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Duffield, J. W.

"Bert Wilson in the Rockies"

He was off like a streak, with my mount a close second.
"I glanced back over my shoulder, hoping that we could gain a little
ground before the wolves quit their wrangling over the supplies I had
thrown out to them, but was disappointed. They were after us again in
full cry, and my heart sank.
"I turned in the saddle and sent shot after shot into the racing pack,
and succeeded in checking them a little, but not much. The horse was
galloping at a good clip now, though, and I knew that if we could keep
ahead for a short time longer we would reach the camp.
"The wolves overtook us without seeming effort, however, and were soon
snapping about the horse's heels. My rifle was of little use now, and
I drew my revolvers and blazed away at short range. Every shot took
effect, but the wolves were nothing daunted. As I told you before, when
the timber wolf gets his blood up he is absolutely fearless. No sooner
did one of the great gray brutes drop than another leaped into his place,
his green eyes glowing balefully and his jaws snapping.
"When both my revolves were empty I clubbed my rifle, and lashed away at
the long-pointed heads that were so close to me.


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