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Title: The Black Wolf Pack
Author: Dan Beard
Release Date: July 19, 2007 [EBook #22109]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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NATIONAL SCOUT COMMISSIONER, B.S.A.
ILLUSTRATED
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

NEW YORK
[Illustration: It was a shadowy figure yet it moved]
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY BOYS' LIFE
Printed in the United States of America
_All rights reserved. No part of this book

After numerous visits to a number of remote and unfrequented places in
the Rocky Mountains, from Wyoming to Alberta, the writer was deeply
impressed with the awesome mystery of the wilderness and the weird
legends he heard around the camp fires, while the bigness of the things
he saw was photographed on his brain so distinctly and permanently as to
act as a compelling force causing him, aye, almost forcing him to write
about it.

When the spell came upon him, like the Ancient Mariner, he needs must
tell the story, and thus the tale of the Black Wolf Pack was written
with no thought, at the time, of publishing the narrative, but primarily
for the real enjoyment the author derived from writing it, and also for
the entertainment of the author's family and intimate friends.

The tale, however, pleased the members of the Editorial Board of the Boy Scouts of America, and Mr. Franklin K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian, asked permission to have it edited for the Scout Magazine, which request was cheerfully granted.

The author hereby freely and cheerfully acknowledges the useful changes
and practical suggestions injected into the story by his friend and
associate, Mr. Irving Crump, Editor of Boys' Life, in which magazine the
Black Wolf Pack, in somewhat abbreviated form, first appeared.

FACING PAGE
The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt
... and struck the bull

It was a terrible shock to me (said the Scoutmaster as he fingered a
beaded buckskin bag). Old Blink Broosmore was responsible. It was a
malicious thing for him to do. He meant it to be mean, too,--wanted to
hurt me,--to wound my feelings and make me ashamed. And all because he
nursed a grudge against dad--I mean Mr. Crawford.

It started because of that defective spark-plug in the engine of the
roadster. Strange what a tiny thing such as a crack in a porcelain
jacket around an old spark-plug can do in the way of changing the course
of a fellow's whole life.

My last period in the afternoon at high school was a study period and I
cut it because I had several things to do down town. I hurried home and
took the roadster, and on my way out mother--I mean Mrs. Crawford--gave
me an armful of books to return to the library and a list of errands she
wanted me to do. While motoring down town I noticed that one cylinder
was missing occasionally and I told myself I would change that
spark-plug as soon as I got home.

I made all the stops I had planned and even drove around to the church
because I wanted to look in at the parish house where some of my scouts
(I was the assistant scoutmaster of Troop 6, of Marlborough) were
putting up decorations for the very first Fathers and Sons dinner ever
given which we were to have on Washington's birthday. That was in 1911.

"Just in time to catch dad and drive him home from the office," I said
to myself, for I knew that he left the office of his big paper-mill
down at the docks at five o'clock.

I jumped into the car and bowled along down Spring Street and the Front Street hill and arrived at the mill office at exactly five. Dad wasn't in sight so I decided to turn around and wait for him at the curb. That is how the trouble started. I got part way around on the hill when that cylinder began missing a lot and next thing I knew the motor stalled and there was I with my car crosswise on the hill, blocking traffic--and