him, beset by fifteen 
159 
a Mitr 
