“Wolf!” responded his chum, the instant he saw the grey figure on the rock. “And the ‘old woman’ is all right. Bet she’s a big she-wolf with a litter somewhere near. Yes, by cracky! there they are, Dig.” “I see ’em,” Dig returned. There were several moving figures beside the big old wolf sitting on her haunches. Dig was anxious to try and get a shot. “No more chance of hitting her than of hitting the moon,” returned Chet, restraining him. “But I’ll tell you something right now.” “What’s that?” “You keep this blamed calf tagging us around for long, and we’ll have a whole pack of wolves ringing our camp. Make up your mind to that, boy.” “‘Tagging us around’? That sounds good,” snorted Dig. “Get up there, you pest! I’ve driven this pesky creature almost far enough now.” “Turn him loose then.” “Oh, no! I couldn’t be so cruel. Not with those wolves in sight,” said Dig, shaking his head. “Make up your mind that he is going to attract night prowlers.” “Good! I want to get a shot at something besides grouse.” “Never mind. Deer liver for supper to-night,” said Chet. “And the tongue. That’s a fat doe; there’ll be plenty of kidney suet to fry the meat in. Whew! I’m hungry now,” cried Digby. “Never saw such a disgracefully hungry person in my life,” declared his chum. “Always thinking of your stomach.” They did not see the wolves again as they came out upon the edge of the great prairie. Indeed, they saw no animal. The prairie rolled away before them as far as they could see. To the north and to the south were lines of hills; but a haze almost hid the higher Rockies toward which they were bound. Chet stopped at a stream and they filled their canteens. “Try to be careful with it,” he advised Digby. “We’re not sure that we shall reach another stream to camp beside. I’m not so sure of the trail from here on, anyway.” “I’ll get a good drink right here, then,” said his chum, climbing carefully down. With the maverick to take care of he had to be cautious as to his movements. It was not safe to leave the lead-rope tied to the fork of his saddle, for if the calf pulled when the saddle was empty, Poke immediately backed around preparatory to throwing his heels at the blatting young calf. Now Dig kneeled down at the edge of the stream above where the horses were drinking. Stone Fence had dropped down on the grass, chewing a cud, but evidently tired. The run had been a hard one for him. Poke lifted his head, “blew” softly, and felt the tug of the leash at his saddle. The black’s wicked ears shot backward and he turned his head to mark the place where Stone Fence contentedly chewed his cud. “Look out, Dig!” cried Chet, who was just raising himself into his own saddle. But his chum’s head was down for another drink. He did not hear.