With the tact of our modern generals, a line of investment is at once formed, and a system of worrying adopted. No rest now for the old bull. He can not lie down, or the beasts of prey will swarm upon him. Again and again he charges the foe, each time clearing a passage readily, but only to have it close again almost instantly. In these resultless sorties the garrison is fast using up its material of war. The ammunition is getting short which fires the old warrior, and sends the black horns, like a battering-ram, right and left among his foes. As long as he keeps his feet he lives, though hemmed in closely by the snapping and snarling multitude. The tenacity of one of these patriarchs is wonderful. For a whole life-time chief of the brutes on his native plains, he has grown up surrounded by wolves. Not fearing them himself, he has easily defended the cows and calves. An attempted siege would once have been but sport to him, and it seems difficult for the brain in the thick skull to understand that Time, like a vampire, has been sucking the juices from his joints and the blood from his veins. Tired out at length, the old bull begins to totter, and his knees to shake from sheer exhaustion. His shakiness is as fatal as that of a Wall Street bull. As he lies down the wolves are upon him. They are clinging to the shaggy form, like blood-hounds, before it has even sunk to the sod, and the victim never rises again. The cayotes are very cowardly, and when carcasses are plenty, sleep during the day in their holes, which are generally dug into the sides of some ravine. If found during the hours of light, it is usually skulking in the hollows near their burrows. They have a decidedly disagreeable penchant for serenading travelers' camps at night, so that our late experience, the guide assured me, was by no means uncommon. They will steal in from all directions, and sit quietly down on their haunches in a circle of investment. Not a sound or sign of their coming do they make, and, if on guard, one may imagine that every foot of the country immediately surrounding is visible, and utterly devoid of any animate object. All at once, as if their tails were connected by a telegraphic wire, and they had all been set going by electricity, the whole line gives voice. The initial note is the only one agreed upon. After striking that in concert, each particular cayote goes it on his own account, and the effect is so diabolical that I could readily excuse Shamus for thinking that the dismal pit had opened. At this point Dobeen approached and cut off my further gleaning of wolf lore. The corners of his mouth seemed still inclined to twitch, showing that the shock had not yet worn off. He was chilled by the night, he said, and did not feel very well, and craved our honors' permission to sleep at our feet in the tent. Consent was given, and as he left us he turned to announce his belief that animals with such voices must have big throats.