“Holloa! What are these?” he exclaimed. “Can they be wolves?”
“If they are,” said Loraine, “and they come near enough, we must shoot them, or they may interfere with our horses at night, especially as they are likely to pick up companions on the way.”
“Very well; then we will stop at once, and do you fire at one of the brutes, and I will try to kill the other,” said Hector. “What do you say, Greensnake?” he asked in Cree.
The hump-backed Indian grunted out an unintelligible reply, and pointed ahead.
“He doesn’t think it worth while to stop,” remarked Hector.
“Nor do I,” said Loraine; and they accordingly pushed on at the pace they had before been going.
After a while, Hector, looking back, exclaimed, “Why, they are not wolves at all, but a couple of dogs—Old Buster, who belongs to the Doctor, and Dan Maloney’s Muskey! They took a great fancy to me, for I used to play with them; but I had no idea of enticing them away from their masters.”
“They must have found out that we are not with the train, and bolting, followed up our trail,” remarked Loraine. “We cannot drive them back now.”
The dogs were quickly up to the riders, and seemed highly delighted to find Hector, jumping up on either side of him.
The prairie which Loraine and his companions were traversing was almost treeless; but not many years before it had been covered with a pine forest, destroyed by one of the ruthless prairie fires which so often sweep over the north-west territory. Here and there, however, by the sides of streams, or pools, numerous aspens—the fastest growing trees in that region—had again sprung up, their stems being of considerable thickness, while their light foliage gave a cheerful aspect to the otherwise dreary scenery. When the ground allowed it, they occasionally put their horses into a gallop—a pace well suited to their tempers. At the same time, they knew that they must not run the risk of knocking up their animals, or they would fail in their object of making a quick journey.