“More ‘n fifty wolves eroun’ here,” he whispered as we ran up to him.  “Never see sech a snag on ’em.”

The sheep were stirring nervously.  Near the pen a wolf lay kicking where D’ri had dropped him.

“Rest on ’em snooked off when the gun hollered,” he went on, whispering as before.

My mother and grandmother sat with my sisters in the cart, hushing their murmurs of fear.  Early in the evening I had tied Rover to the cart-wheel, where he was growling hotly, impatient of the leash.

“See?” said D’ri, pointing with his finger.  “See ’em?—­there ’n the dark by thet air big hemlock.”

We could make out a dim stir in the shadows where he pointed.  Presently we heard the spring and rattle of a trap.  As we turned that way, the other trap took hold hard; as it sprang, we could hear a wolf yelp.

“Meks ’em holler,” said D’ri, “thet ol’ he-trap does, when it teks holt.  Stay here by the sheep, ‘n’ I ’ll go over ‘n’ give ’em somethin’ fer spraint ankles.”

Other wolves were swarming over the dead deer, and the two in the traps were snarling and snapping at them.  My father and D’ri fired at the bunch, killing one of the captives and another—­the largest wolf I ever saw.  The pack had slunk away as they heard the rifles.  Our remaining captive struggled to get free, but in a moment D’ri had brained him with an axe.  He and my father reset our traps and hauled the dead wolves into the firelight.  There they began to skin them, for the bounty was ten dollars for each in the new towns—­a sum that made our adventure profitable.  I built fires on the farther side of the sheep, and, as they brightened, I could see, here and there, the gleaming eyes of a wolf in the darkness.  I was up all night heaping wood upon the fires, while D’ri and my father skinned the wolves and dressed the deer.  I remember, as they worked, D’ri calmed himself with the low-sung, familiar music of:—­

  Li too rul I oorul I oorul I ay.

They had just finished when the cock crew.

“Holler, ye gol-dum little cuss!” D’ri shouted as he went over to him.  “Can’t no snookin’ wolf crack our bones fer us.  Peeled ’em—­thet ’s what we done tew ’em!  Tuk ‘n’ knocked ’em head over heels.  Judas Priest!  He can peck a man’s finger some, can’t he?”

The light was coming, and he went off to the spring for water, while I brought the spider and pots.  The great, green-roofed temple of the woods, that had so lately rung with the howl of wolves, began to fill with far wandering echoes of sweet song.

“They was a big cat over there by the spring las’ night,” said D’ri, as we all sat down to breakfast.  “Tracks bigger ’n a griddle!  Smelt the mutton, mos’ likely.”

“Like mutton?” I inquired.

“Yis-sir-ee, they dew,” said he.  “Kind o’ mince-pie fer ’em.  Like deer-meat, tew.  Snook eroun’ the ponds efter dark.  Ef they see a deer ’n the water they wallop ’im quicker ‘n lightnin’; jump right in k’slap ‘n’ tek ’im.”