He had heard before the yells of these kings of the packs of savage prairie wolves, and they were masterful indeed, and could easily be distinguished above the feebler pipings of the wolf rabble.
Suddenly the sun came up and the mists disappeared as by magic, and it was light.
Ted looked steadily toward the place from which the howls had come when it was dark, and saw a spot against the earth.
It was either a pony or a cow, and it was in trouble, for it came on very uncertainly, running sideways, stopping for a moment to kick, then running on again.
Ted immediately saw what was the matter. It was being pursued by the wolves he had heard.
The wolves were running with it, perhaps had been chasing it all night, and were snapping it its heels, trying to hamstring it.
He thought it was a small, lean cow from this distance, and wondered at its courage, and if it would last until it got close enough to where there were human beings to be safe from further pursuit.
At first he thought of going inside and putting on his coat and boots and getting his arms and starting out toward it on his pony. But this was too much trouble, and he stood watching the tragedy of the plain, hoping for the plucky animal that was doing its best to outrun and outwit the wolves, for they were close enough now for him to see that there were four of the gray devils of the prairie.
But only one of them was worthy of a second look—a great, gray brute much larger than his mates and twice as courageous.
Ted thought it strange that the wolf king was not doing as the others did; that is, running up behind their victim and making a slash at his legs with their razorlike fangs, then retreating with a whining howl when they felt the heels of the poor brute they were tormenting.