roamed in his quest, and I remarked at length to one of the boys,
"Now, indeed, I truly know that Blanca was his mate."

As evening fell he seemed to be coming toward the home ca¤on,
for his voice sounded continually nearer.

There was an unmistakable note of sorrow in it now. It was no
longer the loud, defiant howl, but a long, plaintive wail; "Blanca!
Blanca!" he seemed to call. And as night came down, I noticed that
he was not far from the place where we had overtaken her. At
length he seemed to find the trail, and when he came to the spot
where we had killed her, his heartbroken wailing was piteous to
hear. It was sadder than I could possibly have believed. Even the
stolid cowboys noticed it, and said they had "never heard a wolf
carry on like that before." He seemed to know exactly what had
taken place, for her blood had stained the place of her death.

Then he took up the trail of the horses and followed it to the
ranch-house. Whether in hopes of finding her there, or in quest of
revenge, I know not, but the latter was what he found, for he
surprised our unfortunate watchdog outside and tore him to little
bits within fifty yards of the door. He evidently came alone this
time, for I found but one trail next morning, and he had galloped
about in a reckless manner that was very unusual with him. I
had half expected this, and had set a number of additional traps
about the pasture. Afterward I found that he had indeed fallen into
one of these, but, such was his strength, he had torn himself loose
and cast it aside.

I believed that he would continue in the neighborhood until he