Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
89
We
were
on
his
track
at
last,
thanks
to
himself.
The
Dogs
joined
in
with
a
louder
baying,
the
Greyhounds
yelped
and
made
straight
for
him,
and
the
Horses
sniffed
and
sprang
more
gamely
as
they
caught
the
thrill.
The
only
silent
one
was
the
black-maned
Wolf,
and
as
I
marked
his
size
and
power,
and
above
all
his
long
and
massive
jaws,
I
knew
why
the
Dogs
preferred
some
other
trail.
With
head
and
tail
low
he
was
bounding
over
the
snow.
His
tongue
was
lolling
long;
plainly
he
was
hard
pressed.
The
wolvers'
hands
flew
to
their
revolvers,
though
he
was
three
hundred
yards
ahead;
they
were
out
for
blood,
not
sport.
But
an
instant
later
he
had
sunk
from
view
in
the
nearest
sheltered
cañon.
Now
which
way
would
he
go,
up
or
down
the
cañon?
Up
was
toward
his
mountain,
down
was
better
cover.
King
and
I
thought
"up,"
so
pressed
westward
along
the
ridge.
But
the
others
rode
eastward,
watching
for
a
chance
to
shoot.
Soon
we
had
ridden
out
of
hearing.
We
were
wrong--the
Wolf
had
gone
down,
but
we
heard
no
shooting.
The
cañon
was
crossable
here;
we
reached
the
other
side
and
then
turned
back
at
a
gallop,
scanning
the
snow
for
a
trail,
the
hills
for
a
moving
form,
or
the
wind
for
a
sound
of
life.
"Squeak,
squeak,"
went
our
saddle
leathers,
"puff-puff"
our
Horses,
and
their
feet
"ka-ka-lump,
ka-ka-lump."
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
