the fleetest buck that ever ran over the ground, and allow his rider to shoot at short range. Many and familiar were the times when, with only two or three hours to spare, the young lover of the chase would loose Bertran from the stall, throw over the saddle, fasten it with a surcingle of platted buckskin thongs, put into his mouth the smooth bit of a bridle ornamented with trophies of the chase-four wolf-tails-one at each side of the browband, and one at each ring in the bit. Whenever that bridle went on, the fire would come into Bertran's eye, and he was so restless then, that to mount him was to to leap with him into the air. Bertran wanted his keeper to get into the saddle, but he wanted him, to understand that, after he was in it, he would need neither spur nor lash. The first note of the horn that always hung at the saddle would bring the great dogs to the scene, and they moved out into the hunting-grounds at half speed. Any day a wolf could be started in an hour or such matter, and then, with the speed of the wind, they would run a mile or two, and the wolf would turn to bay. Then a rugged battle of a minute, and all was over. The horse's head would drop to pick at the tufts of grass in reach of him; he would scent in a quiet way the carcass of the animal just taken, take a

long breath, and then turn with his rider and walk homeward as quietly as a family roadster.

One morning Bertran was saddled for a halfday's wolf-hunt. The hunter was soon in the saddle, and a turn on the horn brought the dogs bounding from the kennel. This day, horse and dogs and rider were in unusual spirits. A halfhour of brisk movement brought them into the skirts of the famous Wea Plains. As luck would have it, the dogs started, in the edge of the timber, a black timber-wolf-or as ill-luck would have it for the dogs had flushed this old fellow two or three times, and each time he would take down the ravine and stay in the timber. In these cases the dogs would be called off. A grey-hound, as you know, runs by sight, and can not run in the timber. He laps himself around trees and bushes to his own destruction. His speed is such, with his length, that he is not able to make the quick turns necessary to miss the trees. A black wolf is about a third larger than a prarie-wolf, and he can run about a third faster than any wild animal known. It was believed by hunters that a grey-hound could not catch him.

This particular hunter, with his special equipment, was particularly ambitious; and each time this black wolf was started, he was wish

ing that he might move out into open ground, and give the dogs a chance. But the rider was used to saying to his dogs in this case: "Come here, Heakle; come back, Bruno; he is afraid to cut out over the prairie."

This morning the hunter was reining his horse as near the bushes as possible, with a faint hope that if the black wolf started from this region of his hiding, he might be induced to cross the open country. Of the two dogs, Bruno was the elder; in fact, he had seen his best days. He was about twenty-six inches. high, pale-bluish ash in color, with a fine scent, and always followed his prey with such speed. as to have never known defeat. He was a dog of remarkable courage and sagacity. He had about him a wolfish aspect, so much so that, had it not been for his size, he would have been marked with the disgrace of having a few drops of wolf-blood in him. He was a pure greyhound. So was Heakle, a fine young dog, who did not really know his own speed. A prairiewolf did not tax him. He could play in front of a deer at pleasure, and jump from side to side. He knew Bertran could outrun him, and that is all. As they expected, the black wolf started from the grass directly; but, to their astonishment, and in a daring way, he started out

over the prairie, as if intending to cross it to the timber, which was out of sight on the other side. The horse first caught sight of the wolf, and went into the air in a moment. The hunter gave a yell that brought both dogs with a great leap into the air to sight the game. Bruno got the direction; but the young dog was behind a covert of bushes, and lost time by running in the wrong direction till he got the course of the chase by the yells.

Bruno was in the lead; the horse and rider next, as if to say, "Now, you black varmint, if you go out over there, you must go in a hurry." Before the young dog caught the direction, they were in the short grass of the open prairie a hundred yards away; but with every leap in this time, the hunter's yell helped the old dog to cover his distance. This wolf had been used to having a spurt through the timber, then a rest; so, unwary of his danger, Bruno crept on him for the first half mile. Four rods between them. Horse and rider just behind. The young dog coming. Now begins the battle. Will this team fail to take the fastest game in the forest, and with a fair chance? Horse and rider urge the old dog up to two rods, but not another inch. Everything is on its mettle now. The rider is lost in the wild excitement.

Bruno is stirred to

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his work as never before. He runs with all the canine expectation that had never known defeat in a fair chance, so it is his first experience in a halting game. The wolf bounds ahead. The old dog gains an inch now, and then loses it.

The great horse is on fire. He scents the game, and every nerve is awake-every muscle at full play. His nostrils are dilated, the fine foam flying from his mouth and striking the hunter in the face; his powerful lungs are in complete action, and, with a heavy man on him, he leaps like a hart, and has to be held in. On they go. The old dog is urged to heroic work. "Now, now, Bruno, if you ever did go, take him now-take him now-now-now!" The wolf has gained a length, and the hunter loses hope. He turns in his saddle: "Heakle, Heakle! Come on, come on! Bruno can't get him!"

The young dog is coming; but it is a fearful distance to make up, when blue lightning leads the chase. "Go now, Bruno; go now! If you were two years younger you would get him! You are twenty feet away now, Bruno. Five more feet, and he flinches. Ho! Bertran, ho! Ho! steady now-go, old boy-go-go!" Dog and wolf are now to their limits. There is not a break or falter in the fearful race of life and death. They are all running without a sound,