The Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon | Page 6

realizing what had occurred, and that in all probability the first bullet
would only wound the savage beast, without putting an end to her
activities.
The torch went sputtering to the floor of the cave, having been knocked
from the hand of Hank when the wolf struck him heavily. He could be
heard trying to rescue it before it went completely out, all the while
letting off a volley of whoops and directions.

Fortunately Frank had kept his wits about him. And his rifle was still
gripped firmly in his hands, he having instantly pumped a new
cartridge into the chamber after firing. The half grown cubs showed an
inclination to follow their mother in her headlong attack on the human
invaders of the den; for the numerous gleaming pairs of eyes were
undoubtedly advancing when Frank turned his gun loose on them.
The din was simply terrific. Bob was more concerned with the
possibility of an attack from the ferocious mother wolf then anything
else. He had lost track of her after that first furious rush, and crouching
there, was trying the best he knew how to locate the creature again.
Meanwhile Old Hank had succeeded in picking up the torch, which,
being held in an upright position, began to shed a fair amount of light
once more.
Not seeing anything else at which he could fire, Bob now started in to
assist his chum get rid of the ugly whelps that were advancing,
growling, snarling, and in various other ways proving how they had
inherited the fearless nature of the beast that had nursed them in that
den.
Perhaps it was all one-sided, since the animals never had a chance to
get in touch with the invaders. Neither of the boys ever felt very proud
of the work; but in view of the tremendous amount of damage a pack of
hungry wolves can do on a cattle ranch, or in a sheepfold, they had no
scruples concerning the matter. Besides, every one along the Arizona
border hated a wolf almost as badly as they did a cowardly coyote; for
while the former may be bolder than the beast that slinks across the
desert looking for carrion, its capacity for mischief is a good many
times as great.
"I don't see any more eyes, Frank!" called out Bob, presently, as he
tried to penetrate the cloud of powder-smoke that surrounded both of
them.
"That's because we got 'em all, I reckon," replied his chum. "How about
that, Hank?"

"Cleaned the hull brood out, son," replied the other, chuckling; "an' no
mistake about it either."
"But where did the big one go to; has she escaped after all?" asked Bob,
with a note of regret in his voice; for he thought the blame would be
placed on him, for having made a poor shot when he had such a
splendid chance to finish the animal.
"Oh! I wouldn't worry myself about her, Bob," chuckled Frank, who
had already made a discovery; and as he spoke he pointed to a spot
close by, where, huddled in a heap, lay the heavy body of the fiercest
cattle thief known for years along the border.
"She was mortally hurted by the fust shot," said Hank, as they stood
over the gaunt animal, and surveyed her proportions with almost a
touch of awe; "but seemed like the critter had enough strength left t'
make thet leap, as nigh knocked me flat. Then she jest keeled over, an'
guv up the ghost. Arter this the young heifers kin stray away from their
mother's sides, without bein' dragged off. Thar'll be a vote o' thanks
sent ter ye, Bob, from every ranch inside of fifty mile, 'cause of what ye
did when ye pulled trigger this day."
Hank, being an experienced worker, did not take very long to secure
the pelt of the dead terror of the desert. Then they left the rocks, finding
their horses just where they had left them.
All of the animals showed signs of alarm when they scented the skin of
the wolf; and Domino in particular pranched and snorted at a great rate
since his education had been neglected in this particular. So Hank,
having the best trained steed in the bunch, insisted on carrying the pelt
with him on their return trip to the ranch.
Ten miles, as the crow flies, and they would be at home; and with
comparatively fresh steeds, that should not count for more than an
hour's gallop.
Before they had gone three miles, however, Bob called the attention of
his chum to a horseman who was galloping toward them. It was a

cowboy, and he waved his broad-brimmed hat over his head as he came
sweeping forward.
"Is he doing stunts; or does he want us?" asked