The wolves were in two bands, apparently; one band on the mountainside, off on the left, and the other behind, in the trail, or in the river cañon. Those on the hillside were nearest, and their howls soon became frightful.
“Chasin’ us?” she asked.
“We’ll hope not.”
“Well, I know they aire! Ye can’t fool me. I’ve had experience. This ain’t the fust time I’ve heerd ’em.”
She put her hand into her bosom and drew out a revolver.
“This ain’t big enough to kill many wolves with,” she remarked; “but it’s big enough to kill me, which it’ll do if the wolves should seem about to git me. I’d ruther die by a bullet than to have them critters tear me into giblets. Ugh! Hear ’em yellin’!”
It was not a pleasant sound, and again the scout touched the horse up with the spur.
The country lay more open before him, a fact of which he was glad. The moonlight and open country lessened the danger from the wolves; for, like all evil creatures, they loved the darkness rather than the light.
The horse was now flying along, oblivious of its double burden. It not only heard the wolves, but had scented them, and was frightened.
The howling drew nearer, and soon the wolves, sweeping down from the hills, were seen running along the trail just behind the fugitives, and off on the left, beyond revolver shot. They grew constantly bolder and bolder, so that soon they were close upon the horse. They seemed to recognize the helplessness of the fugitives, pitted against so many; for the wolf gains courage from numbers, and is boldest when in big packs.