Mountain wolf

As old trapper Dagobert Bentson was returning from the hunt, descending into the valley, the sun was low in the west. He did not see the man in the bushes, who watched his back with blazing eyes and a face twisted with malice. The man held a long Indian bow in his hand. With a soft twang, the arrow left the bowstring and, with deadly accuracy, buried itself between the trapper’s shoulder blades. Dagobert Bentson was already dead as he fell from his horse onto the hard stones. His killer vanished as silently as a wolf…