The Wolf-Leader

“Bravo!”

“But guess where he has chosen to take covert, this most accommodating of good wolves!”

“Where was it then, Mocquet?”

“If I gave you a hundred chances you wouldn’t guess! in the Three Oaks Covert.”

“We’ve got him, then?”

“I should rather think so.”

The Three Oaks Covert is a patch of trees and undergrowth, about two acres in extent, situated in the middle of the plain of Largny, about five hundred paces from the forest.

“And the keepers?” I went on.

“All had notice sent them,” replied Mocquet; “Moynat, Mildet, Vatrin, Lafeuille, all the best shots in short, are waiting in readiness just outside the forest. You and I, with Monsieur Charpentier, from Vallue, Monsieur Hochedez, from Largny, Monsieur Destournelles, from Les Fossés, are to surround the Covert; the dogs will be slipped, the field-keeper will go with them, and we shall have him, that’s certain.”

“You’ll put me in a good place, Mocquet?”

“Haven’t I said that you will be near me; but you must get up first.”

“That’s true – Brrou!”

“And I am going to have pity on your youth and put a bundle of wood in the fire-place.”

“I didn’t dare ask for it; but, on my word of honour, it will be kind of you if you will.”

Mocquet went out and brought in an armful of wood from the timber-yard, and threw it on to the hearth, poking it down with his foot; then he threw a lighted match among the twigs, and in another moment the clear bright flames were dancing and crackling up the chimney. I went and sat on the stool by the fireside, and there dressed myself; you may be sure that I was not long over my toilette; even Mocquet was astonished at my celerity.

“Now, then,” he said, “a drop of this, and then off!” And saying this, he filled two small glasses with a yellowish coloured liquor, which did not require any tasting on my part to recognize.

“You know I never drink brandy, Mocquet.”

“Ah, you are your father’s son, all over! What will you have, then?”

“Nothing, Mocquet, nothing.”

“You know the proverb: ‘Leave the house empty; the devil will be there.’ Believe me, you had better put something into your stomach, while I load your gun, for I must keep my promise to that poor mother of yours.”

“Well, then, I will have a crust of bread and a glass of pignolet.” Pignolet is a light wine made in non-winegrowing districts, generally said to require three men to drink it, one to drink, and two to hold him; I was, however, pretty well accustomed to pignolet, and could drink it up without help. So I swallowed my glass of wine while Mocquet loaded my gun.

“What are you doing, Mocquet?” I asked him.

“Making a cross on your bullet,” he replied. “As you will be near me, we shall probably let fly together, and, although I know you would give me up your share, still, for the glory of it, it will be as well to know which of us killed him, if the wolf falls. So, mind you aim straight.”

“I’ll do my best, Mocquet.”

“Here’s your gun, then, loaded for bird-shooting; and now, gun over your shoulder, and off we start.”

IX

THE meeting-place was on the road leading to Chavigny. Here we found the keepers and some of the huntsmen, and within another ten minutes those who were missing had also joined us. Before five o’clock struck, our number was complete, and then we held a council of war to decide our further proceedings. It was finally arranged that we should first take up our position round the Three Oaks Covert at some considerable distance from it, and then gradually advance so as to form a cordon round it. Everything was to be done with the utmost silence, it being well known that wolves decamp on hearing the slightest noise. Each of us was ordered to look carefully along the path he followed, to make quite sure that the wolf had not left the covert. Meanwhile the field-keeper was holding Mocquet’s hounds in leash.

One by one we took our stand facing the covert, on the spot to which our particular path had conducted us. As it happened, Mocquet and I found ourselves on the north side of the warren, which was parallel with the forest.

Mocquet had rightly said that we should be in the best place, for the wolf would in all probability try and make for the forest, and so would break covert on our side of it.

We took our stand, each in front of an oak tree, fifty paces apart from one another, and then we waited, without moving, and hardly daring to breathe. The dogs on the farther side of the warren were now uncoupled; they gave two short barks, and were then silent. The keeper followed them into the covert, calling halloo as he beat the trees with his stick. But the dogs, their eyes starting out of their heads, their lips drawn back, and their coats bristling, remained as if nailed to the ground. Nothing would induce them to move a step further.

“Halloa, Mocquet!” cried the keeper, “this wolf of yours must be an extra plucky one, Rocador and Tombelle refuse to tackle him.”

But Mocquet was too wise to make any answer, for the sound of his voice would have warned the wolf that there were enemies in that direction.

The keeper went forward, still beating the trees, the two dogs after him cautiously advancing step by step, without a bark, only now and then giving a low growl.

All of a sudden there was a loud exclamation from the keeper, who called out, “I nearly trod on his tail! the wolf! the wolf! Look out, Mocquet, look out!”

And at that moment something came rushing towards us, and the animal leapt out of the covert, passing between us like a flash of lightning. It was an enormous wolf, nearly white with age. Mocquet turned and sent two bullets after him; I saw them bound and rebound along the snow.

“Shoot, shoot!” he called out to me.

Only then did I bring my gun to the shoulder; I took aim, and fired; the wolf made a movement as if he wanted to bite his shoulder.

“We have him! we have him!” cried Mocquet, “the lad has hit his mark! Success to the innocent!”

But the wolf ran on, making straight for Moynat and Mildet, the two best shots in the country round.

Both their first shots were fired at him in the open; the second, after he had entered the forest.

The two first bullets were seen to cross one another, and ran along the ground, sending up spurts of snow; the wolf had escaped them both, but he had no doubt been struck down by the others; that the two keepers who had just fired should miss their aim, was an un-heard of thing. I had seen Moynat kill seventeen snipe one after the other; I had seen Mildet cut a squirrel in two as he was jumping from tree to tree.

The keepers went into the forest after the wolf; we looked anxiously towards the spot where they had disappeared. We saw them reappear, dejected, and shaking their heads.

“Well?” cried Mocquet interrogatively.

“Bah!” answered Mildet, with an impatient movement of his arm, “he’s at Taille-Fontaine by this time.”

“At Taille-Fontaine!” exclaimed Mocquet, completely taken aback. “What! the fools have gone and missed him, then!”

“Well, what of that? you missed him yourself, did you not?”

Mocquet shook his head.

“Well, well, there’s some devilry about this,” he said. “That I should miss him was surprising, but it was perhaps possible; but that Moynat should have shot twice and missed him is not possible, no, I say, no.”

“Nevertheless, so it is, my good Mocquet.”

“Besides, you, you hit him,” he said to me.