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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
87
The
pack
kept
well
together,
because
the
Greyhounds,
seeing
no
quarry,
were
merely
puttering
about
among
the
other
Dogs,
or
running
back
with
the
Horses.
We
went
as
fast
as
we
could,
for
the
Wolves
were
speeding.
Up
mesas
and
down
coulees
we
rode,
sticking
closely
to
the
Dogs,
though
it
was
the
roughest
country
that
could
be
picked.
One
gully
after
another,
an
hour
and
another
hour,
and
still
the
threefold
track
went
bounding
on;
another
hour
and
no
change,
but
interminable
climbing,
sliding,
struggling,
through
brush
and
over
boulders,
guided
by
the
far-away
yelping
of
the
Dogs.
Now
the
chase
led
downward
to
the
low
valley
of
the
river,
where
there
was
scarcely
any
snow.
Jumping
and
scrambling
down
hills,
recklessly
leaping
dangerous
gullies
and
slippery
rocks,
we
felt
that
we
could
not
hold
out
much
longer;
when
on
the
lowest,
dryest
level
the
pack
split,
some
went
up,
some
went
down,
and
others
straight
on.
Oh,
how
King
did
swear!
He
knew
at
once
what
it
meant.
The
Wolves
had
scattered,
and
so
had
divided
the
pack.
Three
Dogs
after
a
Wolf
would
have
no
chance,
four
could
not
kill
him,
two
would
certainly
be
killed.
And
yet
this
was
the
first
encouraging
sign
we
had
seen,
for
it
meant
that
the
Wolves
were
hard
pressed.
We
spurred
ahead
to
stop
the
Dogs,
to
pick
for
them
the
only
trail.
But
that
was
not
so
easy.
Without
snow
here
and
with
countless
Dog
tracks,
we
were
foiled.
All
we
could
do
was
to
let
the
Dogs
choose,
but
keep
them
to
a
single
choice.
Away
we
went
as
before,
hoping,
yet
fearing
that
we
were
not
on
the
right
track.
The
Dogs
ran
well,
very
fast
indeed.
This
was
a
bad
sign,
King
said,
but
we
could
not
get
sight
of
the
track
because
the
Dogs
overran
it
before
we
came.
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