Now the trails had met fairly
in the snow, and a few steps more would bring the boy and the wolf face
to face.
* * * * *
Noel was stealing along warily, his arrow ready on the string. Mooka
beside him was watching a faint cloud of mist, the breath of caribou,
that blurred at times the dark tree-line in the distance, when one of
those mysterious warnings that befall the hunter in the far North rested
upon them suddenly like a heavy hand.
I know not what it is,--what lesser pressure of air, to which we respond
like a barometer; or what unknown chords there are within us that sleep
for years in the midst of society and that waken and answer, like an
animal's, to the subtle influence of nature,--but one can never be
watched by an unseen wild animal without feeling it vaguely; and one can
never be so keen on the trail that the storm, before it breaks, will not
whisper a warning to turn back to shelter before it is too late. To Noel
and Mooka, alone on the barrens, the sun was no dimmer than before; the
heavy gray bank of clouds still held sullenly to its place on the
horizon; and no eyes, however keen, would have noticed the tiny dark
spots that centered and glowed upon them over the rim of the little
hollow where the wolves were watching.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131