And hardly had the sound of the shots died when faint and far away, but clear as a bell, bayed on the wind the same haunting mourn of a trailing wolf.
"Ho! Ho! where are the wolves ?" cried Rea.
A waiting, watching, sleepless night followed.

Again the hunters faced the south.

Hour after hour, riding, running, walking, they urged the poor, jaded, poisoned dogs.

At dark they reached the head of Artillery Lake.

Rea placed the tepee between two huge stones.