lessened and lessened. A long hour thumped away, with the rumble
growing nearer.

Once again the lagging calves dotted the grassy plain before the
hunter. He dashed beside a burly calf, grasped its tail, stopped
his horse, and jumped. The calf went down with him, and did not
come up. The knotted, blood-stained hands, like claws of steel,
bound the hind legs close and fast with a leathern belt, and left
between them a torn and bloody sock.

"Seven! On! Old Faithfull! We MUST have another! the last! This
is your day."

The blood that flecked the hunter was not all his own.

The sun slanted westwardly toward the purpling horizon; the
grassy plain gleamed like a ruffled sea of glass; the gray wolves
loped on.

When next the hunter came within sight of the herd, over a wavy
ridge, changes in its shape and movement met his gaze. The calves
were almost done; they could run no more; their mothers faced the
south, and trotted slowly to and fro; the bulls were grunting,
herding, piling close. It looked as if the herd meant to stand
and fight.

This mattered little to the hunter who had captured seven calves
since dawn. The first limping calf he reached tried to elude the
grasping hand and failed. Kentuck had been trained to wheel to
the right or left, in whichever way his rider leaned; and as