The Wild Hunter chuckled in an amused manner. “Thanks to Pluto, I said. But Pluto is that black wolf-dog over there, nevertheless. I think that the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a nicety.” He pointed to the massive, deep-chested, long-haired, long-limbed, vicious looking leader of his black wolf pack where it was chained to a post. The great animal glared at his master when his name was mentioned. He crouched twenty feet away with his slanting green eyes fixed constantly on his master’s face and in them ever flared a fierce, wicked fire. “Yes, you son of Satan, you and your hybrid whelps have helped me do all this in spite of the fact that you hate me, and would love to tear me limb from limb. You splendid, ugly brute, you are insensible to kindness!” I noticed that whenever he looked the wolf in the face his own countenance became grim and his eyes exceedingly fierce and not unlike the wolf itself in expression. [Illustration: “I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a nicety”] “He hates me,” he continued, turning to us, “because of his ancestors. In him is the blood of a Great Dane noted for its strength, size and ferocity, a fierce brute which I brought over the mountains with me many years ago. Pluto’s mother was a pure black wolf of a mean disposition, and his father the half-breed son of a Great Dane and a she-wolf. He is the fiercest and most bloodthirsty beast in the whole pack, he hates me with the intense hatred of his wolfish nature, he hates me because he knows that I am the master of the pack, the real leader, and he is jealous. Since his puppy days he has watched for a chance to kill me; twice he nearly succeeded—the time will no doubt come when it will be his life or mine. Yet because of his wonderful strength, endurance and sagacity, I could almost love him. “His breed does not want to recognize any master. But _I am_ his master!” cried the Wild Hunter as his eyes flashed and he struck himself on his chest, “and he knows it. The only way, however, that I keep my power over him and his pack is by forcing myself to think every time I speak to them, now I am going to _kill you_, and brutes though they are they can read my mind and fear me. Besides which self-interest helps a little towards their loyalty. With me for a leader there is always a kill at the end of the hunt, and they know that they come in for a share of the food. “Sometimes I fear the wolves will break loose and attack my Indians, which I would very much regret, for the Redmen are faithful fellows and we form a happy community. The Indians look upon me as Big Medicine because I can control these medicine wolves.” Big Pete looked at the man with open admiration, a man who by the sheer power of his will could control a band of wolves, any one of which was powerful enough to kill an ox, certainly was a man to please the wild nature of Big Pete. “But,” said Pete, “you say Pluto has helped you. How?” he asked.