The Wolf Chase 
A Tale of the Southwest 
By P. C. TUCKER 
I T was a warm spring morning, though but 
mid February. The south Texan prairie, 
as far as the eye could reach, was green 
with the vigorous growth of blue stem and 
canary grass, already fetlock deep to the half 
wild ponies and cattle that roamed apparently 
at will; while in the fields, near the mottes of 
China trees that hid the dwelling houses of La 
Cotte and Valcour, the plow teams were busy 
turning the fallow ground for late corn plant- 
ing and the cotton crop, or giving the early 
corn its “first working out.” 
Anse La Cotte paused as he swung his team 
into the new furrow at the turn row and ditch 
that marked the division line between his father’s 
and Papa Valcour’s land, and waited for Victor 
to reach the turn row in the cotton bed he was 
“throwing up.” 
“Say, Vic, did Fecy stop by you place las’ 
nite, and tell you folks ’bout the wolf drive to¬ 
morrow ?” 
“Yaas, and my papa he say I may go. I goin’ 
ride the glass eye paint. He ’bout de fastes pony 
I got. I tole heem dat I be at de big moun’ by 
sunup. He say Jules La Blanc and Sime Brous¬ 
sard be there too. That goin’ be de third relay. 
He no say how many houn’s be in drive. You 
goin’ ?” 
“Me! you jes’ bet. I’m to be at de secon’ 
relay, wid Jean Lajor and George Suits, I take 
secon’ turn. He say dey hab de houn’s frum 
Mons. Brule an’ de Sears place, and dose two 
new dorgs frum de La Bade plantation. So I 
bet we hab good run. Ole Grey en Red maik 
dose loupe git up en hump hesef. My papa he 
say dey nebber be so bad in long taim, wid de 
calf en de lams. He say de crop be cut off 
nearly half, en de crop ob dogies* be big; so 
many ole cows and yows so weak dey fall down 
when dey tries fight; la loupe en de calf en 
lam he too queek; run away.” 
“Yaas, dat so, Anse. I fin’ two, t’ree, dogies 
las’ taim I ride de prairie down een de beeg 
ben’ er Lone Oak Bayou. Dey wid sum oh de 
‘Crowfoot circle bran’ cows, en I reckon geet 
a leetle suck frum sum ob dem—dey in putty 
fair ordah—but mos de ole cows fite dem away. 
Say, I mus’ be joggin; got ter geet my stunt 
dun, me, or my papa he say, ‘Non, non,’ when 
I start geet ready. Ad eu. Vite vite, allez le 
cheval.” And obedient to the call the ponies 
tightened their traces and started down the furrow. 
“Adieu Victor, le bon chasse en le matin. Geet 
up, you horse, vite, avance,” and the brown 
ribbon of crumbling earth was again curling 
about the stems of the young corn. 
Dawn was just breaking next morning, when 
Anse and Victor met at the forks of the road 
and struck out across the prairie at a lively lope. 
From all around them the meadow lark—song¬ 
ster of the prairies—was sounding his morning 
note of praise, while more distant, from the 
groves around the dwellings, came the full- 
throated mating hymn of the mockingbird as 
he perched on the ridgepole or hovered in the 
air above in very ecstasy of song. 
Occasional flocks of grackles were winging 
their way from the marsh roost to the new- 
plowed farm lands in search of their daily toll 
of worm and beetle. And an occasional flurry of 
gray, springing from almost beneath their ponies’ 
feet and shooting away like the wind, resolved 
itself after a time into the huge ears and grace¬ 
ful form of the jack rabbit or mule-eared hare 
as, his momentary fright over, he paused at 
some vantage point, erect on his haunches, to 
view the horseman which grew rapidly more 
distant. Now and again was heard the distant 
drumming of the prairie chicken, and occas¬ 
ionally from some grassy mound his mating call 
or crow, and more than once hidden coveys were 
put to flight by the ponies as they sped through 
the sweet myrtle and grass of the swales. 
Now, other figures were appearing here and 
there across the landscape, topping rises in the 
prairie or disappearing momentarily in coulees, 
threading the herds of feeding cattle that lifted 
their heads in mild-eyed curiosity when not ap¬ 
proached too closely, or dashed off with toss¬ 
ing horns and tails erect when in the direct path 
of the horsemen only to pause later like the 
rabbits and watch the riders for a time when 
they learned that pursuit was not their purpose. 
Meeting, the horsemen exchanged the formal 
greeting, “Adieu” of the Cajun farmers and cat¬ 
tlemen, or if Americans, of “Howdy.” 
“What relay you fellahs on? Seen anythin’ 
this mornin?” 
“Yaas,” drawled one tall loose-jointed rider, 
whose diminutive mount seemed almost to allow 
his feet to brush the grass. “I seed an ole lobo 
down by Lone Oak Point, jes’ et dawn. He’d 
dun throated er calf, ’bout er quartah this side, 
en when he hern me er cornin’ he jes’ nater- 
ally lit out for ther big marsh. I wanted teh 
run him mightily, but I knowed it would spoil 
this heah dun pony fer all day ef I did. I’m on 
the las’ relay down by Simm’s ranch, en I wanter 
be in et theh kill, en suah will.” 
“Fecy en ther houn’s tuk an early start,” re¬ 
marked Jean Lajoie. “Said he would go up in 
the Buzzard Roost Cove. Was suah teh fin’ sum 
trails cornin’ outeh Alligator Maarsh er Wil’ 
Goose Sloo. So you fellahs bettah get teh yer 
stations muy pronto,* foh yeh apt teh heah theh 
houn’s enytime.” The riders quickly scattered 
in parties of two and three. Anse and Victor 
rode off at right angles to each other. Victor 
on his paint, a little wiry bay pony, with a great 
spotch of white around his ribs on the right side, 
a white left shoulder and a blazed face, with 
parti-colored eyes, whose big head and roman 
nose bespoke obstinacy, as his straight and rather 
slender legs and long barrel gave evidence of 
speed. Soon he topped a slight rise in the prairie 
—a mound half an acre in extent, and probably 
ten feet high—where Jules LaBlanc and Sime 
Broussard were awaiting him. The former rode 
a chunkily built blue roan, well muscled, with a 
vicious eye, who fretted and twisted and refused 
to stand in one place, taxing his rider’s skill to ( 
keep his seat and retain control of his head. 
Sime Broussard rode a sleepy-looking gotched- , 
eared claybank with a mule stripe down back 
and shoulders. • : 
“Adieu, Jules. Say, Sime, ain’t ole Gotch , 
woke up thees mornin’,” exclaimed Victor as he . 
joined the group. 
“Ja done, jes’ you wait. Gotch make yer 
paint en Jules’ blue look vere petite when lai 
loupe cum by secon’ taim. He one punchinello, 
en he know wen teh sleep en wen teh be erwake, J 
laik Chrismus taim et Joe Mounsel’s. Eh—look, 
ain’t dat de dogs, en mons la loupe? Sacre! 
dere dey ah. Your turn firs’ Jules.” 
Off toward the rising sun a faint view halloo 
came down the wind, and for a moment a couple 
of madly speeding horsemen had topped a 
mound, with which the prairie was dotted, and 
the next instant half a dozen greyhounds, or 
rather wolfhounds—for they were really a cross r 
between the former and the famous wolfhounds 
of Russia—burst into view, coming down, full 
speed, through the coulee, while about fifty yards 
ahead a shaggy gray animal loped easily along, 
glancing inquiringly over his shoulder toward 
his pursuers, but apparently with little anxiety,, 
until the answering hunt call of the riders on 
the mound ahead struck his ear. Whirling tc 
the right he dashed away at increased speed, 
only in a moment to drop back into the old 
swinging lope, as he found no fresh dogs added 
to the pack. When the hounds and quarry 
swung past Jules gave Blue his head. Lean- 
*Motherless calves. 
*Very quickly. 
