"Forty-four, eh?
Wal, wal, there's shore no better, if a man can hold straight." At the moment a big gray dog trotted up to sniff at Jean.

"An' heah's your bunkmate, Shepp.
He's part lofer, Jean.

His mother was a favorite shepherd dog of mine.
His father was a big timber wolf that took us two years to kill.

Some bad wolf packs runnin' this Basin." The night was cold and still, darkly bright under moon and stars; the smell of hay seemed to mingle with that of cedar.

Jean followed his father round the house and up a gentle slope of grass to the edge of the cedar line.