The stag sank to
his knees; a sharp yelp rang like a pistol-shot through the still woods;
then the pack rolled in like a whirlwind, and it was all over.
Creeping near on the trail the little hunters crouched under a low
spruce, watching as if fascinated the wild feast of the wolves. Noel's
bow was ready in his hand; but luckily the sight of these huge, powerful
brutes overwhelmed him and drove all thoughts of killing out of his
head. Mooka plucked him by the sleeve at last, and pointed silently
homewards. It was surely time to go, for the biggest wolf had already
stretched himself and was licking his paws, while the two cubs with full
stomachs were rolling over and over and biting each other playfully in
the snow. Silently they stole away, stopping only to tie a rag to a
pointed stick, which they thrust between their own caribou's ribs to
make the wolves suspicious and keep them from tearing the game and
eating the tidbits while the little hunters hurried away to bring the
men with their guns and dog sledges.
They had almost crossed the second barren when Mooka, looking back
uneasily from the edge of the woods, saw a single big wolf emerge across
the barren and follow swiftly on their trail.
Pages:
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143