The Winnipeg Wolf 
but he was very old-fashioned, as well as a rude 
little boy. He had been brought up in a low 
saloon, and had been an apt pupil at picking 
up the vile talk of the place. He cursed them 
one and all and for generations back; he did 
not spare even his own father. 
If a man had used such shocking and insult- 
ing language he might have been lynched, but 
coming from a baby, the hunters did not know 
what to do, so finally did the best thing. They 
laughed aloud—not at themselves, that is not 
considered good form—but they all laughed at 
the German whose wonderful Dogs had been 
worsted by a half-grown Wolf. 
Jimmie now thrust his dirty, tear-stained 
little fist down into his very-much-of-a-boy’s 
pocket, and from among marbles and chewing- 
gum, as well as tobacco, matches, pistol car- 
tridges, and other contraband, he fished out a 
flimsy bit of grocer’s twine and fastened it 
around the Wolf’s neck. Then, still blubber- 
ing a little, he set out for home on the Pony, 
leading the Wolf and hurling a final threat and 
anathema at the German nobleman: “ Fur two 
cents I ’d sic him on yow, gol darn ye.” 
304 
