The snort and plunge of the smitten animal startled this young stag and
he turned aside from his course. Like a shadow the big wolf that Mooka
was watching changed his place so as to head the game, while two of the
pack on the open barrens slipped around the caribou and turned him back
again to the woods. At the edge of the cover the stag stopped for a last
look, pointing his ears first at Noel's caribou, which now lay very
still in the snow, then at the wolves, which with quick instinct had
singled him out of the herd, knowing in some subtle way he was watched
from beyond, and which gathered about him in a circle, sitting on their
tails and yawning. Slowly, silently Mooka's wolf crept forward, pushing
his great body through the snow. A terrific rush, a quick snap under the
stag's chest just behind the fore legs, where the heart lay; then the
big wolf leaped aside and sat down quietly again to watch.
It was soon finished. The stag plunged away, settled into his long rack,
slowed down to a swaying, weakening trot. After him at a distance glided
the big wolf, lapping eagerly at the crimson trail, but holding himself
with tremendous will power from rushing in headlong and driving the
game, which might run for miles if too hard pressed.
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