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Long, William Joseph, 1866-1952

"Northern Trails, Book I."

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.


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