Again did Frank fire; and, seeing that the gray animal was still bounding along uninjured, Bob in turn discharged his gun.
“Poor shooting; that’s what!” he exclaimed; “I mean mine, of course, Frank; and now, you’ve just got to take your turn.”
“If you say so, all right!” answered the other.
“Something ought to be done, because we’re getting closer to that swale all the time; and I say it’d be a shame if the old wolf got clean away through trickery. Ready, Frank?”
“Let her go!”
Bob took a quick aim at the animal, and fired. Of course he had not the remotest idea of hitting the wolf; but by causing him to dodge it would open the way for his more experienced chum to get in a shot when the beast was off his guard.
The report of Frank’s gun came so close upon that of his own that Bob could hardly believe there had been two shots. Yet he had seen that the wolf kept on after his discharge. It was different when Frank shot his bolt.
“Wow! you got him that time, Frank!” shouted Bob, with great glee. “He’s dropped in his tracks, as sure as anything. Tried that trick just once too often, didn’t he? Look at him kicking his last! He’s paying now for the veal he carried off all these years, the villain!”
Frank laughed, for he felt particularly well pleased because the wolf had been kept from reaching the rocks where he might have eluded them.
They drew rein, and looked down at the now motionless form of the gaunt animal. Even in death the big wolf had a sinister appearance, for