Not far away a buffalo calf was running directly toward the camp, evidently exerting itself to the utmost of its strength. Behind it in swift pursuit were following two long, gaunt wolves.
“It is so scared,” Reuben suggested, “that it probably has taken us for a herd of buffaloes.”
The calf by this time had in all likelihood discovered its mistake, but with undiminished speed it was continuing on its way directly through the camp.
The wolves, however, swiftly moved in a circuit outside the camp, so that the fugitive secured a slight gain on its enemies, and in a moment was straining every nerve to reach a large herd which now could be seen at the foot of the hills not more than two miles away.
“Why didn’t you shoot, Jean?” inquired Reuben.
The trapper shook his head as he replied, “No waste powder.”
“It isn’t wasting powder to shoot one of those wolves!” replied Reuben. “It’s one of the best pieces of work you can do! Look yonder! It almost seems as if they had come up out of the ground. There’s one, two, three, four, five more now that have joined the two already there.”
In silence the two trappers watched the pursuit, and in a brief time they saw that the number of wolves had increased to twenty or more. Indeed, the helpless victim was overtaken long before it could find a refuge among its fellows. The little animal fell an easy prey to its savage pursuers and was half devoured even before it was dead.
“I wish I had shot heem,” muttered Jean.
“If one of our horses had been saddled I would have helped out the little beggar. I wonder why it is that one always feels that he wants the weaker side to win?” inquired Reuben.