As a dark
streak moved nervously by one of these hiding-places there would be a
rush, a snap, the _pchap pchap_ of jaws crunching a delicious morsel;
then all quiet again, with only gray, innocent-looking shadows resting
softly on the snow. So they moved gradually along the edges of the great
white field; and next morning the tracks were all there, plain as
daylight, telling their silent story of good hunting.
To vary their diet the mother now took them down to the shore to hunt
among the rocks for ducks' eggs. They were there by the hundreds,
scattered along the lonely bays just above high-water line, where the
eiders had their nests.
At first old mother wolf showed them where to look, and when she had
found a clutch of eggs would divide them fairly, keeping the hungry cubs
in order at a little distance and bringing each one his share, which he
ate without interference. Then when they understood the thing they
scattered nimbly to hunt for themselves, and the real fun began.
Now a cub, poking his nose industriously into every cranny and under
every thick bush, would find a great roll of down plucked from the
mother bird's breast, and scraping the top off carefully with his paw,
would find five or six large pale-green eggs, which he gobbled down,
shells, ducklings and all, before another cub should smell the good find
and caper up to share it.
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