“Aye, lad, I could tell by his bonnet.”
“Scouting the ranger camp, I reckon,” the boy observed.
“Yep, Tom, an’ now we do have to be keerful. Sac spy behint us, an’ the hull tribe ahead.”
“It won’t be any picnic, Bill.”
Resolutely they turned about and again took up the trail to the eastward. They had gone only a few steps, however, when there was a sudden growl and a furry form, shooting out of the darkness, leaped like an arrow at Tom. But big Bill Brown, reaching straight out with his brawny arms, grasped the creature by the throat and squeezed it hard with his powerful hands. Another growl had arisen in the beast’s mouth, but it died behind his teeth, as the fierce grip gradually choked the life from its body. It gave a last convulsive kick; then lay inert.
“A wolf!” exclaimed Tom excitedly. “You saved my hide that time, Bill.”
“Naw, it ain’t a wolf,” the scout said, peering closely at the still form.
“Well, what in thunder is it?”
“An Injun cur.”
“Hm!” mused Tom. “Suppose it was following that lone brave?”