"Now's your chance" my pilot yelled as he banked expertly out of the dive. There, below us, was a big timber-wolf - right out in the open. The roaring motor had stopped the brute in his tracks, but from that angle he was no easy shot. The bitter blast of arctic wind nearly ripped the rifle out of my hands. I had only seconds to aim and fire.......

Luck or not, I'd hit paydirt. That wolf pelt would fetch a good $25 in bounty money. That's the jackpot the government puts up to make wolf -hunting worth a man's while. There's no record of wolves attacking men, but they're a menace to livestock and kill hundreds of deer and moose each year.

Dodging treetops to track down wolves takes a pilot who knows his stuff. Mine knew his whiskey, too. In his home nearby we enjoyed some of the best.

How it happened I'll never know, but when we landed, there was my wolf-deader than the stillness that lay about us. It's a wonder my shot even came close. Throttled way down and headed into the wind, the plane had bucked like a surfboard.

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