He could barely catch a glimpse of their backs through the tall grass.
"I guess they are coyotes," he said. "Let's give them a race," and he put spurs to his horse and dashed off after them. Evelyn, of course, followed, for she was quite as good a rider as he.
To his surprise, he gained on them, and he knew that the coyote was about the swiftest little animal of the kind anywhere, so he supposed that the tall grass was impeding their progress.
When he urged his horse faster the brutes turned, growled, showed their fangs and stood at bay.
"Great Scott, Evelyn!" he exclaimed, "they are timber wolves!" and his horse showed fear of them.
Evelyn reined up her horse right alongside of Fred.
"Why, Fred," said she, "they seem to be defying us, which is a mighty bold thing for them to do in the open daylight."
"Yes, indeed; but they saw that we were gaining on them. Luckily I have my revolver in my pocket," and with that he drew the weapon and again dashed toward the wolves, who seemed to be full of fight. When within fifteen feet of them he fired and the wounded wolf yelped with pain, while his mate seemed on the point of charging upon them. He fired the second time and the bullet crashed through the wolf's head. They both gave a single yelp, sank down in the grass and did a little kicking. The first one he had shot at hadn't been hit in a vital spot.
So he stood by snarling and showing his fangs until another shot stretched him on the ground alongside of his mate.
"Why, Fred," said Evelyn, as she rode up and looked at them after they were dead, "is it possible that they come up so near the houses on the ranch?"