“Yes. For old man Feltman. He has seven,” Digby said.
“Multiply his seven by a thousand and you have a good-sized trail herd. Only there will be more crippled and strayed animals left behind a regular herd. And coyotes, wolves, and bears to pick them up.”
“Whew! Maybe we can find a wolf on this trail,” cried Dig.
“I hope not! There’s nothing wickeder in this country than a grey wolf,” declared Chet Havens.
“Why! I thought they were cowards. Everybody says: ‘As cowardly as a wolf.’”
“Then everybody is mistaken,” said Chet firmly. “Don’t you fool yourself. They are not like coyotes. Rafe has told me that an old she wolf, especially with young, will go out of her way to attack man.”
“Gidap!” exclaimed Dig. “Rafe was stringing you.”
“I don’t think so. And when they run in packs, I’ve read that wolves are very dangerous indeed.”
“Well! we might find a maverick along this trail,” urged Dig. “Say! a yearling that hadn’t been branded might sell for a few dollars at Grub Stake.”
“Goodness me! Do you think for a minute we can stop to drive a dogy all the way to Grub Stake?” laughed Chet.