He dashed at White Fang, with Bud and Stella on either side of him. Swinging his rope about his head, Ted watched his opportunity.
Suddenly the loop left his hand and shot as unerringly toward the wolf as if it had left the muzzle of a rifle.
It soared through the air like a thing of life, twisting as gracefully and sinuously as a serpent. For an instant the wide loop hovered over the gray, swiftly running animal. Then it fell suddenly, and settled over and around the seemingly doomed animal.
But White Fang, king of the pack, was too old a villain to be caught so easily. He leaped through the loop of Ted's lariat like a circus performer through a hoop.
But Stella's rope whizzed through the air and caught the old fellow unawares.
Then it seemed as if all the forces of wild nature had been turned loose.
The wolf leaped into the air as he felt the rope tighten around his neck, and threw himself here and there with a violence inconceivable, snapping at the rope and trying to sever it. But Stella's lariat was of Mexican rawhide, and even White Fang's sharp teeth had no effect on it.
The rope tightened and slacked in the struggle, and, had it been of ordinary texture, it would never have stood the strain.
Ted had ridden up to the plunging beast, and began to belabor it with his quirt, to take the spirit out of it. The wolf had never felt the sting of a whip before. It was such a new experience to it that it stopped bucking in sheer amazement. But Ted did not discontinue, and the wolf slunk upon the ground, its wild nature thoroughly tamed for the time.
"Stop!" cried Stella. "Let us see what he will do now."