For the
wolves, quick as light to feel the presence of danger, were already far
away, trotting swiftly up the frozen arm of the harbor, following
another sledge trail which came down that morning from the wilderness.
That same night the wolves appeared silently in the little lodge, far up
the Southeast Brook, where in a sheltered hollow of the hills the
fishermen's families were sleeping away the bitter winter. Here for one
long night they watched and waited in vain; for every living thing was
safe in the tilts behind barred doors. In the morning little Noel's eyes
kindled as he saw the wolves' tracks; and when they came back again the
tilts were watching. As the lop-eared cub darted after a cat that shot
like a ray of moonlight under a cabin, a window opened noiselessly, and
_zing!_ a bowstring twanged its sharp warning in the tense silence. With
a yelp the wolf tore the arrow from his shoulder. The warm blood
followed the barb, and he lapped it eagerly in his hunger. Then, as the
danger swept over him, he gave the trail cry and darted away. Doors
banged open here and there; dogs barked to crack their throats; seal
guns roared out and sent their heavy echoes crashing like thunder among
the hills.
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