assembling to the feast. He would find some carcass in the opening, and he turned aside to investigate. The carrion hosts flapped away at his approach, protesting raucously at this interruption of their banquet. Out in the open spot he could see a dead cow elk.
Moran knew there were but three beasts in the hills who could kill an elk; the grizzly, the mountain lion and the wolf. The fact that the elk lay in open country eliminated the first. Few grizzlies are killers and those who are invariably stalk their prey in dense, down-timbered spots. They must creep close enough for a short rush and then tear and hammer down their meat by sheer strength. The mountain lion launches himself for the back, strikes his talons deep through skin and flesh and rides his victim to death, his teeth buried ever deeper in the neck.
As Moran drew near he had no slightest doubt as to the identity of the slayer. The severed hamstrings convicted the wolf.
The birds had hopped about and obliterated most of the other signs. In a spot of moist earth he could make out one track and whistled in surprise at its size. He wondered if it was possible that one last buffalo gray still lingered in the hills.
