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Updated: June 18, 2025
Slash, chop and heave, from the swiftest to the biggest, to the last, down down he sent them whirling from the ledge to the gaping gulch below, where rocks and snags of trunks were sharp to do their work. In fifty seconds it was done. The rock had splashed the stream aside the Penroof pack was all wiped out; and Badlands Billy stood there, alone again on his mountain.
It was a victory, I suppose, for Coyotes kill Calves and Sheep, but somehow I felt the common thought of all: "Mighty brave Dogs for a little Coyote, but they could not face the big Wolf last night." Young Penroof, as though in answer to one of the unput questions, said: "Say, boys, I believe old Billy had a hull bunch of Wolves with him last night." "Didn't see but one track," said King gruffly.
King gathered the Dogs and rode direct to the distant figure on the hill. All hearts beat high with hope, and we were not disappointed. Some small Wolf tracks had been found, but here at last was the big track, nearly six inches long. Young Penroof wanted to yell and set out at full gallop. It was like hunting a Lion; it was like finding happiness long deferred.
Arrived at Mendoza, in North Dakota, I found a fine market for wire. Of course my dealings were with the big storekeepers, but I went about among the ranchmen to get their practical views on the different styles, and thus I met the Penroof Brothers' Cow-outfit. One cannot be long in Cow country now without hearing a great deal about the depredations of the ever wily and destructive Gray-wolf.
There were several mongrels, but there were also a few highly bred Dogs in particular, some Russian Wolfhounds that must have cost a lot of money. Hilton Penroof, the oldest boy, "The Master of Hounds," was unusually proud of them, and expected them to do great things. "Greyhounds are too thin-skinned to fight a Wolf, Danes are too slow, but you'll see the fur fly when the Russians take a hand."
These things indeed were uppermost in all our minds, for the Penroof pack was lying around our camp-fire now. We were out after Badlands Billy. One night late in September after the last streak of light was gone from the west and the Coyotes had begun their yapping chorus, a deep, booming sound was heard. King took out his pipe, turned his head and said: "That's him that's old Billy.
After a two-mile run the chase led upward again in snow country; the Wolf was sighted, but to our disgust, we were on the track of the smallest one. "I thought so," growled young Penroof. "Dogs was altogether too keen for a serious proposition. Kind o' surprised it ain't turned out a Jack-rabbit." Within another mile he had turned to bay in a willow thicket.
For the big Wolf, with exasperating persistence, continued to live on the finest stock of the Penroof brand, and each year was teaching more Wolves how to do the same with perfect impunity. I listened even as gold-hunters listen to stories of treasure trove, for these were the things of my world.
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."
There was the skin of a monstrous Wolf, but no other hint of triumph. We buried the fearless one on a butte back of the Ranch-house. Penroof, as he stood by, was heard to grumble: "By jingo, that was grit cl'ar grit! Ye can't raise Cattle without grit." It was during the great blizzard of 1882 that I first met the Winnipeg Wolf. I had left St.
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