Lobo, Rag and Vixen | Page 6

placed six powerful steel traps properly
deodorized and concealed with the utmost care. During my operations I
kept my hands, boots, and implements smeared with fresh blood, and
afterward sprinkled the ground with the same, as though it had flowed

from the head; and when the traps were buried in the dust I brushed the
place over with the skin of a coyote, and with a foot of the same animal
made a number of tracks over the traps. The head was so placed that
there was a narrow passage between it and some tussocks, and in this
passage I buried two of my best traps, fastening them to the head itself.
Wolves have the habit of approaching every carcass they get the wind
of, in order to examine it, even when they have no intention of eating it,
and I hoped that this habit would bring the Currumpaw pack within
reach of my latest stratagem. I did not doubt that Lobo would detect my
handiwork about the meat, and prevent the pack approaching it, but I
did build some hopes on the head, for it looked as though it had been
thrown aside as useless.
Next morning, I sallied forth to inspect the traps, and there, oh, joy!
were the tracks of the pack, and the place where the beef-head and its
traps had been was empty. A hasty study of the trail showed that Lobo
had kept the pack from approaching the meat, but one, a small wolf,
had evidently gone on to examine the head as it lay apart and had
walked right into one of the traps.
We set out on the trail, and within a mile discovered that the hapless
wolf was Blanca. Away she went, however, at a gallop, and although
encumbered by the beef-head, which weighed over fifty pounds, she
speedily distanced my companion who was on foot. But we overtook
her when she reached the rocks, for the horns of the cow's head became
caught and held her fast. She was the handsomest wolf I had ever seen.
Her coat was in perfect condition and nearly white.
She turned to fight, and raising her voice in the rallying cry of her race,
sent a long howl rolling over the cañon. From far away upon the mesa
came a deep response, the cry of Old Lobo. That was her last call, for
now we had closed in on her, and all her energy and breath were
devoted to combat.
Then followed the inevitable tragedy, the idea of which I shrank from
afterward more than at the time. We each threw a lasso over the neck of
the doomed wolf, and strained our horses in opposite directions until
the blood burst from her mouth, her eyes glazed, her limbs stiffened
and then fell limp. Homeward then we rode, carrying the dead wolf,
and exulting over this, the first death-blow we had been able to inflict
on the Currumpaw pack.

At intervals during the tragedy, and afterward as we rode homeward,
we heard the roar of Lobo as he wandered about on the distant mesas,
where he seemed to be searching for Blanca. He had never really
deserted her, but knowing that he could not save her, his deep-rooted
dread of firearms had been too much for him when he saw us
approaching. All that day we heard him wailing as he 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 cañon, 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 heart-broken 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,