Lobo, Rag and Vixen | Page 2

thousand of the
finest stock, for, as was only too well-known, they selected the best in
every instance.
The old idea that a wolf was constantly in a starving state, and therefore
ready to eat anything, was as far as possible from the truth in this case,
for these freebooters were always sleek and well-conditioned, and were
in fact most fastidious about what they ate. Any animal that had died
from natural causes, or that was diseased or tainted, they would not
touch, and they even rejected anything that had been killed by the

stockmen. Their choice and daily food was the tenderer part of a freshly
killed yearling heifer. An old bull or cow they disdained, and though
they occasionally took a young calf or colt, it was quite clear that veal
or horseflesh was not their favorite diet. It was also known that they
were not fond of mutton, although they often amused themselves by
killing sheep. One night in November, 1893, Blanca and the yellow
wolf killed two hundred and fifty sheep, apparently for the fun of it,
and did not eat an ounce of their flesh.
These are examples of many stories which I might repeat, to show the
ravages of this destructive band. Many new devices for their extinction
were tried each year, but still they lived and throve in spite of all the
efforts of their foes. A great price was set on Lobo's head, and in
consequence poison in a score of subtle forms was put out for him, but
he never failed to detect and avoid it. One thing only he feared--that
was firearms, and knowing full well that all men in this region carried
them, he never was known to attack or face a human being. Indeed, the
set policy of his band was to take refuge in flight whenever, in the
daytime, a man was descried, no matter at what distance. Lobo's habit
of permitting the pack to eat only that which they themselves had killed,
was in numerous cases their salvation, and the keenness of his scent to
detect the taint of human hands or the poison itself, completed their
immunity.
On one occasion, one of the cowboys heard the too familiar
rallying-cry of Old Lobo, and stealthily approaching, he found the
Currumpaw pack in a hollow, where they had 'rounded up' a small herd
of cattle. Lobo sat apart on a knoll, while Blanca with the rest was
endeavoring to 'cut out' a young cow, which they had selected; but the
cattle were standing in a compact mass with their heads outward, and
presented to the foe a line of horns, unbroken save when some cow,
frightened by a fresh onset of the wolves, tried to retreat into the middle
of the herd. It was only by taking advantage of these breaks that the
wolves had succeeded at all in wounding the selected cow, but she was
far from being disabled, and it seemed that Lobo at length lost patience
with his followers, for he left his position on the hill, and, uttering a
deep roar, dashed toward the herd. The terrified rank broke at his
charge, and he sprang in among them. Then the cattle scattered like the
pieces of a bursting bomb. Away went the chosen victim, but ere she

had gone twenty-five yards Lobo was upon her. Seizing her by the neck
he suddenly held back with all his force and so threw her heavily to the
ground. The shock must have been tremendous, for the heifer was
thrown heels over head. Lobo also turned a somersault, but
immediately recovered himself, and his followers falling on the poor
cow, killed her in a few seconds. Lobo took no part in the killing--after
having thrown the victim, he seemed to say, "Now, why could not
some of you have done that at once without wasting so much time?"
The man now rode up shouting, the wolves as usual retired, and he,
having a bottle of strychnine, quickly poisoned the carcass in three
places, then went away, knowing they would return to feed, as they had
killed the animals themselves. But next morning, on going to look for
his expected victims, he found that, although the wolves had eaten the
heifer, they had carefully cut out and thrown aside all those parts that
had been poisoned.
The dread of this great wolf spread yearly among the ranchmen, and
each year a larger price was set on his head, until at last it reached
$1,000, an unparalleled wolf-bounty, surely; many a good man has
been hunted down for less. Tempted by the promised reward, a Texan
ranger named Tannerey came one day galloping up the cañon of the
Currumpaw. He had a superb outfit for wolf-hunting--the best of guns
and