Kneeling behind a big spruce, Noel was trying nervously the spring and
temper of his long bow, divided in desire between the caribou, which
they needed sadly at home, and one of the great wolves whose death would
give him a place among the mighty hunters, when Mooka clutched his arm,
her eyes snapping with excitement, her finger pointing silently back on
their own trail. A vague shadow glided swiftly among the trees. An
enormous white wolf appeared, vanished, came near them again, and
crouched down under a low spruce branch waiting.
Again the two trails had crossed in the snow. The big wolf as he
appeared had thrust his nose into the snow-shoe tracks, and a sniff or
two told him everything,--who had passed, and how long ago, and what
they were doing, and how far ahead they were now waiting. But the
caribou were coming, coaxed along marvelously by the cubs and the old
mother; and the great silent wolf, that had left the pack playing with
the game while he circled the barren at top speed, now turned to the
business in hand with no thought nor fear of harm from the two children
whom he had watched but yesterday.
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