The pack had held closer together of late;
for the old wolves must often share even a scant fox or rabbit with the
hungry and inexperienced youngsters. Now, when famine drove them to the
very doors of the one enemy to be feared, only the wisest and wariest
old wolf was fit to lead the foray.
The little fishing village was buried under drifts and almost deserted.
A few men lingered to watch the boats and houses; but the families had
all gone inland to the winter tilts for wood and shelter. By night the
wolves would come stealthily to prowl among the deserted lanes; and the
fishermen, asleep in their clothes under caribou skins, or sitting close
by the stove behind barred doors, would know nothing of the huge, gaunt
forms that flitted noiselessly past the frosted windows. If a pig were
left in his pen a sudden terrible squealing would break out on the still
night; and when the fisherman rushed out the pen would be empty, with
nothing whatever to account for piggie's disappearance. For to their
untrained eyes even the tracks of the wolves were covered up by those of
the numerous big huskies.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111