Across the waste of
stunted sage she sped, the cool breeze upon her face, every muscle
strained to its utmost. Nearer and nearer came the sound; the deep,
regular bay of the timber wolf. These animals are large and fierce; they
do not go in packs, like the smaller and more cowardly breeds of wolves,
but in pairs, or, at most, six together. A pair of them will attack a
man even when he is mounted, and lucky is he if he is well armed and
cool enough to despatch one before it fastens its fangs in his horse's
throat or his own thigh.
As the brave girl ran, she cast about for some means of escape or place
of refuge. She decided to run to the railroad track and climb a
telegraph pole--a feat which, owing to her free life on the ranch, she
was perfectly capable of. Once up the pole, she could rest on the
cross-tree, in perfect safety from the wolves, and she would be sure to
be seen and rescued by the first train that came along after daybreak.
She approached the track over perfectly dry ground. To reach the
telegraph poles, she sprang nimbly into the ditch; and as she did so,
she saw a stream of water coming rapidly toward her--it was the front of
the flood.
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