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    A man named Russell, a resident at the Summit Farm, some twelve miles south of this city, got frightened out of three years growth, as well as considerably astonished at the cool impudence of a pack of prairie wolves, five in number, who, as Mr. Russel, in the company of a young woman was jogging quietly townward yesterday morning, suddenly appeared from behind a hay-stack and posted themselves directly in the road, squatting on their little hanuches and grinning with their little teeth as if Mr. Russell and his turnout was simply Red Riding Hood, ready to be eaten without salt or questions. The horses stopped and could not be induced to proceed, nor were any of Mr. Russell’s endeavors to secure his undoubted right of way, in the least heeded by the wolves who held their victims at bay for half an hour or more until his shouts attracted the attention of a farmer living on the prairie at some distance, who came with his dog and gun, at sight of which every whelp of a lupus, incontinently left. The adventure was an unusual one within one hour’s ride of a city of one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants.
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