When he found that out Wayeeses would dart away in the long,
rolling gallop that carries a wolf swiftly over the roughest country
without fatigue. In an hour or two he would be back again with another
wolf. Then Eleemos, dozing away in the winter sunshine, would hear an
unusual racket in the scrub behind him,--some heavy animal brushing
about heedlessly and sniffing loudly at a cold trail. No wolf certainly,
for a wolf makes no noise. So Eleemos would get down from his warm rock
and slip away, stopping to look back and listen jauntily to the clumsy
brute behind him, till he ran plump into the jaws of the other wolf that
was watching alert and silent beside the runway.
When the snows were deep and soft the wolves took to hunting the
lynxes,--big, savage, long-clawed fighters that swarm in the interior of
Newfoundland and play havoc with the small game. For a single lynx the
wolves hunted in pairs, trailing the big prowler stealthily and rushing
upon him from behind with a fierce uproar to startle the wits out of his
stupid head and send him off headlong, as cats go, before he knew what
was after him.
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