WHAT A TIMBER WOLF DID
By S. C. Turnbo

Among the narratives of hunting is the following which was told me by the old timer Joe Hall who died near Pontiac, Mo., in the month of May, 1900, and is buried in the graveyard at the mouth of Bratton’s Spring Creek. Mr. Hall in relating the story said that "many years ago I and another hunter whose name I disremember now were one day hunting on horseback near the three tall hills known as the Brothers when we saw a large wolf leap out from among a bunch of small cedars that stood against a low edge of rock and ran beyond our view. We had two dogs with us that had proved to be brave while in contact with a bear. When the wolf started off in a run the two dogs gave chase. We supposed that there were a lot of young wolves under the cedar bushes and dismounting we made a search for them but did not find any, and we had just got out from among the cedars when we saw one of the dogs coming at full speed pursued by the same wolf. Both animals did their best running. The cliff or ledge was between 4 and 5 feet high and we were standing 6 feet from it. The dog made straight toward us with the wolf near his heels and gaining on the frightened canine at each bound and it did not take the racing animals but a few moments to reach the top of the ledge and the dog in its frantic efforts to escape the wolf leaped over the ledge of rook and jumped over our heads and struck the ground a few yards in our rear and stopped. The wolf halted on the brink of the ledge and looked at us in a vicious manner. We could have easily shot it but its sudden appearance and boldness put a bluff on us both and we stood with our rifles in our hands and forgot to shoot. Of course it did not remain there long before it wheeled about and ran back the way it had come. The other dog failed to put in an appearance and we mounted our horses and rode off the way the two dogs had chased the wolf from the cliff and found him a half a mile from the cliff badly wounded. He was not able to stand on his feet. It turned out that while the two dogs were pressing the wolf so close that the latter had stopped for a fight and had nearly killed this dog and chased the other one back to us. But in the race the dog had run a circuit and reached us from another direction from the way the wolf had run from the ledge. I took the helpless dog up before me on the horse and carried him home where we lived on White River below the mouth of Jimmie’s Creek. The dog finally got well but he never got over that scare from the drubbing that wolf gave him and after that he was afraid of wolves as long as he lived."

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