As the squirrel whisked overhead the wolf leaped like a
flash, caught him, and crushed him with a single grip. Then with the
squirrel in his mouth he made his way back to where the big leader was
lying, his head on his paws, his eyes turned aside. Slowly, warily the
cub approached, with a friendly twist of his ears and head, till he laid
the squirrel at the big wolf's very nose, then drew back a step and lay
with paws extended and tail thumping the leaves, watching till the
tidbit was seized ravenously and crushed and bolted in a single
mouthful. Next instant both wolves sprang to their feet and made their
way out of the scrub together.
They took up the trail of the pack where they had left it, and followed
it ten hours, the cub at a swift trot, the old wolf loping along on
three legs. Then a rest, and forward again, slower and slower, night
after day in ever-failing strength, till on the edge of a great barren
they stopped as if struck, trembling all over as the reek of game poured
into their starving nostrils.
Too weak now to kill or to follow the fleet caribou, they lay down in
the snow waiting, their ears cocked, their noses questioning every
breeze for its good news.
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