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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
155
III
My
next
meeting
with
Gingersnap
was
not
as
different
from
the
first
as
one
might
have
expected.
He
jumped
on
me,
made
much
vigorous
pretense
to
bite,
and
growled
frequently,
but
it
was
a
deep-chested
growl
and
his
stump
waggled
hard.
The
Penroofs
had
had
a
number
of
Wolf-hunts
since
I
was
with
them,
and
were
much
disgusted
at
having
no
better
success
than
before.
The
Dogs
could
find
a
Wolf
nearly
every
time
they
went
out,
but
they
could
not
kill
him,
and
the
men
were
not
near
enough
at
the
finish
to
learn
why.
Old
Penroof
was
satisfied
that
"thar
wasn't
one
of
the
hull
miserable
gang
that
had
the
grit
of
a
Jack-rabbit."
We
were
off
at
dawn
the
next
day--the
same
procession
of
fine
Horses
and
superb
riders;
the
big
blue
Dogs,
the
yellow
Dogs,
the
spotted
Dogs,
as
before;
but
there
was
a
new
feature,
a
little
white
Dog
that
stayed
close
by
me,
and
not
only
any
Dogs,
but
Horses
that
came
too
near
were
apt
to
get
a
surprise
from
his
teeth.
I
think
he
quarrelled
with
every
man,
Horse,
and
Dog
in
the
country,
with
the
exception
of
a
Bull-terrier
belonging
to
the
Mendoza
hotel
man.
She
was
the
only
one
smaller
than
himself,
and
they
seemed
very
good
friends.
I
shall
never
forget
the
view
of
the
hunt
I
had
that
day.
We
were
on
one
of
those
large,
flat-headed
buttes
that
give
a
kingdom
to
the
eye,
when
Hilton,
who
had
been
scanning
the
vast
country
with
glasses,
exclaimed:
"I
see
him.
There
he
goes,
toward
Skull
Creek.
Guess
it's
a
Coyote."
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