The big Wolf softened a trifle. Surely here was prospect of a mighty Kill. There would be much flesh feeding and blood drinking till they were gorged. And the Lone Dog would keep. When the Buffalo were eaten, then—He look grimly at A'tim's attenuated form. "Not much to tempt one after the sweet meat of a Grass Feeder," he muttered disconsolately. "How shall we make the Kill, Lone Dog?" he asked.
"When we have trailed them down watch till they feed apart and stampede the Cow with a fierce rush full of much cry; then all on the Bull—two in front, to put them at bay, and two behind with sharp teeth for the hamstring. That will lay him helpless as a new Calf."
"Thou art a Leader of Sorts, Lone Dog; but why not the Cow first? It's an easier task, and better eating."
"Ah, my Brothers, I see you have never run the Kings of the Prairie. While you were busy with the Cow, what think you the Bull would be doing—brushing his mane with a wet tongue? His strong horns, stronger than Wolf tusks, would be ripping your ribs, and the weight of his huge forehead would be breaking your backs—flat as a fallen leaf he would crush you. No, no; by my knowledge of these things, first the Bull—after, the Cow will be easy."
All this logic, sound though it seemed, was born of A'tim's desire for revenge upon old Shag for refusing to be murdered.
"Well, it is your Run and your Kill, and to the Trailer the say of the Kill is our Law," answered the Wolf; "lead us to the eating, and make haste lest we get too hungry."
But A'tim had started ere the Wolf had finished his implied threat. Nose to ground, and tail almost as straight as a true Wolf's, he raced through the ghost forms of silent poplars, sheared by the autumn winds of their gold-leaf mantle. Over wooded upland, and through lowland cradling the treacherous muskeg, spruce-shielded and moss-bedded, he followed the trail of old Shag and his Cow mate. Ever at his flank, one on either side, sped the young Wolves, and, lapping their quarters, loped in easy stride their giant Sire. In the Dog-Wolf's heart were revenge and the prospect of much eating, and the diplomacy that was to save his life.
"This strange Run is surely from the hand of Wie-sah-ke-chack," muttered the Pack Leader; "and of the end I have no knowledge, but, by the memory of my long fast, there will be food at the end of it for me and the Pups."
Through a black cemetery of fire-killed trees, the charred limbs cracking harshly under their eager feet, they swept. Suddenly the trail kinked sharply to the right, and the Dog-Wolf, swift-rushing, overshot it. "E-u-h! at fault," he muttered. "Some trick of the fool Cow's." Back and forth, back and forth like Setters the four Killers scurried.
"H-o-o-oh! here away!" cried A'tim, picking it up; and on again galloped the Gray Hunters.