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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
94
XI
THE
HOWL
AT
SUNSET
A
week
later
we
were
riding
the
upper
trail
back
of
the
Chimney
Pot,
King
and
I.
"The
old
man
is
pretty
sick
of
it,"
he
said.
"He'd
sell
out
if
he
could.
He
don't
know
what's
the
next
move."
The
sun
went
down
beyond
Sentinel
Butte.
It
was
dusk
as
we
reached
the
turn
that
led
to
Dumont's
place,
and
a
deep-toned
rolling
howl
came
from
the
river
flat
below,
followed
by
a
number
of
higher-pitched
howls
in
answering
chorus.
We
could
see
nothing,
but
we
listened
hard.
The
song
was
repeated,
the
hunting-cry
of
the
Wolves.
It
faded,
the
night
was
stirred
by
another,
the
sharp
bark
and
the
short
howl,
the
signal
"close
in";
a
bellow
came
up,
very
short,
for
it
was
cut
short.
And
King
as
he
touched
his
Horse
said
grimly:
"That's
him,
he
is
out
with
the
pack,
an'
thar
goes
another
Beef."
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