lust from Mulvaney's brain. He calculated coldly, returned to his original problem. There must be a way!
He thought of exorcism and rejected it. They would need the services of the priest at Lastwater. But he wouldn't do. The presence of holy water showed his hand behind the readiness of the ranchers. Mulvaney could not know the futility of exorcism as Father d'Arcy understood it. The priest had another thought in mind.
The moon sunk low in the west while they ran. The day would break before long.
At the edge of the timber ringing their own valley, the gray wolf halted the pack and scented the breeze. The gray-furred muzzle twitched at the hateful odor cloying the air. It was the smell of menmen between the pack and the water they must gain before dawn!
It had been clever of the ranchers to enter the valley while its people were gone. For a long time they had waited in the shadow of the cottonwoods. At Sam Carver's back, the dark waters of Were Creek gurgled musically. In front of him, the westward slanting rays of the moon shed a dim radiance over the silent fields of Were Valley. The lanky man at his side uttered a low-voiced curse.
"What's eatin' you, Slim?"
"Damned if I know, boss," replied the man who used to trap wolves for the bounty. "'Spect it's ants!"
He backed cautiously out of the undergrowth and lay down a yard farther away.
"We have to wait all night?" he complained.
"The padre says they'll come back before dawn."
"How do we know they will?"
"Reckon the padre's about right, don't you? We find the whole damn town deserted. It's enough to give you the creeps!"
"If it's so certain they was goin' to attack the herd tonight, why didn't we trap 'em there?"
"It's a problem we got to solve all at once, Slim. Most of 'em would have got away. This way, we've got 'em all. They have to reach this creek before sunup. It's the only water for miles around."
He peered sharply at the somber forest on the slope. Slim started to move again.
"Hold it, Slim!"
The lanky cowboy wriggled closer, shoving the muzzle of his rifle into the clear.
"What's up?"
"Thereat the edge o' the timber! See anything?"
Slim peered earnestly through the baffling light.
"Theresomethin' white moving in the woods!"
Slim cursed softly.
"Them's wolves, old-timer!"
He readied his piece. Carver restrained him with a hand on his arm.
"Wait'll they get in the clear. It's nearly mornin' an' they're desperate for the water. We can wait."
The slim cowboy relaxed and made a sound like a sleepy owl. Another owl answered from upstream, and one from lower in the valley.
"The boys are ready, boss."
"All right. Give 'em the signal to fire when I say so."
The old rancher stared hard at the fleeting shapes that skulked at the forest's edge. The wolves appeared to be nervous and restless. A blot detached itself from the shadow of the woods and trotted a few yards into the open. A white shape joined it, and the two stood sniffing.
"Damn!" growled the rancher. "They've got our scent!"
One by one, the wolves began to leave the shelter of the timber. There seemed to be hundreds of them to the breathlessly waiting ranchers. The mass moved cautiously down the grassy slope.
