“What do you call that, Chet?” he cried. “Looks like an old woman with a nightcap on—only she’s got two tassels on the cap and they stick up straight.”
“Wolf!” responded his chum, the instant he saw the grey figure on the rock. “And the ‘old woman’ is all right. Bet she’s a big she-wolf with a litter somewhere near. Yes, by cracky! there they are, Dig.”
“I see ’em,” Dig returned.
There were several moving figures beside the big old wolf sitting on her haunches. Dig was anxious to try and get a shot.
“No more chance of hitting her than of hitting the moon,” returned Chet, restraining him. “But I’ll tell you something right now.”
“What’s that?”
“You keep this blamed calf tagging us around for long, and we’ll have a whole pack of wolves ringing our camp. Make up your mind to that, boy.”
“‘Tagging us around’? That sounds good,” snorted Dig. “Get up there, you pest! I’ve driven this pesky creature almost far enough now.”
“Turn him loose then.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t be so cruel. Not with those wolves in sight,” said Dig, shaking his head.