And this is not strange at all, as might be supposed by those who
think animals are governed by fear on one hand and savage cruelty on the
other, but is one of the commonest things to be found by those who
follow faithfully the northern trails.
Wayeeses had chosen her den well, on the edge of the untrodden
solitudes--sixty miles as the crow flies--that stretch northward from
Harbor Weal to Harbor Woe. It was just under the ridge, in a sunny
hollow among the rocks, on the southern slope of the great mountains.
The earliest sunshine found the place and warmed it, bringing forth the
bluebells for a carpet, while in every dark hollow the snow lingered all
summer long, making dazzling white patches on the mountain; and under
the high waterfalls, that looked from the harbor like bits of silver
ribbon stretched over the green woods, the ice clung to the rocks in
fantastic knobs and gargoyles, making cold, deep pools for the trout to
play in. So it was both cool and warm there, and whatever the weather
the gaunt old mother wolf could always find just the right spot to sleep
away the afternoon.
Pages:
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33