A few paces further on, I found another, and so on, till five were
forthcoming. The sixth I did not get till the morning, which was the
only one that escaped the teeth of the marauders. It seems that my
appearance with the light drove the wolves from their prey.

Luckily for me, the weather was cold, my sheep fat, and well-butchered,
as far as bleeding was concerned, so that I was no great loser, except
by having a rather larger supply of mutton at one time than was quite
convenient for the housekeeping department.

About eleven or twelve years since, I lost in one season a flock of
sheep by the wolves. This misfortune occurred, unluckily for me, in the
hottest month of the Canadian year, July. I had not housed my sheep,
because I found that, in very sultry weather, during the fly-season,
they would not feed in the day-time, but would creep under the fences
and into the Bush for shade. I, therefore, thought it best to risk
losing some, than to spoil the whole flock; for I knew the only time
they would graze was during the night, or very early in the morning.
Consequently, for three or four years previously, I had allowed them to
run at large during the summer months.

One morning, I observed from the veranda in front of my house, a sheep,
which was standing on the opposite bank of the river. As I knew there
was no farm within two or three miles of the river in that direction, I
thought I would go over in a canoe, and see what brought it there. I
had not gone half way to the river when I discovered the mangled
carcass of one of my own sheep, and on further search found ten more,
lying, half-devoured, in different directions--the murder was now out.
The sheep I had seen on the opposite shore was one of my own, which had
taken to the water, and had thus escaped the fangs of the wolves. I saw