Kazan_ Father of Baree - James Oliver Curwood

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eat in that cage. She want the forest, thewild kill, the fresh blood. She two— t’ree year old—too old to makecivilize.”

Henri went to bed at the usual hour,

but Weyman was troubled, and sat uplate. He wrote a long letter to thesweet-faced girl at North Battleford,and then he turned out the light, and

painted visions of her in the red glowof the fire. He saw her again for thafirst time when he camped in the little

shack where the fifth city oSaskatchewan now stood—with her blue eyes, the big shining braid, andthe fresh glow of the prairies in her

cheeks. She had hated him—yes,actually hated him, because he loved tokill. He laughed softly as he thought othat. She had changed him— wonderfully.

He rose, opened the door, softly,



and went out. Instinctively his eyesturned westward. The sky was a blazeof stars. In their light he could see thecage, and he stood, watching andlistening. A sound came to him. It wasGray Wolf gnawing at the sapling bars

of her prison. A moment later therecame a low sobbing whine, and heknew that it was Kazan crying for hisfreedom.

Leaning against the side of the

cabin was an ax. Weyman seized it,

and his lips smiled silently. He wasthrilled by a strange happiness, and athousand miles away in that city on theSaskatchewan he could feel another

spirit rejoicing with him. He movedtoward the cage. A dozen blows, andtwo of the sapling bars were knockedout. Then Weyman drew back. GrayWolf found the opening first, and sheslipped out into the starlight like ashadow. But she did not flee. Out in the



open space she waited for Kazan, andfor a moment the two stood there,looking at the cabin. Then they set of into freedom, Gray Wolf’s shoulder atKazan’s flank.

Weyman breathed deeply. “Two by two—always two by two,

until death finds one of them,” he

whispered.



Chapter XII

The Red Death

Kazan and Gray Wolf wanderednorthward into the Fond du Laccountry, and were there when Jacques,a Hudson Bay Company’s runner, cameup to the post from the south with thefirst authentic news of the dread plague

—the smallpox. For weeks there had been rumors on all sides. And rumor grew into rumor. From the east, thesouth and the west they multiplied,until on all sides the Paul Reveres othe wilderness were carrying word tha

a Mort Rouge —the Red Death—was

at their heels, and the chill of a greafear swept like a shivering wind frothe edge of civilization to the bay.

Nineteen years before these samerumors had come up from the south,and the Red Terror had followed. Thehorror of it still remained with the



forest people, for a thousand unmarkedgraves, shunned like a pestilence, andscattered from the lower waters oJames Bay to the lake country of theAthabasca, gave evidence of the toll idemanded.

Now and then in their wanderingsKazan and Gray Wolf had come uponthe little mounds that covered the dead.Instinct—something that was infinitel

beyond the comprehension of man— made them feel the presence of deat

about them, perhaps smell it in the air.Gray Wolf’s wild blood and her blindness gave her an immenseadvantage over Kazan when it came to

detecting those mysteries of the air andthe earth which the eyes were not madeto see. Each day that had followed thaterrible moonlit night on the Sun Rock,when the lynx had blinded her, hadadded to the infallibility of her twochief senses—hearing and scent. And i



was she who discovered the presenceof the plague first, just as she hadscented the great forest fire hours

before Kazan had found it in the air. Kazan had lured her back to a trap-

line. The trail they found was old. Ihad not been traveled for many days. Ia trap they found a rabbit, but it had

been dead a long time. In another therewas the carcass of a fox, torn into bits

by the owls. Most of the traps weresprung. Others were covered wit

snow. Kazan, with his three-quartersstrain of dog, ran over the trail frotrap to trap, intent only on somethinalive—meat to devour. Gray Wolf, in

her blindness, scented death . Ishivered in the tree-tops above her.She found it in every trap-house thecame to—death— man death . It grewstronger and stronger, and she whined,and nipped Kazan’s flank. And Kazanwent on. Gray Wolf followed him to



the edge of the clearing in which Loti’scabin stood, and then she sat back oher haunches, raised her blind face tothe gray sky, and gave a long andwailing cry. In that moment the bristles

began to stand up along Kazan’s spine.

Once, long ago, he had howled beforethe tepee of a master who was newldead, and he settled back on hishaunches, and gave the death-cry witGray Wolf. He, too, scented it now.Death was in the cabin, and over thecabin there stood a sapling pole, and a

the end of the pole there fluttered astrip of red cotton rag—the warninflag of the plague from Athabasca tothe bay. This man, like a hundred other heroes of the North, had run up thewarning before he laid himself dowto die. And that same night, in the cold

light of the moon, Kazan and GraWolf swung northward into the countryof the Fond du Lac.



There preceded them a messenger from the post on Reindeer Lake, whowas passing up the warning that hadcome from Nelson House and thecountry to the southeast.

“There’s smallpox on the Nelson,”the messenger informed Williams, atFond du Lac, “and it has struck theCrees on Wollaston Lake. God onlyknows what it is doing to the BaIndians, but we hear it is wiping outhe Chippewas between the Albany

and the Churchill.” He left the sameday with his winded dogs. “I’m off tocarry word to the Reveillon people tothe west,” he explained.

Three days later, word came from

Churchill that all of the company’sservants and his majesty’s subjectswest of the bay should preparethemselves for the coming of the RedTerror. Williams’ thin face turned as



white as the paper he held, as he readthe words of the Churchill factor.

“It means dig graves,” he said.

“That’s the only preparation we canmake.”

He read the paper aloud to the meat Fond du Lac, and every availableman was detailed to spread the

warning throughout the post’s territory.There was a quick harnessing of dogs,and on each sledge that went out was aroll of red cotton cloth—rolls thawere ominous of death, lurid signals o

pestilence and horror, whose touchsent shuddering chills through the me

who were about to scatter them amonthe forest people. Kazan and GraWolf struck the trail of one of thesesledges on the Gray Beaver, andfollowed it for half a mile. The nexday, farther to the west, they struck another, and on the fourth day still a



third. The last trail was fresh, andGray Wolf drew back from it as istung, her fangs snarling. On the windthere came to them the pungent odor osmoke. They cut at right angles to thetrail, Gray Wolf leaping clear of the

marks in the snow, and climbed to thecap of a ridge. To windward of them,and down in the plain, a cabin was

burning. A team of huskies and a manwere disappearing in the spruce forest.Deep down in his throat Kazan gave arumbling whine. Gray Wolf stood as

rigid as a rock. In the cabin a plague-dead man was burning. It was the lawof the North. And the mystery of thefuneral pyre came again to Kazan andGray Wolf. This time they did nothowl, but slunk down into the farther

plain, and did not stop that day until

they had buried themselves deep in adry and sheltered swamp ten miles tothe north.



After this they followed the daysand weeks which marked the winter onineteen hundred and ten as one of themost terrible in all the history of the

Northland—a single month in whicwild life as well as human hung in the

balance, and when cold, starvation and plague wrote a chapter in the lives othe forest people which will not beforgotten for generations to come.

In the swamp Kazan and Gray Wol

found a home under a windfall. It was

a small comfortable nest, shut ientirely from the snow and wind. GraWolf took possession of itimmediately. She flattened herself out

on her belly, and panted to show Kazaher contentment and satisfaction.

Nature again kept Kazan close at her side. A vision came to him, unreal anddream-like, of that wonderful nighunder the stars—ages and ages ago, iseemed—when he had fought the



leader of the wolf-pack, and younGray Wolf had crept to his side after his victory and had given herself tohim for mate. But this mating seasothere was no running after the doe or the caribou, or mingling with the wild

pack. They lived chiefly on rabbit andspruce partridge, because of GraWolf’s blindness. Kazan could huntthose alone. The hair had now growover Gray Wolf’s sightless eyes. Shehad ceased to grieve, to rub her eyeswith her paws, to whine for the

sunlight, the golden moon and the stars.Slowly she began to forget that she hadever seen those things. She could nowrun more swiftly at Kazan’s flank.Scent and hearing had becomewonderfully keen. She could wind acaribou two miles distant, and the

presence of man she could pick up aan even greater distance. On a stillnight she had heard the splash of a trouhalf a mile away. And as these two



things—scent and hearing—becamemore and more developed in her, thosesame senses became less active iKazan.

He began to depend upon Gra

Wolf. She would point out the hiding- place of a partridge fifty yards frotheir trail. In their hunts she became theleader—until game was found. And asKazan learned to trust to her in thehunt, so he began just as instinctivelto heed her warnings. If Gray Wol

reasoned, it was to the effect thawithout Kazan she would die. She hadtried hard now and then to catch a

partridge, or a rabbit, but she had

always failed. Kazan meant life to her.And—if she reasoned—it was to makeherself indispensable to her mate.Blindness had made her different thashe would otherwise have been. Againnature promised motherhood to her.But she did not—as she would have



done in the open, and with sight—holdmore and more aloof from Kazan as thedays passed. It was her habit, spring,summer and winter, to snuggle close toKazan and lie with her beautiful headresting on his neck or back. If Kaza

snarled at her she did not snap back, but slunk down as though struck a blow. With her warm tongue shewould lick away the ice that froze tothe long hair between Kazan’s toes.For days after he had run a sliver in his

paw she nursed his foot. Blindness had

made Kazan absolutely necessary toher existence—and now, in a differentway, she became more and morenecessary to Kazan. They were happin their swamp home. There was plentof small game about them, and it waswarm under the windfall. Rarely did

they go beyond the limits of the swampto hunt. Out on the more distant plainsand the barren ridges they occasionallheard the cry of the wolf-pack on the



trail of meat, but it no longer thrilledthem with a desire to join in the chase.

One day they struck farther tha

usual to the west. They left the swamp,crossed a plain over which a fire had

swept the preceding year, climbed aridge, and descended into a second plain. At the bottom Gray Wolf stopped and sniffed the air. At thesetimes Kazan always watched her,waiting eagerly and nervously if thescent was too faint for him to catch.

But to-day he caught the edge of it, andhe knew why Gray Wolf’s earsflattened, and her hindquartersdrooped. The scent of game would

have made her rigid and alert. But iwas not the game smell. It was human,and Gray Wolf slunk behind Kazan andwhined. For several minutes they stoodwithout moving or making a sound, andthen Kazan led the way on. Less thathree hundred yards away they came to



a thick clump of scrub spruce, andalmost ran into a snow-smotheredtepee. It was abandoned. Life and firehad not been there for a long time. Bufrom the tepee had come the man-smell. With legs rigid and his spine

quivering Kazan approached theopening to the tepee. He looked in. Ithe middle of the tepee, lying on thecharred embers of a fire, lay a ragged

blanket—and in the blanket waswrapped the body of a little Indiachild. Kazan could see the tin

moccasined feet. But so long had deat been there that he could scarcely smellthe presence of it. He drew back, andsaw Gray Wolf cautiously nosing aboua long and peculiarly shaped hummocin the snow. She had traveled about itthree times, but never approachin

nearer than a man could have reachedwith a rifle barrel. At the end of her third circle she sat down on her haunches, and Kazan went close to the



hummock and sniffed. Under that bulgein the snow, as well as in the tepee,there was death. They slunk away,their ears flattened and their tailsdrooping until they trailed the snow,and did not stop until they reached

their swamp home. Even there GraWolf still sniffed the horror of the plague, and her muscles twitched andshivered as she lay close at Kazan’sside.

That night the big white moon had

around its edge a crimson rim. It meancold—intense cold. Always the plaguecame in the days of greatest cold—thelower the temperature the more terrible

its havoc. It grew steadily colder thanight, and the increased chill

penetrated to the heart of the windfall,and drew Kazan and Gray Wolf closer together. With dawn, which came atabout eight o’clock, Kazan and his

blind mate sallied forth into the day. It



was fifty degrees below zero. Aboutthem the trees cracked with reportslike pistol-shots. In the thickest sprucethe partridges were humped into round

balls of feathers. The snow-shoerabbits had burrowed deep under the

snow or to the heart of the heavieswindfalls. Kazan and Gray Wolf foundfew fresh trails, and after an hour ofruitless hunting they returned to their lair. Kazan, dog-like, had buried thehalf of a rabbit two or three days

before, and they dug this out of the

snow and ate the frozen flesh. All that day it grew colder—

steadily colder. The night that

followed was cloudless, with a whitemoon and brilliant stars. Thetemperature had fallen another tedegrees, and nothing was moving.Traps were never sprung on suchnights, for even the furred things—themink, and the ermine, and the lynx—



lay snug in the holes and the nests thehad found for themselves. Anincreasing hunger was not stronenough to drive Kazan and Gray Wolfrom their windfall. The next day therewas no break in the terrible cold, and

toward noon Kazan set out on a hunfor meat, leaving Gray Wolf in thewindfall. Being three-quarters dog,food was more necessary to Kazathan to his mate. Nature has fitted thewolf-breed for famine, and in ordinar temperature Gray Wolf could have

lived for a fortnight without food. Atsixty degrees below zero she couldexist a week, perhaps ten days. Onlthirty hours had passed sinee they haddevoured the last of the frozen rabbit,and she was quite satisfied to remaiin their snug retreat.

But Kazan was hungry. He began tohunt in the face of the wind, travelintoward the burned plain. He nosed



about every windfall that he came to,and investigated the thickets. A thinshot-like snow had fallen, and in this— from the windfall to the burn—hefound but a single trail, and that wasthe trail of an ermine. Under a windfall

he caught the warm scent of a rabbit, but the rabbit was as safe from hithere as were the partridges in thetrees, and after an hour of futile digginand gnawing he gave up his effort toreach it. For three hours he had huntedwhen he returned to Gray Wolf. He

was exhausted. While Gray Wolf, withthe instinct of the wild, had saved her own strength and energy, Kazan had

been burning up his reserve forces, andwas hungrier than ever.

The moon rose clear and brillian

in the sky again that night, and Kazaset out once more on the hunt. He urgedGray Wolf to accompany him, whiningfor her outside the windfall—returnin



for her twice—but Gray Wolf laid her ears aslant and refused to move. Thetemperature had now fallen to sixty-five or seventy degrees below zero,and with it there came from the nortan increasing wind, making the nigh

one in which human life could not haveexisted for an hour. By midnight Kazanwas back under the windfall. The windgrew stronger. It began to wail inmournful dirges over the swamp, andthen it burst in fierce shrieking volleys,with intervals of quiet between. These

were the first warnings from the grea barrens that lay between the last linesof timber and the Arctic. With morningthe storm burst in all its fury from ouof the north, and Gray Wolf and Kazanlay close together and shivered as thelistened to the roar of it over the

windfall. Once Kazan thrust his headand shoulders out from the shelter othe fallen trees, but the storm drovehim back. Everything that possessed



life had sought shelter, according to itsway and instinct. The furred creatureslike the mink and the ermine weresafest, for during the warmer huntindays they were of the kind that cachedmeat. The wolves and the foxes had

sought out the windfalls, and the rocks.Winged things, with the exception othe owls, who were a tenth part bodand nine-tenths feathers, burrowedunder snow-drifts or found shelter ithick spruce. To the hoofed and hornedanimals the storm meant greates

havoc. The deer, the caribou and themoose could not crawl under windfallsor creep between rocks. The best thecould do was to lie down in the lee oa drift, and allow themselves to becovered deep with the protectinsnow. Even then they could not keep

their shelter long, for they had to eat .For eighteen hours out of the twenty-four the moose had to feed to keephimself alive during the winter. His bi



stomach demanded quantity, and it took him most of his time to nibble from thetops of bushes the two or three bushelshe needed a day. The caribou requiredalmost as much—the deer least of thethree.

And the storm kept up that day, andthe next, and still a third—three daysand three nights—and the third day andnight there came with it a stinging,shot-like snow that fell two feet deepon the level, and in drifts of eight and

ten. It was the “heavy snow” of theIndians—the snow that lay like lead othe earth, and under which partridgesand rabbits were smothered i

thousands. On the fourth day after the

beginning of the storm Kazan and GraWolf issued forth from the windfall.There was no longer a wind—no morefalling snow. The whole world lay



under a blanket of unbroken white, andit was intensely cold.

The plague had worked its havoc

with men. Now had come the days ofamine and death for the wild things.



Chapter XIII

The Trail Of Hunger

Kazan and Gray Wolf had been ahundred and forty hours without food.To Gray Wolf this meant acutediscomfort, a growing weakness. ToKazan it was starvation. Six days andsix nights of fasting had drawn in their

ribs and put deep hollows in front otheir hindquarters. Kazan’s eyes werered, and they narrowed to slits as helooked forth into the day. Gray Wolf followed him this time when he wenout on the hard snow. Eagerly andhopefully they began the hunt in the

bitter cold. They swung around theedge of the windfall, where there hadalways been rabbits. There were notracks now, and no scent. Theycontinued in a horseshoe circle througthe swamp, and the only scent thecaught was that of a snow-owl perched



up in a spruce. They came to the bur and turned back, hunting the oppositeside of the swamp. On this side therewas a ridge. They climbed the ridge,and from the cap of it looked out over a world that was barren of life.

Ceaselessly Gray Wolf sniffed the air, but she gave no signal to Kazan. On thetop of the ridge Kazan stood panting.His endurance was gone. On their return through the swamp he stumbledover an obstacle which he tried toclear with a jump. Hungrier and

weaker, they returned to the windfall.The night that followed was clear, and brilliant with stars. They hunted theswamp again. Nothing was moving— save one other creature, and that was afox. Instinct told them that it was futileto follow him.

It was then that the old thought othe cabin returned to Kazan. Twothings the cabin had always meant to



him—warmth and food. And far beyond the ridge was the cabin, wherehe and Gray Wolf had howled at thescent of death. He did not think of ma

—or of that mystery which he hadhowled at. He thought only of the

cabin, and the cabin had always meanfood. He set off in a straight line for the ridge, and Gray Wolf followed.They crossed the ridge and the bur

beyond, and entered the edge of asecond swamp. Kazan was huntinlistlessly now. His head hung low. His

bushy tail dragged in the snow. He wasintent on the cabin—only the cabin. Iwas his last hope. But Gray Wolf wasstill alert, taking in the wind, andlifting her head whenever Kazastopped to snuffle his chilled nose ithe snow. At last it came—the scent!

Kazan had moved on, but he stoppedwhen he found that Gray Wolf was notfollowing. All the strength that was inhis starved body revealed itself in a



sudden rigid tenseness as he looked ahis mate. Her forefeet were plantedfirmly to the east; her slim gray headwas reaching out for the scent; her

body trembled.

Then—suddenly—they heard asound, and with a whining cry Kazaset out in its direction, with Gray Wolat his flank. The scent grew stronger and stronger in Gray Wolf’s nostrils,and soon it came to Kazan. It was nothe scent of a rabbit or a partridge. I

was big game. They approachedcautiously, keeping full in the wind.The swamp grew thicker, the sprucemore dense, and now—from a hundred

ards ahead of them—there came acrashing of locked and battling horns.Ten seconds more they climbed over asnowdrift, and Kazan stopped anddropped flat on his belly. Gray Wolf crouched close at his side, her blindeyes turned to what she could smell bu



could not see. Fifty yards from them a number o

moose had gathered for shelter in thethick spruce. They had eaten clear aspace an acre in extent. The trees were

cropped bare as high as they couldreach, and the snow was beaten hardunder their feet. There were sianimals in the acre, two of them bulls

—and these bulls were fighting, whilethree cows and a yearling werehuddled in a group watching the might

duel. Just before the storm a youn bull, sleek, three-quarters grown, andwith the small compact antlers of afour-year-old, had led the three cows

and the yearling to this sheltered spoamong the spruce. Until last night hehad been master of the herd. During thenight the older bull had invaded hisdominion. The invader was four timesas old as the young bull. He was halagain as heavy. His huge palmate



horns, knotted and irregular—bumassive—spoke of age. A warrior of ahundred fights, he had not hesitated togive battle in his effort to rob theounger bull of his home and family.

Three times they had fought since

dawn, and the hard-trodden snow wasred with blood. The smell of it came toKazan’s and Gray Wolf’s nostrils.Kazan sniffed hungrily. Queer soundsrolled up and down in Gray Wolf’sthroat, and she licked her jaws.

For a moment the two fightersdrew a few yards apart, and stood witlowered heads. The old bull had noet won victory. The younger bull

represented youth and endurance; in theolder bull those things were pittedagainst craft, greater weight, maturer strength—and a head and horns thawere like a battering ram. But in thagreat hulk of the older bull there wasone other thing—age. His huge sides



were panting. His nostrils were aswide as bells. Then, as if someinvisible spirit of the arena had givethe signal, the animals came together again. The crash of their horns couldhave been heard half a mile away, and

under twelve hundred pounds of flesand bone the younger hull wen plunging back upon his haunches. Thewas when youth displayed itself. In ainstant he was up, and locking hornswith his adversary. Twenty times hehad done this, and each attack had

seemed filled with increasing strength.And now, as if realizing that the lastmoments of the last fight had come, hetwisted the old bull’s neck and foughtas he had never fought before. Kazaand Gray Wolf both heard the sharpcrack that followed—as if a dry stic

had been stepped upon and broken. Iwas February, and the hoofed animalswere already beginning to shed their horns—especially the older bulls,



whose palmate growths drop first. Thisfact gave victory to the younger bull ithe blood-stained arena a few yardsfrom Gray Wolf and Kazan. From itssocket in the old bull’s skull one of hishuge antlers broke with that sharp

snapping sound, and in another momenfour inches of stiletto-like horn burieditself back of his foreleg. In an instanall hope and courage left him, and heswung backward yard by yard, with theounger bull prodding his neck and

shoulders until blood dripped from hi

in little streams. At the edge of theclearing he flung himself free andcrashed off into the forest.

The younger bull did not pursue.

He tossed his head, and stood for afew moments with heaving sides anddilated nostrils, facing in the directiohis vanquished foe had taken. Then heturned, and trotted back to the stillmotionless cows and yearling.



Kazan and Gray Wolf were

quivering. Gray Wolf slunk back fromthe edge of the clearing, and Kazafollowed. No longer were theinterested in the cows and the youn

bull. From that clearing they had seemeat driven forth—meat that was beaten in fight, and bleeding. Ever instinct of the wild pack returned toGray Wolf now—and in Kazan themad desire to taste the blood hesmelled. Swiftly they turned toward the

blood-stained trail of the old bull, andwhen they came to it they found ispattered red. Kazan’s jaws dripped asthe hot scent drove the blood like veins

of fire through his weakened body. Hiseyes were reddened by starvation, andin them there was a light now that thehad never known even in the days othe wolf-pack.

He set off swiftly, almost forgetful



of Gray Wolf. But his mate no longer required his flank for guidance. Withher nose close to the trail she ran—raas she had run in the long and thrillinhunts before blindness came. Half amile from the spruce thicket they came

upon the old bull. He had soughshelter behind a clump of balsam, andhe stood over a growing pool of bloodin the snow. He was still breathinghard. His massive head, grotesque nowwith its one antler, was drooping.Flecks of blood dropped from his

distended nostrils. Even then, with theold bull weakened by starvation,exhaustion and loss of blood, a wolf-

pack would have hung back beforeattacking. Where they would havehesitated, Kazan leaped in with asnarling cry. For an instant his fangs

sunk into the thick hide of the bull’sthroat. Then he was flung back— twenty feet. Hunger gnawing at hisvitals robbed him of all caution, and he



sprang to the attack again—full at the bull’s front—while Gray Wolf creptup unseen behind, seeking in her

blindness the vulnerable part whicnature had not taught Kazan to find.

This time Kazan was caught fairlon the broad palmate leaf of the bull’santler, and he was flung back again,half stunned. In that same moment GraWolf’s long white teeth cut like knivesthrough one of the bull’s rope-likehamstrings. For thirty seconds she kep

the hold, while the bull plunged wildlin his efforts to trample her underfoot.Kazan was quick to learn, still quicker to be guided by Gray Wolf, and he

leaped in again, snapping for a hold othe bulging cord just above the knee.He missed, and as he lunged forwardon his shoulders Gray Wolf was flungoff. But she had accomplished her

purpose. Beaten in open battle witone of his kind, and now attacked by a



still deadlier foe, the old bull began toretreat. As he went, one hip sank under him at every step. The tendon of hisleft leg was bitten half through.

Without being able to see, Gray

Wolf seemed to realize what hadhappened. Again she was the pack-wolf—with all the old wolf strategy.Twice flung back by the old bull’shorn, Kazan knew better than to attacopenly again. Gray Wolf trotted after the bull, but he remained behind for a

moment to lick up hungrily mouthfulsof the blood-soaked snow. Then hefollowed, and ran close against GraWolf’s side, fifty yards behind the bull.

There was more blood in the trail now —a thin red ribbon of it. Fifteeminutes later the bull stopped again,and faced about, his great headlowered. His eyes were red. Therewas a droop to his neck and shouldersthat spoke no longer of the



unconquerable fighting spirit that had been a part of him for nearly a score o

ears. No longer was he lord of thewilderness about him; no longer wasthere defiance in the poise of hissplendid head, or the flash of eager fire

in his bloodshot eyes. His breath camewith a gasping sound that was growinmore and more distinct. A hunter would have known what it meant. Thestiletto-point of the younger bull’santler had gone home, and the old

bull’s lungs were failing him. More

than once Gray Wolf had heard thatsound in the early days of her huntinwith the pack, and she understood.Slowly she began to circle about thewounded monarch at a distance oabout twenty yards. Kazan kept at her side.

Once—twice—twenty times themade that slow circle, and with eacturn they made the old bull turned, and



his breath grew heavier and his headdrooped lower. Noon came, and wasfollowed by the more intense cold othe last half of the day. Twenty circles

became a hundred—two hundred—andmore. Under Gray Wolf’s and Kazan’s

feet the snow grew hard in the patthey made. Under the old bull’swidespread hoofs the snow was nolonger white—but red. A thousandtimes before this unseen tragedy of thewilderness had been enacted. It was aepoch of that life where life itsel

means the survival of the fittest, whereto live means to kill, and to die meansto perpetuate life. At last, in that steadyand deadly circling of Gray Wolf andKazan, there came a time when the old

bull did not turn—then a second, athird and a fourth time, and Gray Wol

seemed to know. With Kazan she drew back from the hard-beaten trail, andthey flattened themselves on their

bellies under a dwarf spruce—and



waited. For many minutes the bullstood motionless, his hamstrunquarter sinking lower and lower. Andthen with a deep blood-choked gasp hesank down.

For a long time Kazan and GraWolf did not move, and when at lastthey returned to the beaten trail the

bull’s heavy head was resting on thesnow. Again they began to circle, andnow the circle narrowed foot by foot,until only ten yards—then nine—the

eight—separated them from their prey.The bull attempted to rise, and failed.Gray Wolf heard the effort. She heardhim sink back and suddenly she leaped

in swiftly and silently from behind.Her sharp fangs buried themselves ithe bull’s nostrils, and with the firstinstinct of the husky, Kazan sprang for a throat hold. This time he was noflung off. It was Gray Wolf’s terriblehold that gave him time to tear throug



the half-inch hide, and to bury his teetdeeper and deeper, until at last theyreached the jugular. A gush of warm

blood spurted into his face. But he didnot let go. Just as he had held to theugular of his first buck on tha

moonlight night a long time ago, so heheld to the old bull now. It was GrayWolf who unclamped his jaws. Shedrew back, sniffing the air, listening.Then, slowly, she raised her head, andthrough the frozen and starvinwilderness there went her wailin

triumphant cry—the call to meat. For them the days of famine had

passed.



Chapter XIV

The Right Of Fang

After the fight Kazan lay dowexhausted in the blood-stained snow,while faithful Gray Wolf, still filledwith the endurance of her wild wol

breed, tore fiercely at the thick skin othe bull’s neck to lay open the red

flesh. When she had done this she didnot eat, but ran to Kazan’s side andwhined softly as she muzzled him wither nose. After that they feasted,crouching side by side at the bull’sneck and tearing at the warm sweeflesh.

The last pale light of the norther day was fading swiftly into night whethey drew back, gorged until therewere no longer hollows in their sides.The faint wind died away. The cloudsthat had hung in the sky during the da

drifted eastward and the moon shone



brilliant and clear. For an hour thenight continued to grow lighter. To the

brilliance of the moon and the starsthere was added now the pale fires othe aurora borealis, shivering andflashing over the Pole.

Its hissing crackling monotone, likethe creaking of steel sledge-runners ofrost-filled snow, came faintly to theears of Kazan and Gray Wolf.

As yet they had not gone a hundred

ards from the dead bull, and at thefirst sound of that strange mystery ithe northern skies they stopped andlistened to it, alert and suspicious.

Then they laid their ears aslant andtrotted slowly back to the meat thehad killed. Instinct told them that it wastheirs only by right of fang. They hadfought to kill it. And it was in the lawof the wild that they would have tofight to keep it. In good hunting days



they would have gone on andwandered under the moon and thestars. But long days and nights ostarvation had taught them somethindifferent now.

On that clear and stormless nighfollowing the days of plague andfamine, a hundred thousand hungr creatures came out from their retreatsto hunt for food. For eighteen hundredmiles east and west and a thousandmiles north and south, slim gaunt-

bellied creatures hunted under themoon and the stars. Something toldKazan and Gray Wolf that this huntwas on, and never for an instant did

they cease their vigilance. At last theylay down at the edge of the sprucethicket, and waited. Gray Wolmuzzled Kazan gently with her blindface. The uneasy whine in her throawas a warning to him. Then she sniffedthe air, and listened—sniffed and



listened. Suddenly every muscle in their

bodies grew rigid. Something livinhad passed near them, something thathey could not see or hear, and

scarcely scent. It came again, asmysterious as a shadow, and then outof the air there floated down as silentlas a huge snowflake a great white owl.Kazan saw the hungry winged creaturesettle on the bull’s shoulder. Like aflash he was out from his cover, Gray

Wolf a yard behind him. With an angrysnarl he lunged at the white robber,and his jaws snapped on empty air. Hisleap carried him clean over the bull.

He turned, but the owl was gone.

Nearly all of his old strength hadreturned to him now. He trotted aboutthe bull, the hair along his spine

bristling like a brush, his eyes wideand menacing. He snarled at the still



air. His jaws clicked, and he sat back on his haunches and faced the blood-stained trail that the moose had lef

before he died. Again that instinct asinfallible as reason told him thadanger would come from there.

Like a red ribbon the trail ran bacthrough the wilderness. The littleswift-moving ermine were everywherethis night, looking like white rats asthey dodged about in the moonlight.They were first to find the trail, and

with all the ferocity of their blood-eating nature followed it with quicexciting leaps. A fox caught the scentof it a quarter of a mile to windward,

and came nearer. From out of a deepwindfall a beady-eyed, thin-belliedfisher-cat came forth, and stopped withis feet in the crimson ribbon.

It was the fisher-cat that brough

Kazan out; from under his cover o



spruce again. In the moonlight therewas a sharp quick fight, a snarling andscratching, a cat-like yowl of pain, andthe fisher forgot his hunger in flight.Kazan returned to Gray Wolf with alacerated and bleeding nose. Gra

Wolf licked it sympathetically, whileKazan stood rigid and listening. The fox swung swiftly away wit

the wind, warned by the sounds oconflict. He was not a fighter, but amurderer who killed from behind, and

a little later he leaped upon an owl andtore it into bits for the half-pound oflesh within the mass of feathers.

But nothing could drive back thoselittle white outlaws of the wilderness

—the ermine. They would have stole between the feet of man to get at thewarm flesh and blood of the freshlkilled bull. Kazan hunted thesavagely. They were too quick for him,



more like elusive flashes in themoonlight than things of life. The

burrowed under the old bull’s bodyand fed while he raved and filled hismouth with snow. Gray Wolf sat

placidly on her haunches. The little

ermine did not trouble her, and after atime Kazan realized this, and flunhimself down beside her, panting andexhausted.

For a long time after that the nigh

was almost unbroken by sound. Once

in the far distance there came the cry oa wolf, and now and then, to punctuatethe deathly silence, the snow owlhooted in blood-curdling protest fro

his home in the spruce-tops. The moowas straight above the old bull wheGray Wolf scented the first realdanger. Instantly she gave the warningto Kazan and faced the bloody trail,her lithe body quivering, her fangsgleaming in the starlight, a snarlin



whine in her throat. Only in the face otheir deadliest enemy, the lynx—theterrible fighter who had blinded her long ago in that battle on the Sun Rock!

—did she give such warning as this toKazan. He sprang ahead of her, ready

for battle even before he caught thescent of the gray beautiful creature odeath stealing over the trail.

Then came the interruption. From a

mile away there burst forth a singlefierce long-drawn howl.

After all, that was the cry of thetrue master of the wilderness—thewolf. It was the cry of hunger. It was

the cry that sent men’s blood runningmore swiftly through their veins, tha

brought the moose and the deer to their feet shivering in every limb—the cr that wailed like a note of death througswamp and forest and over the snow-smothered ridges until its faintes



echoes reached for miles into thestarlit night.

There was silence, and in tha

awesome stillness Kazan and GraWolf stood shoulder to shoulder facing

the cry, and in response to that crythere worked within them a strange andmystic change, for what they had heardwas not a warning or a menace but thecall of Brotherhood. Away off there—

beyond the lynx and the fox and thefisher-cat, were the creatures of their

kind, the wild-wolf pack, to which theright to all flesh and blood wascommon—in which existed that savagesocialism of the wilderness, the

Brotherhood of the Wolf. And GrayWolf, setting back on her haunches,sent forth the response to that cry—awailing triumphant note that told her hungry brethren there was feasting athe end of the trail.



And the lynx, between those twocries, sneaked off into the wide andmoonlit spaces of the forest.



Chapter XV

A Fight Under The Stars

On their haunches Kazan and GraWolf waited. Five minutes passed, ten

—fifteen—and Gray Wolf becameuneasy. No response had followed her call. Again she howled, with Kazanquivering and listening beside her, and

again there followed that dead stillnessof the night. This was not the way othe pack. She knew that it had not gone

beyond the reach of her voice and itssilence puzzled her. And then in a flashit came to them both that the pack, or the single wolf whose cry they had

heard, was very near them. The scenwas warm. A few moments later Kazasaw a moving object in the moonlight.It was followed by another, and stillanother, until there were five slouchingin a half-circle about them, seventards away. Then they laid themselves



flat in the snow and were motionless. A snarl turned Kazan’s eyes to

Gray Wolf. His blind mate had drawn back. Her white fangs gleamedmenacingly in the starlight. Her ears

were flat. Kazan was puzzled. Whwas she signaling danger to him wheit was the wolf, and not the lynx, outhere in the snow? And why did thewolves not come in and feast? Slowlhe moved toward them, and Gray Wolcalled to him with her whine. He paid

no attention to her, but went on,stepping lightly, his head high in theair, his spine bristling.

In the scent of the strangers, Kazawas catching something now that wasstrangely familiar. It drew him towardthem more swiftly and when at last hestopped twenty yards from where thelittle group lay flattened in the snow,his thick brush waved slightly. One o



the animals sprang up and approached.The others followed and in another moment Kazan was in the midst othem, smelling and smelled, andwagging his tail. They were dogs, andnot wolves.

In some lonely cabin in thewilderness their master had died, andthey had taken to the forests. They still

bore signs of the sledge-traces. Abouttheir necks were moose-hide collars.The hair was worn short at their flanks,

and one still dragged after him threefeet of corded babiche trace. Their eyes gleamed red and hungry in theglow of the moon and the stars. The

were thin, and gaunt and starved, andKazan suddenly turned and trottedahead of them to the side of the dead

bull. Then he fell back and sat proudlon his haunches beside Gray Wolf,listening to the snapping of jaws andthe rending of flesh as the starved pac



feasted. Gray Wolf slunk closer to Kazan.

She muzzled his neck and Kazan gaveher a swift dog-like caress of histongue, assuring her that all was well.

She flattened herself in the snow whethe dogs had finished and came up itheir dog way to sniff at her, and makecloser acquaintance with Kazan. Kazatowered over her, guarding her. Onehuge red-eyed dog who still draggedthe bit of babiche trace muzzled Gra

Wolf’s soft neck for a fraction of asecond too long, and Kazan uttered asavage snarl of warning. The dog drew

back, and for a moment their fangs

gleamed over Gray Wolf’s blind face.It was the Challenge of the Breed.

The big husky was the leader of the

pack, and if one of the other dogs hadsnarled at him, as Kazan snarled hewould have leaped at his throat. But i



Kazan, standing fierce and half wildover Gray Wolf, he recognized none othe serfdom of the sledge-dogs. It wasmaster facing master; in Kazan it wasmore than that for he was Gray Wolf’smate. In an instant more he would have

leaped over her body to have foughfor her, more than for the right oleadership. But the big husky turnedaway sullenly, growling, still snarling,and vented his rage by nipping fiercelat the flank of one of his sledge-mates.

Gray Wolf understood what hadhappened, though she could not see.She shrank closer to Kazan. She knewthat the moon and the stars had looked

down on that thing that always meandeath—the challenge to the right omate. With her luring coyness, whiningand softly muzzling his shoulder andneck, she tried to draw Kazan awafrom the pad-beaten circle in which the

bull lay. Kazan’s answer was an



ominous rolling of smothered thunder deep down in his throat. He lay dow

beside her, licked her blind faceswiftly, and faced the stranger dogs.

The moon sank lower and lower

and at last dropped behind the wester forests. The stars grew paler. One byone they faded from the sky and after atime there followed the cold gray dawof the North. In that dawn the big husk leader rose from the hole he had madein the snow and returned to the bull.

Kazan, alert, was on his feet in ainstant and stood also close to the bull.The two circled ominously, their headslowered, their crests bristling. The

husky drew away, and Kazan crouchedat the bull’s neck and began tearing atthe frozen flesh. He was not hungry.But in this way he showed his right tothe flesh, his defiance of the right of the

big husky.



For a few seconds he forgot GraWolf. The husky had slipped back likea shadow and now he stood again over Gray Wolf, sniffing her neck and body.Then he whined. In that whine were the

passion, the invitation, the demand o

the Wild. So quickly that the eye couldscarcely follow her movement faithfulGray Wolf sank her gleaming fangs inthe husky’s shoulder.

A gray streak—nothing more

tangible than a streak of gray, silent

and terrible, shot through the dawn-gloom. It was Kazan. He came withoua snarl, without a cry, and in a momenthe and the husky were in the throes o

terrific battle. The four other huskies ran i

quickly and stood waiting a doze paces from the combatants. Gray Wollay crouched on her belly. The gianthusky and the quarter-strain wolf-do



were not fighting like sledge-dog or wolf. For a few moments rage andhatred made them fight like mongrels.Both had holds. Now one was down,and now the other, and so swiftly didthey change their positions that the four

waiting sledge-dogs were puzzled andstood motionless. Under other conditions they would have leapedupon the first of the fighters to bethrown upon his back and torn him to

pieces. That was the way of the woland the wolf-dog. But now they stood

back, hesitating and fearful. The big husky had never bee

beaten in battle. Great Dane ancestors

had given him a huge bulk and a jawthat could crush an ordinary dog’shead. But in Kazan he was meeting noonly the dog and the wolf, but all thawas best in the two. And Kazan had theadvantage of a few hours of rest and afull stomach. More than that, he was



fighting for Gray Wolf. His fangs hadsunk deep in the husky’s shoulder, andthe husky’s long teeth met through thehide and flesh of his neck. An inchdeeper, and they would have piercedhis jugular. Kazan knew this, as he

crunched his enemy’s shoulder-bone,and every instant—even in their fiercest struggling—he was guardinagainst a second and more successfullunge of those powerful jaws.

At last the lunge came, and quicker

than the wolf itself Kazan freed himseland leaped back. His chest dripped blood, but he did not feel the hurt. The began slowly to circle, and now the

watching sledge-dogs drew a step or two nearer, and their jaws droolednervously and their red eyes glared asthey waited for the fatal moment. Their eyes were on the big husky. He becamethe pivot of Kazan’s wider circle now,and he limped as he turned. His



shoulder was broken. His ears wereflattened as he watched Kazan.

Kazan’s ears were erect, and his

feet touched the snow lightly. All hisfighting cleverness and all his cautio

had returned to him. The blind rage oa few moments was gone and he foughnow as he had fought his deadliesenemy, the long-clawed lynx. Fivetimes he circled around the husky, andthen like a shot he was in, sending hiswhole weight against the husky’s

shoulder, with the momentum of a ten-foot leap behind it. This time he didnot try for a hold, but slashed at thehusky’s jaws. It was the deadliest o

all attacks when that merciless tribunalof death stood waiting for the first fallof the vanquished. The huge dog wasthrown from his feet. For a fatalmoment he rolled upon his side and ithe moment his four sledge-mates wereupon him. All of their hatred of the



weeks and months in which the long-fanged leader had bullied them in thetraces was concentrated upon him nowand he was literally torn into pieces.

Kazan pranced to Gray Wolf’s side

and with a joyful whine she laid her head over his neck. Twice he hadfought the Fight of Death for her.Twice he had won. And in her

blindness Gray Wolf’s soul—if soulshe had—rose in exultation to the coldgray sky, and her breast panted against

Kazan’s shoulder as she listened to thecrunching of fangs in the flesh and boneof the foe her lord and master hadoverthrown.



Chapter XVI

The Call

Followed days of feasting on thefrozen flesh of the old bull. In vaiGray Wolf tried to lure Kazan off intothe forests and the swamps. Day by dathe temperature rose. There washunting now. And Gray Wolf wanted to

be alone—with Kazan. But witKazan, as with most men, leadershipand power roused new sensations. Andhe was the leader of the dog-pack, ashe had once been a leader among thewolves. Not only Gray Wolf followedat his flank now, but the four huskies

trailed behind him. Once more he wasexperiencing that triumph and strangethrill that he had almost forgotten andonly Gray Wolf, in that eternal night oher blindness, felt with dreadforeboding the danger into which hisnewly achieved czarship might lead



him. For three days and three nights the

remained in the neighborhood of thedead moose, ready to defend it againsothers, and yet each day and each nigh

growing less vigilant in their guard.Then came the fourth night, on whicthey killed a young doe. Kazan led ithat chase and for the first time, in theexcitement of having the pack at his

back, he left his blind mate behind.When they came to the kill he was the

first to leap at its soft throat. And notuntil he had begun to tear at the doe’sflesh did the others dare to eat. He wasmaster. He could send them back with

a snarl. At the gleam of his fangs theycrouched quivering on their bellies ithe snow.

Kazan’s blood was fomented with

brute exultation, and the excitement andfascination that came in the possessio



of new power took the place of GraWolf each day a little more. She camein half an hour after the kill, and therewas no longer the lithesome alertnessto her slender legs, or gladness in thetilt of her ears or the poise of her head.

She did not eat much of the doe. Her blind face was turned always iKazan’s direction. Wherever he movedshe followed with her unseeing eyes,as if expecting each moment his oldsignal to her—that low throat-note thahad called to her so often when the

were alone in the wilderness. In Kazan, as leader of the pack,

there was working a curious change. I

his mates had been wolves it wouldnot have been difficult for Gray Wolto have lured him away. But Kazanwas among his own kind. He was adog. And they were dogs. Fires thathad burned down and ceased to war him flamed up in him anew. In his life



with Gray Wolf one thing hadoppressed him as it could not oppressher, and that thing was loneliness.

Nature had created him of that kindwhich requires companionship—not oone but of many. It had given him birth

that he might listen to and obey thecommands of the voice of man. He hadgrown to hate men, but of the dogs— his kind—he was a part. He had beehappy with Gray Wolf, happier than hehad ever been in the companionship omen and his blood-brothers. But he had

been a long time separated from thelife that had once been his and the callof blood made him for a time forget.And only Gray Wolf, with thatwonderful super-instinct which naturewas giving her in place of her lossight, foresaw the end to which it was

leading him. Each day the temperature continued

to rise until when the sun was warmes



the snow began to thaw a little. Thiswas two weeks after the fight near the

bull. Gradually the pack had swuneastward, until it was now fifty mileseast and twenty miles south of the oldhome under the windfall. More tha

ever Gray Wolf began to long for their old nest under the fallen trees. Againwith those first promises of spring isunshine and air, there was comingalso for the second time in her life the

promise of approaching motherhood.

But her efforts to draw Kazan bacwere unavailing, and in spite of her protest he wandered each day a littlefarther east and south at the head of his

pack. Instinct impelled the four huskies to

move in that direction. They had noet been long enough a part of the wild

to forget the necessity of man and ithat direction there was man. In tha



direction, and not far from them now,was the Hudson Bay Company’s postto which they and their dead master owed their allegiance. Kazan did noknow this, but one day somethinhappened to bring back visions and

desires that widened still more the gul between him and Gray Wolf. They had come to the cap of a

ridge when something stopped them. Iwas a man’s voice crying shrilly thatword of long ago that had so ofte

stirred the blood in Kazan’s own veins —” m’hoosh! m’hoosh! m’hoosh!” — and from the ridge they looked dowupon the open space of the plain,

where a team of six dogs was trottinahead of a sledge, with a man runnin

behind them, urging them on at ever other step with that cry of “ m’hoosh!m’hoosh! m’hoosh!”

Trembling and undecided, the four



huskies and the wolf-dog stood on theridge with Gray Wolf cringing behindthem. Not until man and dogs andsledge had disappeared did they move,and then they trotted down to the trailand sniffed at it whiningly and

excitedly. For a mile or two theyfollowed it, Kazan and his mates goinfearlessly in the trail. Gray Wolf hung

back, traveling twenty yards to theright of them, with the hot man-scendriving the blood feverishly througher brain. Only her love for Kazan—

and the faith she still had in him—kepher that near. At the edge of a swamp Kaza

halted and turned away from the trail.With the desire that was growing inhim there was still that old suspiciowhich nothing could quite wipe out— the suspicion that was an inheritance ohis quarter-strain of wolf. Gray Wolwhined joyfully when he turned into



the forest, and drew so close to hithat her shoulder rubbed againsKazan’s as they traveled side by side.

The “slush” snows followed fas

after this. And the “slush” snows meant

spring—and the emptying of thewilderness of human life. Kazan andhis mates soon began to scent the

presence and the movement of this life.They were now within thirty miles othe post. For a hundred miles on allsides of them the trappers were movin

in with their late winter’s catch of furs.From east and west, south and north,all trails led to the post. The pack wascaught in the mesh of them. For a wee

not a day passed that they did not crossa fresh trail, and sometimes two or three.

Gray Wolf was haunted by constant

fear. In her blindness she knew thatthey were surrounded by the menace o



men. To Kazan what was coming to pass had more and more ceased to fillhim with fear and caution. Three timesthat week he heard the shouts of men— and once he heard a white man’slaughter and the barking of dogs as

their master tossed them their dailfeed of fish. In the air he caught the pungent scent of camp-fires and onenight, in the far distance, he heard awild snatch of song, followed by theelping and barking of a dog-pack.

Slowly and surely the lure of madrew him nearer to the post—a mileto-night, two miles to-morrow, butalways nearer. And Gray Wolf,

fighting her losing fight to the end,sensed in the danger-filled air thenearness of that hour when he wouldrespond to the final call and she would

be left alone. These were days of activity and



excitement at the fur company’s post,the days of accounting, of profit and o

pleasure;—the days when thewilderness poured in its treasure ofur, to be sent a little later to Londonand Paris and the capitals of Europe.

And this year there was more than theusual interest in the foregathering of theforest people. The plague had wroughits terrible havoc, and not until the fur-hunters had come to answer to thespring roll-call would it be knowaccurately who had lived and who had

died. The Chippewans and half-breeds

from the south began to arrive first,

with their teams of mongrel curs, picked up along the borders ocivilization. Close after them came thehunters from the western barren lands,

bringing with them loads of white foand caribou skins, and an army of big-footed, long-legged Mackenzie hounds



that pulled like horses and wailed likewhipped puppies when the huskies andEskimo dogs set upon them. Packs ofierce Labrador dogs, never vanquished except by death, came froclose to Hudson’s Bay. Team after

team of little yellow and gray Eskimodogs, as quick with their fangs as weretheir black and swift-running masterswith their hands and feet, met the muclarger and dark-colored Malemutesfrom the Athabasca. Enemies of allthese packs of fierce huskies trailed i

from all sides, fighting, snapping andsnarling, with the lust of killing deep born in them from their wol progenitors.

There was no cessation in the

battle of the fangs. It began with thefirst brute arrivals. It continued frodawn through the day and around thecamp-fires at night. There was never an end to the strife between the dogs,



and between the men and the dogs. Thesnow was trailed and stained wit

blood and the scent of it added greater fierceness to the wolf-breeds.

Half a dozen battles were fought to

the death each day and night. Thosethat died were chiefly the south-bredcurs—mixtures of mastiff, Great Dane,and sheep-dog—and the fatally slowMackenzie hounds. About the post rosethe smoke of a hundred camp-fires, andabout these fires gathered the wome

and the children of the hunters. Whethe snow was no longer fit for sledging, Williams, the factor, notedthat there were many who had no

come, and the accounts of these helater scratched out of his ledgersknowing that they were victims of the

plague. At last came the night of the Bi

Carnival, For weeks and months



women and children and men had beelooking forward to this. In scores oforest cabins, in smoke-blackenedtepees, and even in the frozen homes othe little Eskimos, anticipation of thiswild night of pleasure had given a

added zest to life. It was the BiCircus—the good time given twiceeach year by the company to its people.

This year, to offset the memory o

plague and death, the factor had puforth unusual exertions. His hunters had

killed four fat caribou. In the clearinthere were great piles of dry logs, andin the center of all there rose eight ten-foot tree-butts crotched at the top; and

from crotch to crotch there rested astout sapling stripped of bark, and oeach sapling was spitted the carcass oa caribou, to be roasted whole by theheat of the fire beneath. The fires werelighted at dusk, and Williams himselstarted the first of those wild songs o



the Northland—the song of the caribou,as the flames leaped up into the dar night.

“Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo,ze cariboo-oo-oo,He roas’ on high,

Jes’ under ze sky.air-holes beeg whitecariboo-oo-oo!”

“Now!” he yelled. “Now—alltogether!” And carried away by hisenthusiasm, the forest peopleawakened from their silence of months,

and the song burst forth in a savagefrenzy that reached to the skies.



Two miles to the south and westthat first thunder of human voicereached the ears of Kazan and GraWolf and the masterless huskies. Andwith the voices of men they heard nowthe excited howlings of dogs. The

huskies faced the direction of thesounds, moving restlessly and whining.For a few moments Kazan stood asthough carven of rock. Then he turnedhis head, and his first look was to GraWolf. She had slunk back a dozen feetand lay crouched under the thick cover

of a balsam shrub. Her body, legs andneck were flattened in the snow. Shemade no sound, but her lips weredrawn back and her teeth shone white.

Kazan trotted back to her, sniffed a

her blind face and whined. Gray Wolstill did not move. He returned to thedogs and his jaws opened and closedwith a snap. Still more clearly camethe wild voice of the carnival, and no



longer to be held back by Kazan’sleadership, the four huskies droppedtheir heads and slunk like shadows iits direction. Kazan hesitated, urginGray Wolf. But not a muscle of GrayWolf’s body moved. She would have

followed him in face of fire but not iface of man. Not a sound escaped her ears. She heard the quick fall oKazan’s feet as he left her. In another moment she knew that he was gone.Then—and not until then—did she lif her head, and from her soft throat there

broke a whimpering cry. It was her last call to Kazan. Bu

stronger than that there was runnin

through Kazan’s excited blood the callof man and of dog. The huskies werefar in advance of him now and for afew moments he raced madly toovertake them. Then he slowed dowuntil he was trotting, and a hundredards farther on he stopped. Less tha



a mile away he could see where theflames of the great fires werereddening the sky. He gazed back tosee if Gray Wolf was following andthen went on until he struck an opeand hard traveled trail. It was beate

with the footprints of men and dogs,and over it two of the caribou had beedragged a day or two before.

At last he came to the thinned ou

strip of timber that surrounded theclearing and the flare of the flames was

in his eyes. The bedlam of sound thacame to him now was like fire in his brain. He heard the song and thelaughter of men, the shrill cries o

women and children, the barking andsnarling and fighting of a hundred dogs.He wanted to rush out and join them, to

become again a part of what he hadonce been. Yard by yard he sneakedthrough the thin timber until he reachedthe edge of the clearing. There he stood



in the shadow of a spruce and lookedout upon life as he had once lived it,trembling, wistful and yet hesitating ithat final moment.

A hundred yards away was the

savage circle of men and dogs and fire.His nostrils were filled with the ricaroma of the roasting caribou, and ashe crouched down, still with thawolfish caution that Gray Wolf hadtaught him, men with long poles

brought the huge carcasses crashin

down upon the melting snow about thefires. In one great rush the horde owild revelers crowded in with baredknives, and a snarling mass of dogs

closed in behind them. In another moment he had forgotten Gray Wolf,had forgotten all that man and the wildhad taught him, and like a gray streawas across the open.

The dogs were surging back whe



he reached them, with half a dozen othe factor’s men lashing them in thefaces with long caribou-gut whips. Thesting of a lash fell in a fierce cut over an Eskimo dog’s shoulder, and insnapping at the lash his fangs struc

Kazan’s rump. With lightning swiftnessKazan returned the cut, and in ainstant the jaws of the dogs had met. Ianother instant they were down andKazan had the Eskimo dog by thethroat.

With shouts the men rushed in.Again and again their whips cut likeknives through the air. Their blows fellon Kazan, who was uppermost, and as

he felt the burning pain of the scourginwhips there flooded through him all aonce the fierce memory of the days oold—the days of the Club and the Lash.He snarled. Slowly he loosened hishold of the Eskimo dog’s throat. Andthen, out of the mêlée of dogs and men,



there sprang another man— with aclub ! It fell on Kazan’s back and theforce of it sent him flat into the snow. Iwas raised again. Behind the club therewas a face—a brutal, fire-reddenedface. It was such a face that had drive

Kazan into the wild, and as the clubfell again he evaded the full weight oits blow and his fangs gleamed likeivory knives. A third time the club wasraised, and this time Kazan met it imid-air, and his teeth ripped the lengthof the man’s forearm.

“Good God!” shrieked the man i pain, and Kazan caught the gleam of arifle barrel as he sped toward the

forest. A shot followed. Something likea red-hot coal ran the length of Kazan’ship, and deep in the forest he stoppedto lick at the burning furrow where the

bullet had gone just deep enough totake the skin and hair from his flesh.



Gray Wolf was still waiting under the balsam shrub when Kazan returnedto her. Joyously she sprang forth tomeet him. Once more the man had sen

back the old Kazan to her. He muzzledher neck and face, and stood for a few

moments with his head resting acrossher back, listening to the distant sound. Then, with ears laid flat, he set ou

straight into the north and west. Andnow Gray Wolf ran shoulder toshoulder with him like the Gray Wol

of the days before the dog-pack came;for that wonderful thing that lay beyondthe realm of reason told her that oncemore she was comrade and mate, and

that their trail that night was leading totheir old home under the windfall.



Chapter XVII

His Son

It happened that Kazan was toremember three things above allothers. He could never quite forget hisold days in the traces, though they weregrowing more shadowy and indistincin his memory as the summers and the

winters passed. Like a dream therecame to him a memory of the time hehad gone down to Civilization. Likedreams were the visions that rose

before him now and then of the face othe First Woman, and of the faces omasters who—to him—had lived ages

ago. And never would he quite forgetthe Fire, and his fights with man and beast, and his long chases in themoonlight. But two things were alwayswith him as if they had been buesterday, rising clear and

unforgetable above all others, like the



two stars in the North that never lostheir brilliance. One was Woman. Theother was the terrible fight of that nighon the top of the Sun Rock, when thelynx had blinded forever his wildmate, Gray Wolf. Certain events

remain indelibly fixed in the minds omen; and so, in a not very differenway, they remain in the minds o

beasts. It takes neither brain nor reasoto measure the depths of sorrow or ohappiness. And Kazan in hisunreasoning way knew that contentmen

and peace, a full stomach, and caressesand kind words instead of blows hadcome to him through Woman, and thatcomradeship in the wilderness—faith,loyalty and devotion—were a part oGray Wolf. The third unforgetablething was about to occur in the home

they had found for themselves under the swamp windfall during the days ocold and famine.



They had left the swamp over amonth before when it was smothereddeep in snow. On the day they returnedto it the sun was shining warmly in thefirst glorious days of spring warmth.Everywhere, big and small, there were

the rushing torrents of melting snowsand the crackle of crumbling ice, thedying cries of thawing rock and eartand tree, and each night for many nights

past the cold pale glow of the aurora borealis had crept farther and farther toward the Pole in fading glory. So

early as this the poplar buds had beguto swell and the air was filled with thesweet odor of balsam, spruce andcedar. Where there had been famineand death and stillness six weeks

before, Kazan and Gray Wolf nowstood at the edge of the swamp and

breathed the earthy smells of spring,and listened to the sounds of life. Over their heads a pair of newly-matedmoose-birds fluttered and scolded a



them. A big jay sat pluming himself inthe sunshine. Farther in they heard thecrack of a stick broken under a heavhoof. From the ridge behind them thecaught the raw scent of a mother bear,

busy pulling down the tender poplar

buds for her six-weeks-old cubs, bor while she was still deep in her winter sleep.

In the warmth of the sun and the

sweetness of the air there breathed toGray Wolf the mystery of matehood

and of motherhood. She whined softland rubbed her blind face againsKazan. For days, in her way, she triedto tell him. More than ever she wanted

to curl herself up in that warm dry nesunder the windfall. She had no desireto hunt. The crack of the dry sticunder a cloven hoof and the war scent of the she-bear and her cubsroused none of the old instincts in her.She wanted to curl herself up in the old



windfall—and wait. And she triedhard to make Kazan understand her desire.

Now that the snow was gone the

found that a narrow creek lay betwee

them and the knoll on which thewindfall was situated. Gray Wol picked up her ears at the tumult of thelittle torrent. Since the day of the Fire,when Kazan and she had savedthemselves on the sand-bar, she hadceased to have the inherent wolf horror

of water. She followed fearlessly,even eagerly, behind Kazan as hesought a place where they could fordthe rushing little stream. On the other

side Kazan could see the big windfall.Gray Wolf could smell it and shewhined joyously, with her blind faceturned toward it. A hundred yards upthe stream a big cedar had fallen over it and Kazan began to cross. For amoment Gray Wolf hesitated, and then



followed. Side by side they trotted tothe windfall. With their heads andshoulders in the dark opening to their nest they scented the air long andcautiously. Then they entered. Kazanheard Gray Wolf as she flung hersel

down on the dry floor of the snucavern. She was panting, not froexhaustion, but because she was filledwith a sensation of contentment andhappiness. In the darkness Kazan’sown jaws fell apart. He, too, was gladto get back to their old home. He wen

to Gray Wolf and, panting still harder,she licked his face. It had but onemeaning. And Kazan understood.

For a moment he lay down beside

her, listening, and eyeing the openingto their nest. Then he began to snif about the log walls. He was close tothe opening when a sudden fresh scencame to him, and he grew rigid, and his

bristles stood up. The scent was



followed by a whimpering, babyischatter. A porcupine entered theopening and proceeded to advance iits foolish fashion, still chattering ithat babyish way that has made its lifeinviolable at the hands of man. Kaza

had heard that sound before, and likeall other beasts had learned to ignorethe presence of the innocuous creaturethat made it. But just now he did nostop to consider that what he saw wasa porcupine and that at his first snarlthe good-humored little creature would

waddle away as fast as it could, stillchattering baby talk to itself. His firsreasoning was that it was a live thininvading the home to which Gray Woland he had just returned. A day later,or perhaps an hour later, he wouldhave driven it back with a growl. Now

he leaped upon it. A wild chattering, intermingled

with pig-like squeaks, and then a risin



staccato of howls followed the attack.Gray Wolf sprang to the opening. The

porcupine was rolled up in a thousand-spiked ball a dozen feet away, and shecould hear Kazan tearing about in thethroes of the direst agony that ca

befall a beast of the forests. His faceand nose were a mat of quills. For afew moments he rolled and dug in thewet mold and earth, pawing madly athe things that pierced his flesh. Thehe set off like all dogs will who havecome into contact with the friendl

porcupine, and raced again and agaiaround the windfall, howling at ever ump. Gray Wolf took the matter

coolly. It is possible that at times thereare moments of humor in the lives oanimals. If so, she saw this one. Shescented the porcupine and she knew

that Kazan was full of quills. As therewas nothing to do and nothing to fighshe sat back on her haunches andwaited, pricking up her ears every time



Kazan passed her in his mad circuiaround the windfall. At his fourth or fifth heat the porcupine smoothed itseldown a little, and continuing theinterrupted thread of its chatter waddled to a near-by poplar, climbed

it and began to gnaw the tender bar from a limb. At last Kazan halted before Gra

Wolf. The first agony of a hundredlittle needles piercing his flesh haddeadened into a steady burning pain.

Gray Wolf went over to him andinvestigated him cautiously. With her teeth she seized the ends of two or three of the quills and pulled them out.

Kazan was very much dog now. Hegave a yelp, and whimpered as GraWolf jerked out a second bunch oquills. Then he flattened himself on his

belly, stretched out his forelegs, closedhis eyes, and without any other soundexcept an occasional yelp of pai



allowed Gray Wolf to go on with theoperation. Fortunately he had escapedgetting any of the quills in his moutand tongue. But his nose and jawswere soon red with blood. For an hour Gray Wolf kept faithfully at her task

and by the end of that time hadsucceeded in pulling out most of thequills. A few still remained, too shortand too deeply inbedded for her toextract with her teeth.

After this Kazan went down to the

creek and buried his burning muzzle ithe cold water. This gave him somerelief, but only for a short time. Thequills that remained worked their wa

deeper and deeper into his flesh, likeliving things. Nose and lips began toswell. Blood and saliva dripped frohis mouth and his eyes grew red. Twohours after Gray Wolf had retired toher nest under the windfall a quill hadcompletely pierced his lip and bega



to prick his tongue. In desperatioKazan chewed viciously upon a pieceof wood. This broke and crumpled thequill, and destroyed its power to dofurther harm. Nature had told him theone thing to do to save himself. Mos

of that day he spent in gnawing awood and crunching mouthfuls of eartand mold between his jaws. In thisway the barb-toothed points of thequills were dulled and broken as thecame through. At dusk he crawledunder the windfall, and Gray Wol

gently licked his muzzle with her sof cool tongue. Frequently during thenight Kazan went to the creek andfound relief in its ice-cold water.

The next day he had what the fores

people call “porcupine mumps.” Hisface was swollen until Gray Wolwould have laughed if she had beehuman, and not blind. His chops bulgedlike cushions. His eyes were mere



slits. When he went out into the day he blinked, for he could see scarcel better than his sightless mate. But the pain was mostly gone. The night thafollowed he began to think of hunting,and the next morning before it was ye

dawn he brought a rabbit into their den.A few hours later he would have brought a spruce partridge to GraWolf, but just as he was about tospring upon his feathered prey the sof chatter of a porcupine a few yardsaway brought him to a sudden stop.

Few things could make Kazan drop histail. But that inane and incoheren prattle of the little spiked beast senhim off at double-quick with his tail

between his legs. As man abhors andevades the creeping serpent, so Kazawould hereafter evade this little

creature of the forests that never ianimal history has been known to loseits good-humor or pick a quarrel.



Two weeks of lengthening days, oincreasing warmth, of sunshine andhunting, followed Kazan’s adventurewith the porcupine. The last of thesnow went rapidly. Out of the earth

began to spring tips of green. The

bakneesh vine glistened redder eacday, the poplar buds began to split, andin the sunniest spots, between the rocksof the ridges the little white snow-flowers began to give a final proof thaspring had come. For the first of thosetwo weeks Gray Wolf hunted

frequently with Kazan. They did not gofar. The swamp was alive with smallgame and each day or night they killedfresh meat. After the first week GrayWolf hunted less. Then came the softand balmy night, glorious in theradiance of a full spring moon whe

she refused to leave the windfall.Kazan did not urge her. Instinct madehim understand, and he did not go far from the windfall that night in his hunt.



When he returned he brought a rabbit. Came then the night when from the

darkest corner of the windfall GraWolf warned him back with a lowsnarl. He stood in the opening, a rabbi

between his jaws. He took no offenseat the snarl, but stood for a moment,gazing into the gloom where Gray Wolhad hidden herself. Then he droppedthe rabbit and lay down squarely in theopening. After a little he roserestlessly and went outside. But he did

not leave the windfall. It was day whehe reentered. He sniffed, as he hadsniffed once before a long time ago,

between the boulders at the top of the

Sun Rock. That which was in the air was no longer a mystery to him. Hecame nearer and Gray Wolf did notsnarl. She whined coaxingly as hetouched her. Then his muzzle foundsomething else. It was soft and war and made a queer little sniffling sound.



There was a responsive whine in histhroat, and in the darkness came thequick soft caress of Gray Wolf’stongue. Kazan returned to the sunshineand stretched himself out before thedoor of the windfall. His jaws dropped

open, for he was filled with a strangecontentment.



Chapter XVIII

The Education Of Ba-Ree

Robbed once of the joys o parenthood by the murder on the SuRock, both Gray Wolf and Kazan weredifferent from what they would have

been had the big gray lynx not comeinto their lives at that time. As if it

were but yesterday they rememberedthe moonlit night when the lynx brough

blindness to Gray Wolf and destroyedher young, and when Kazan hadavenged himself and his mate in histerrible fight to the death with their enemy. And now, with that soft little

handful of life snuggling close upagainst her, Gray Wolf saw through her blind eyes the tragic picture of thanight more vividly than ever and shequivered at every sound, ready to leapin the face of an unseen foe, to rend allflesh that was not the flesh of Kazan.



And ceaselessly, the slightest sound bringing him to his feet, Kazawatched and guarded. He mistrustedthe moving shadows. The snapping of atwig drew back his upper lip. Hisfangs gleamed menacingly when the

soft air brought a strange scent. In him,too, the memory of the Sun Rock, thedeath of their first young and the

blinding of Gray Wolf, had given birthto a new instinct. Not for an instanwas he off his guard. As surely as oneexpects the sun to rise so did he expec

that sooner or later their deadly enemwould creep on them from out of theforest. In another hour such as this thelynx had brought death. The lynx had

brought blindness. And so day andnight he waited and watched for thelynx to come again. And woe unto any

other creature of flesh and blood thadared approach the windfall in thesefirst days of Gray Wolf’s motherhood!



But peace had spread its wings osunshine and plenty over the swamp.There were no intruders, unless thenoisy whisky-jacks, the big-eyedmoose-birds, the chattering bussparrows, and the wood-mice and

ermine could be called such. After thefirst day or two Kazan went morefrequently into the windfall, and thougmore than once he nosed searchinglabout Gray Wolf he could find only theone little pup. A little farther west theDog-Ribs would have called the pup

Ba-ree for two reasons—because hehad no brothers or sisters, and becausehe was a mixture of dog and wolf. Hewas a sleek and lively little fellowfrom the beginning, for there was nodivision of mother strength andattention. He developed with the true

swiftness of the wolf-whelp, and nowith the slowness of the dog-pup. For three days he was satisfied to



cuddle close against his mother,feeding when he was hungry, sleepinga great deal and preened and launderedalmost constantly by Gray Wolf’saffectionate tongue. From the fourtday he grew busier and more

inquisitive with every hour. He foundhis mother’s blind face, wittremendous effort he tumbled over her

paws, and once he lost himselcompletely and sniffled for help whehe rolled fifteen or eighteen inchesaway from her. It was not long after

this that he began to recognize Kazaas a part of his mother, and he wasscarcely more than a week old when herolled himself up contentedly betweeKazan’s forelegs and went to sleep.Kazan was puzzled. Then with a deepsigh Gray Wolf laid her head across

one of her mate’s forelegs, with her nose touching her runaway baby, andseemed vastly contented. For half ahour Kazan did not move.



When he was ten days old Ba-ree

discovered there was great sport itussling with a bit of rabbit fur. It wasa little later when he made his secondexciting discovery—light and sunshine.

The sun had now reached a poinwhere in the middle of the afternoon a bright gleam of it found its way througan overhead opening in the windfall.At first Ba-ree would only stare at thegolden streak. Then came the timewhen he tried to play with it as he

played with the rabbit fur. Each daythereafter he went a little nearer theopening through which Kazan passedfrom the windfall into the big world

outside. Finally came the time when hereached the opening and crouchedthere, blinking and frightened at whahe saw, and now Gray Wolf no longer tried to hold him back but went out intothe sunshine and tried to call him toher. It was three days before his weak



eyes had grown strong enough to permit his following her, and veryquickly after that Ba-ree learned tolove the sun, the warm air, and thesweetness of life, and to dread thedarkness of the closed-in den where he

had been born. That this world was not altogether

so nice as it at first appeared he wasvery soon to learn. At the darkeningsigns of an approaching storm one daGray Wolf tried to lure him back under

the windfall. It was her first warning toBa-ree and he did not understand.Where Gray Wolf failed, nature cameto teach a first lesson. Ba-ree was

caught in a sudden deluge of rain. Iflattened him out in pure terror and hewas drenched and half drowned beforeGray Wolf caught him between her aws and carried him into shelter. One

by one after this the first strangeexperiences of life came to him, and



one by one his instincts received their birth. Greatest for him of the days tofollow was that on which hisinquisitive nose touched the raw flesof a freshly killed and bleeding rabbit.It was his first taste of blood. It was

sweet. It filled him with a strangeexcitement and thereafter he knew whait meant when Kazan brought isomething between his jaws. He soo

began to battle with sticks in place othe soft fur and his teeth grew as hardand as sharp as little needles.

The Great Mystery was bared tohim at last when Kazan brought i

between his jaws, a big rabbit that was

still alive but so badly crushed that icould not run when dropped to theground. Ba-ree had learned to knowwhat rabbits and partridges meant—thesweet warm blood that he loved better even than he had ever loved hismother’s milk. But they had come to



him dead. He had never seen one of themonsters alive. And now the rabbit thaKazan dropped to the ground, kickinand struggling with a broken back, senBa-ree back appalled. For a fewmoments he wonderingly watched the

dying throes of Kazan’s prey. BothKazan and Gray Wolf seemed tounderstand that this was to be Ba-ree’sfirst lesson in his education as aslaying and flesh-eating creature, andthey stood close over the rabbit,making no effort to end its struggles.

Half a dozen times Gray Wolf sniffedat the rabbit and then turned her blindface toward Ba-ree. After the third or fourth time Kazan stretched himself ouon his belly a few feet away andwatched the proceedings attentively.Each time that Gray Wolf lowered her

head to muzzle the rabbit Ba-ree’slittle ears shot up expectantly. When hesaw that nothing happened and that hismother was not hurt he came a little



nearer. Soon he could reach out, stiff-legged and cautious, and touch thefurry thing that was not yet dead.

In a last spasmodic convulsion the

big rabbit doubled up its rear legs and

gave a kick that sent Ba-ree sprawlin back, yelping in terror. He regained hisfeet and then, for the first time, anger and the desire to retaliate too

possession of him. The kick hadcompleted his first education. He came

back with less caution, but stiffer-

legged, and a moment later had dug histiny teeth in the rabbit’s neck. He couldfeel the throb of life in the soft body,the muscles of the dying rabbi

twitched convulsively under him, andhe hung with his teeth until there wasno longer a tremor of life in his firskill. Gray Wolf was delighted. Shecaressed Ba-ree with her tongue, andeven Kazan condescended to snif approvingly of his son when he



returned to the rabbit. And never before had warm sweet blood tasted sogood to Ba-ree as it did to-day.

Swiftly Ba-ree developed from a

blood-tasting into a flesh-eatin

animal. One by one the mysteries olife were unfolded to him—the mating-night chortle of the gray owl, the crasof a falling tree, the roll of thunder, therush of running water, the scream of afisher-cat, the mooing of the cowmoose, and the distant call of his tribe.

But chief of all these mysteries thawere already becoming a part of hisinstinct was the mystery of scent. Oneday he wandered fifty yards away fro

the windfall and his little nose touchedthe warm scent of a rabbit. Instantly,without reasoning or further process oeducation, he knew that to get at thesweet flesh and blood which he lovedhe must follow the scent. He wriggledslowly along the trail until he came to



a big log, over which the rabbit hadvaulted in a long leap, and from thislog he turned back. Each day after thishe went on adventures of his own. Atfirst he was like an explorer without acompass in a vast and unknown world.

Each day he encountered somethinnew, always wonderful, frequentlyterrifying. But his terrors grew less andless and his confidencecorrespondingly greater. As he foundthat none of the things he feared didhim any harm he became more and

more bold in his investigations. Andhis appearance was changing, as wellas his view of things. His round roly-

poly body was taking a different form.He became lithe and quick. The yellowof his coat darkened, and there was awhitish-gray streak along his back like

that along Kazan’s. He had hismother’s under-throat and her beautifulgrace of head. Otherwise he was a trueson of Kazan. His limbs gave signs o



future strength and massiveness. Hewas broad across the chest. His eyeswere wide apart, with a little red in thelower corners. The forest people knowwhat to expect of husky pups who earldevelop that drop of red. It is a

warning that they are born of the wildand that their mothers, or fathers, are othe savage hunt-packs. In Ba-ree thatinge of red was so pronounced that icould mean but one thing. While hewas almost half dog, the wild hadclaimed him forever.

Not until the day of his first real battle with a living creature did Ba-reecome fully into his inheritance. He had

gone farther than usual from thewindfall—fully a hundred yards. Herehe found a new wonder. It was thecreek. He had heard it before and hehad looked down on it from afar— from a distance of fifty yards at least.But to-day he ventured going to the



edge of it, and there he stood for a lontime, with the water rippling andsinging at his feet, gazing across it intothe new world that he saw. Then hemoved cautiously along the stream. Hehad not gone a dozen steps when there

was a furious fluttering close to him,and one of the fierce big-eyed jays othe Northland was directly in his path.It could not fly. One of its wingsdragged, probably broken in a strugglewith some one of the smaller preyin

beasts. But for an instant it was a mos

startling and defiant bit of life to Ba-ree. Then the grayish crest along his

back stiffened and he advanced. Thewounded jay remained motionless untilBa-ree was within three feet of it. Ishort quick hops it began to retreat.Instantly Ba-ree’s indecision hadflown to the four winds. With onesharp excited yelp he flew at the



defiant bird. For a few moments therewas a thrilling race, and Ba-ree’ssharp little teeth buried themselves ithe jay’s feathers. Swift as a flash the

bird’s beak began to strike. The jaywas the king of the smaller birds. I

nesting season it killed the brussparrows, the mild-eyed moose-birds,and the tree-sappers. Again and againit struck Ba-ree with its powerful beak,

but the son of Kazan had now reachedthe age of battle and the pain of the

blows only made his own teeth sin

deeper. At last he found the flesh; anda puppyish snarl rose in his throat.Fortunately he had gained a hold under the wing and after the first doze

blows the jay’s resistance grewweaker. Five minutes later Ba-reeloosened his teeth and drew back a

step to look at the crumpled andmotionless creature before him. Theay was dead. He had won his firs

battle. And with victory came the



wonderful dawning of that greatesinstinct of all, which told him that nolonger was he a drone in the marvelousmechanism of wilderness life—but a

part of it from this time forth. For hehad killed .

Half an hour later Gray Wolf camedown over his trail. The jay was tor into bits. Its feathers were scatteredabout and Ba-ree’s little nose was

bloody. Ba-ree was lying in triumph beside his victim. Swiftly Gray Wol

understood and caressed him joyously.When they returned to the windfall Ba-ree carried in his jaws what was left othe jay.

From that hour of his first kill

hunting became the chief passion oBa-ree’s life. When he was notsleeping in the sun, or under thewindfall at night, he was seeking lifethat he could destroy. He slaughtered



an entire family of wood-mice. Moose- birds were at first the easiest for hito stalk, and he killed three. Then heencountered an ermine and the fiercelittle white outlaw of the forests gavehim his first defeat. Defeat cooled his

ardor for a few days, but taught him thegreat lesson that there were other fanged and flesh-eating animals

besides himself and that nature had soschemed things that fang must not preupon fang— for food . Many things had

been born in him. Instinctively he

shunned the porcupine withouexperiencing the torture of its quills.He came face to face with a fisher-caone day, a fortnight after his fight withthe ermine. Both were seeking food,and as there was no food between theto fight over, each went his own way.

Farther and farther Ba-ree venturedfrom the windfall, always followinthe creek. Sometimes he was gone for



hours. At first Gray Wolf was restlesswhen he was away, but she seldomwent with him and after a time her restlessness left her. Nature wasworking swiftly. It was Kazan whowas restless now. Moonlight nights

had come and the wanderlust wasgrowing more and more insistent in hisveins. And Gray Wolf, too, was filledwith the strange longing to roam alarge out into the big world.

Came then the afternoon when Ba-

ree went on his longest hunt. Half amile away he killed his first rabbit. Heremained beside it until dusk. Themoon rose, big and golden, floodin

the forests and plains and ridges with alight almost like that of day. It was aglorious night. And Ba-ree found themoon, and left his kill. And thedirection in which he traveled wasaway from the windfall .



All that night Gray Wolf watchedand waited. And when at last the moonwas sinking into the south and west shesettled back on her haunches, turnedher blind face to the sky and sent forther first howl since the day Ba-ree was

born. Nature had come into her own.Far away Ba-ree heard, but he did noanswer. A new world was his. He hadsaid good-by to the windfall—andhome.



Chapter XIX

The Usurpers

It was that glorious season betweespring and summer, when the northernnights were brilliant with moon andstars, that Kazan and Gray Wolf set upthe valley between the two ridges on along hunt. It was the beginning of tha

wanderlust which always comes to thefurred and padded creatures of thewilderness immediately after theoung-born of early spring have lef

their mothers to find their own way ithe big world. They struck west frotheir winter home under the windfall i

the swamp. They hunted mostly at nighand behind them they left a trailmarked by the partly eaten carcasses orabbits and partridges. It was theseason of slaughter and not of hunger.Ten miles west of the swamp theykilled a fawn. This, too, they left after



a single meal. Their appetites becamesatiated with warm flesh and blood.They grew sleek and fat and each dathey basked longer in the war sunshine. They had few rivals. Thelynxes were in the heavier timber to

the south. There were no wolves.Fisher-cat, marten and mink werenumerous along the creek, but thesewere neither swift-hunting nor long-fanged. One day they came upon an oldotter. He was a giant of his kind,turning a whitish gray with the

approach of summer. Kazan, grown fatand lazy, watched him idly. Blind GrayWolf sniffed at the fishy smell of himin the air. To them he was no more thaa floating stick, a creature out of their element, along with the fish, and thecontinued on their way not knowin

that this uncanny creature with thecoal-like flappers was soon to becometheir ally in one of the strange anddeadly feuds of the wilderness, whic



are as sanguinary to animal life as thedeadliest feuds of men are to humalife.

The day following their meetin

with the otter Gray Wolf and Kazan

continued three miles farther westward, still following the stream.Here they encountered the interruptioto their progress which turned theover the northward ridge. The obstaclewas a huge beaver dam. The dam wastwo hundred yards in width and

flooded a mile of swamp and timber above it. Neither Gray Wolf nor Kazanwas deeply interested in beavers. Thealso moved out of their element, alon

with the fish and the otter and swift-winged birds.

So they turned into the north, no

knowing that nature had alreadschemed that they four—the dog, wolf,otter and beaver—should soon be



engaged in one of those mercilessstruggles of the wild which keepanimal life down to the survival of thefittest, and whose tragic histories arekept secret under the stars and themoon and the winds that tell no tales.

For many years no man had comeinto this valley between the two ridgesto molest the beaver. If a Sarceetrapper had followed down thenameless creek and had caught the

patriarch and chief of the colony, he

would at once have judged him to bevery old and his Indian tongue wouldhave given him a name. He would havecalled him Broken Tooth, because one

of the four long teeth with which hefelled trees and built dams was brokeoff. Six years before Broken Tooth hadled a few beavers of his own age dowthe stream, and they had built their firssmall dam and their first lodge. Thefollowing April Broken Tooth’s mate



had four little baby beavers, and eacof the other mothers in the colonincreased the population by two or three or four. At the end of the fourthear this first generation of children,

had they followed the usual law o

nature, would have mated and left thecolony to build a dam and lodges otheir own. They mated, but did noemigrate.

The next year the second

generation of children, now four years

old, mated but did not leave, so that ithis early summer of the sixth year thecolony was very much like a great citthat had been long besieged by a

enemy. It numbered fifteen lodges andover a hundred beavers, not countinthe fourth babies which had been bor during March and April. The dam had

been lengthened until it was fully twohundred yards in length. Water had

been made to flood large areas of birc



and poplar and tangled swamps otender willow and elder. Even withthis food was growing scarce and thelodges were overcrowded. This was

because beavers are almost human itheir love for home. Broken Tooth’s

lodge was fully nine feet long by sevewide inside, and there were now livinin it children and grandchildren to thenumber of twenty-seven. For thisreason Broken Tooth was preparing to

break the precedent of his tribe. WheKazan and Gray Wolf sniffed

carelessly at the strong scents of the beaver city, Broken Tooth wasmarshaling his family, and two of hissons and their families, for the exodus.

As yet Broken Tooth was the

recognized leader in the colony. Noother beaver had grown to his size andstrength. His thick body was fully threefeet long. He weighed at least sixt

pounds. His tail was fourteen inches i



length and five in width, and on a stillnight he could strike the water a blowthat could be heard a quarter of a mileaway. His webbed hindfeet were twiceas large as his mate’s and he waseasily the swiftest swimmer in the

colony. Following the afternoon when Gra

Wolf and Kazan struck into the northcame the clear still night when BrokeTooth climbed to the top of the dam,shook himself, and looked down to see

that his army was behind him. Thestarlit water of the big pond rippledand flashed with the movement of man

bodies. A few of the older beavers

clambered up after Broken Tooth andthe old patriarch plunged down into thenarrow stream on the other side of thedam. Now the shining silken bodies othe emigrants followed him in thestarlight. In ones and twos and threesthey climbed over the dam and wit



them went a dozen children born threemonths before. Easily and swiftly the

began the journey down-stream, theoungsters swimming furiously to keep

up with their parents. In all thenumbered forty. Broken Tooth swam

well in the lead, with his older workers and battlers behind him. In therear followed mothers and children.

All of that night the journe

continued. The otter, their deadliestenemy—deadlier even than man—hid

himself in a thick clump of willows asthey passed. Nature, which sometimessees beyond the vision of man, hadmade him the enemy of these creatures

that were passing his hiding-place ithe night. A fish-feeder, he was born to

be a conserver as well as a destroyer of the creatures on which he fed.Perhaps nature told him that too man

beaver dams stopped the run ospawning fish and that where there



were many beavers there were alwaysfew fish. Maybe he reasoned as to whfish-hunting was poor and he wenhungry. So, unable to cope singly withwhole tribes of his enemies, he workedto destroy their dams. How this, i

turn, destroyed the beavers will beseen in the feud in which nature hadalready schemed that he should play a

part with Kazan and Gray Wolf. A dozen times during this night

Broken Tooth halted to investigate the

food supplies along the banks. But ithe two or three places where he found plenty of the bark on which they livedit would have been difficult to have

constructed a dam. His wonderfulengineering instincts rose even abovefood instincts. And when each time hemoved onward, no beaver questionedhis judgment by remaining behind. Ithe early dawn they crossed the bur and came to the edge of the swamp



domain of Kazan and Gray Wolf. Byright of discovery and possession thaswamp belonged to the dog and thewolf. In every part of it they had lef their mark of ownership. But BrokeTooth was a creature of the water and

the scent of his tribe was not keen. Heled on, traveling more slowly whethey entered the timber. Just below thewindfall home of Kazan and GraWolf he halted, and clambering ashore

balanced himself upright on hiswebbed hindfeet and broad four-pound

tail. Here he had found idealconditions. A dam could beconstructed easily across the narrowstream, and the water could be made toflood a big supply of poplar, birch,willow and alder. Also the place wassheltered by heavy timber, so that the

winters would be warm. Broken Toothquickly gave his followers tounderstand that this was to be their new home. On both sides of the strea



they swarmed into the near-by timber.The babies began at once to nibblehungrily at the tender bark of willowand alder. The older ones, every one othem now a working engineer,investigated excitedly, breakfasting by

nibbling off a mouthful of bark nowand then. That day the work of home-

building began. Broken Tooth himselselected a big birch that leaned over the stream, and began the work o

cutting through the ten-inch butt withis three long teeth. Though the old patriarch had lost one tooth, the threethat remained had not deteriorated wit

age. The outer edge of them wasformed of the hardest enamel; the inner side was of soft ivory. They were likethe finest steel chisels, the enamelnever wearing away and the softer ivory replacing itself year by year as iwas consumed. Sitting on his hindlegs,



with his forepaws resting against thetree and with his heavy tail giving hia firm balance, Broken Tooth begangnawing a narrow ring entirely aroundthe tree. He worked tirelessly for several hours, and when at last he

stopped to rest another workman tooup the task. Meanwhile a doze beavers were hard at work cuttintimber. Long before Broken Tooth’stree was ready to fall across thestream, a smaller poplar crashed intothe water. The cutting on the big birch

was in the shape of an hour-glass. Itwenty hours it fell straight across thecreek. While the beaver prefers to domost of his work at night he is a day-laborer as well, and Broken Toothgave his tribe but little rest during thedays that followed. With almost human

intelligence the little engineers kept atheir task. Smaller trees were felled,and these were cut into four or fivefoot lengths. One by one these lengths



were rolled to the stream, the beavers pushing them with their heads andforepaws, and by means of brush andsmall limbs they were fastenedsecurely against the birch. When theframework was completed the

wonderful cement construction was begun. In this the beavers were themasters of men. Dynamite was the onlforce that could hereafter break upwhat they were building now. Under their cup-like chins the beavers

brought from the banks a mixture o

mud and fine twigs, carrying from hala pound to a pound at a load and begafilling up the framework with it. Their task seemed tremendous, and yeBroken Tooth’s engineers could carrya ton of this mud and twig mixtureduring a day and night. In three days

the water was beginning to back, untilit rose about the butts of a dozen or more trees and was flooding a smallarea of brush. This made work easier.



From now on materials could be cut ithe water and easily floated. While a

part of the beaver colony was takinadvantage of the water, others werefelling trees end to end with the birch,laying the working frame of a dam a

hundred feet in width. They had nearly accomplished this

work when one morning Kazan andGray Wolf returned to the swamp.



Chapter XX

A Feud In The Wilderness

A soft wind blowing from the southand east brought the scent of theinvaders to Gray Wolf’s nose whenthey were still half a mile away. Shegave the warning to Kazan and he, too,found the strange scent in the air. It

grew stronger as they advanced. Whetwo hundred yards from the windfallthey heard the sudden crash of a fallintree, and stopped. For a full minutethey stood tense and listening. Then thesilence was broken by a squeaking cry,followed by a splash. Gray Wolf’s

alert ears fell back and she turned her blind face understandingly towardKazan. They trotted ahead slowly,approaching the windfall from behind.

Not until they had reached the top othe knoll on which it was situated didKazan begin to see the wonderful



change that had taken place during their absence. Astounded, they stood whilehe stared. There was no longer a littlecreek below them. Where it had beewas a pond that reached almost to thefoot of the knoll. It was fully a hundred

feet in width and the backwater hadflooded the trees and bush for five or six times that distance toward the burn.They had come up quietly and BrokeTooth’s dull-scented workers wereunaware of their presence. Not fiftfeet away Broken Tooth himself was

gnawing at the butt of a tree. An equaldistance to the right of him four or fiveof the baby beavers were at pla

building a miniature dam of mud andtiny twigs. On the opposite side of the

pond was a steep bank six or sevefeet high, and here a few of the older

children—two years old, but still noworkmen—were having great fuclimbing the bank and using it as atoboggan-slide. It was their splashin



that Kazan and Gray Wolf had heard.In a dozen different places the older

beavers were at work. A few weeks before Kazan had

looked upon a similar scene when he

had returned into the north from BrokeTooth’s old home. It had not interestedhim then. But a quick and thrillinchange swept through him now. The

beavers had ceased to be mere water animals, uneatable and with an odor that displeased him. They were

invaders—and enemies. His fangs bared silently. His crest stiffened likethe hair of a brush, and the muscles ohis forelegs and shoulders stood ou

like whipcords. Not a sound camefrom him as he rushed down upoBroken Tooth. The old beaver wasoblivious of danger until Kazan waswithin twenty feet of him. Naturallslow of movement on land, he stoodfor an instant stupefied. Then he swun



down from the tree as Kazan leapedupon him. Over and over they rolled tothe edge of the bank, carried on by thedog’s momentum. In another momentthe thick heavy body of the beaver hadslipped like oil from under Kazan and

Broken Tooth was safe in his element,two holes bitten clean through hisfleshy tail. Baffled in his effort to get adeath-hold on Broken Tooth, Kazanswung like a flash to the right. Theoung beavers had not moved.

Astonished and frightened at what the

had seen, they stood as if stupefied. Not until they saw Kazan tearintoward them did they awaken to action.Three of them reached the water. Thefourth and fifth—baby beavers nomore than three months old—were toolate. With a single snap of his jaw

Kazan broke the hack of one. The other he pinned down by the throat andshook as a terrier shakes a rat. WheGray Wolf trotted down to him both o



the little beavers were dead. Shesniffed at their soft little bodies andwhined. Perhaps the baby creaturesreminded her of runaway Ba-ree, her own baby, for there was a note olonging in her whine as she nosed

them. It was the mother whine. But if Gray Wolf had visions of her

own Kazan understood nothing of them.He had killed two of the creatures thahad dared to invade their home. To thelittle beavers he had been as merciless

as the gray lynx that had murderedGray Wolf’s first children on the top othe Sun Rock. Now that he had sunk histeeth into the flesh of his enemies his

blood was filled with a frenzied desireto kill. He raved along the edge of the

pond, snarling at the uneasy water under which Broken Tooth haddisappeared. All of the beavers hadtaken refuge in the pond, and itssurface was heaving with the passin



of many bodies beneath. Kazan came tothe end of the dam. This was new.Instinctively he knew that it was thework of Broken Tooth and his tribeand for a few moments he tore fiercelat the matted sticks and limbs.

Suddenly there was an upheaval owater close to the dam, fifty feet oufrom the bank, and Broken Tooth’s biggray head appeared. For a tense halminute Broken Tooth and Kazanmeasured each other at that distance.Then Broken Tooth drew his wet

shining body out of the water to the topof the dam, and squatted flat, facinKazan. The old patriarch was alone.

Not another beaver had shown himself. The surface of the pond had now

become quiet. Vainly Kazan tried todiscover a footing that would allowhim to reach the watchful invader. But

between the solid wall of the dam andthe bank there was a tangled



framework through which the water rushed with some violence. Threetimes Kazan fought to work his wathrough that tangle, and three times hisefforts ended in sudden plunges intothe water. All this time Broken Tooth

did not move. When at last Kazan gaveup the attack the old engineer slippedover the edge of the dam anddisappeared under the water. He hadlearned that Kazan, like the lynx, couldnot fight water and he spread the newsamong the members of his colony.

Gray Wolf and Kazan returned tothe windfall and lay down in the war sun. Half an hour later Broken Tooth

drew himself out on the opposite shoreof the pond. He was followed by other

beavers. Across the water theyresumed their work as if nothing hadhappened. The tree-cutters returned totheir trees. Half a dozen worked in thewater, carrying loads of cement and



twigs. The middle of the pond wastheir dead-line. Across this not one othem passed. A dozen times during thehour that followed one of the beaversswam up to the dead-line, and restedthere, looking at the shining little

bodies of the babies that Kazan hadkilled. Perhaps it was the mother, and perhaps some finer instinct unknown toKazan told this to Gray Wolf. For GrayWolf went down twice to sniff at thedead bodies, and each time—withouseeing—she went when the mother

beaver had come to the dead-line. The first fierce animus had wor

itself from Kazan’s blood, and he now

watched the beavers closely. He hadlearned that they were not fighters.They were many to one and yet theran from him like a lot of rabbits.Broken Tooth had not even struck athim, and slowly it grew upon him thathese invading creatures that used bot



the water and land would have to behunted as he stalked the rabbit and the

partridge. Early in the afternoon heslipped off into the bush, followed bGray Wolf. He had often begun thestalking of a rabbit by moving away

from it and he employed this wolf tricnow with the beavers. Beyond thewindfall he turned and began trottinup the creek, with the wind. For aquarter of a mile the creek was deeper than it had ever been. One of their oldfording places was completel

submerged, and at last Kazan plungedin and swam across, leaving GraWolf to wait for him on the windfallside of the stream.

Alone he made his way quickly i

the direction of the dam, traveling twohundred yards back from the creek.Twenty yards below the dam a densethicket of alder and willow grew closeto the creek and Kazan took advantage



of this. He approached within a leap or two of the dam without being seen andcrouched close to the ground, ready tospring forth when the opportunitcame. Most of the beavers were nowworking in the water. The four or five

still on shore were close to the water and some distance up-stream. After await of several minutes Kazan wasalmost on the point of stakineverything on a wild rush upon hisenemies when a movement on the daattracted his attention. Half-way ou

two or three beavers were at wor strengthening the central structure witcement. Swift as a flash Kazan dartedfrom his cover to the shelter behind thedam. Here the water was very shallow,the main portion of the stream finding a

passage close to the opposite shore.

Nowhere did it reach to his belly as hewaded out. He was completely hiddefrom the beavers, and the wind was ihis favor. The noise of running water



drowned what little sound he made.Soon he heard the beaver workmeover him. The branches of the falle

birch gave him a footing, and heclambered up.

A moment later his head andshoulders appeared above the top othe dam. Scarce an arm’s length awayBroken Tooth was forcing into place athree-foot length of poplar as biaround as a man’s arm. He was so

busy that he did not hear or see Kazan.

Another beaver gave the warning as he plunged into the pond. Broken Toothlooked up, and his eyes met Kazan’s

bared fangs. There was no time to turn.

He threw himself back, but it was amoment too late. Kazan was upon him.His long fangs sank deep into BrokeTooth’s neck. But the old beaver hadthrown himself enough back to makeKazan lose his footing. At the samemoment his chisel-like teeth got a fir



hold of the loose skin at Kazan’sthroat. Thus clinched, with Kazan’slong teeth buried almost to the

beaver’s jugular, they plunged downinto the deep water of the pond.

Broken Tooth weighed sixty pounds. The instant he struck the water he was in his element, and holdintenaciously to the grip he had obtainedon Kazan’s neck he sank like a chunk of iron. Kazan was pulled completelunder. The water rushed into his

mouth, his ears, eyes and nose. He was blinded, and his senses were a roarintumult. But instead of struggling to freehimself he held his breath and buried

his teeth deeper. They touched the soft bottom and for a moment floundered ithe mud. Then Kazan loosened hishold. He was fighting for his own lifenow—and not for Broken Tooth’s.With all of the strength of his powerfullimbs he struggled to break loose—to



rise to the surface, to fresh air, to life.He clamped his jaws shut, knowinthat to breathe was to die. On land hecould have freed himself from BrokeTooth’s hold without an effort. Butunder water the old beaver’s grip was

more deadly than would have been thefangs of a lynx ashore. There was asudden swirl of water as a second

beaver circled close about thestruggling pair. Had he closed in withBroken Tooth, Kazan’s struggleswould quickly have ceased.

But nature had not foreseen the dawhen Broken Tooth would be fightingwith fang. The old patriarch had no

particular reason now for holdinKazan down. He was not vengeful. Hedid not thirst for blood or death.Finding that he was free, and that thisstrange enemy that had twice leapedupon him could do him no harm, heloosed his hold. It was not a momen



too soon for Kazan. He was strugglinweakly when he rose to the surface othe water. Three-quarters drowned, hesucceeded in raising his forepaws over a slender branch that projected frothe dam. This gave him time to fill his

lungs with air, and to cough forth thewater that had almost ended hisexistence. For ten minutes he clung tothe branch before he dared attempt theshort swim ashore. When he reachedthe bank he dragged himself up weakly.All the strength was gone from his

body. His limbs shook. His jaws hungloose. He was beaten—completel beaten. And a creature without a fanghad worsted him. He felt the abasemenof it. Drenched and slinking, he went tothe windfall, lay down in the sun, andwaited for Gray Wolf.

Days followed in which Kazan’sdesire to destroy his beaver enemies

became the consuming passion of his



life. Each day the dam became moreformidable. Cement work in the water was carried on by the beavers swiftland safely. The water in the pond rosehigher each twenty-four hours, and the

pond grew steadily wider. The water

had now been turned into thedepression that encircled the windfall,and in another week or two, if the

beavers continued their work, Kazan’sand Gray Wolf’s home would benothing more than a small island in thecenter of a wide area of submerged

swamp. Kazan hunted only for food now,

and not for pleasure. Ceaselessly he

watched his opportunity to leap upoincautious members of Broken Tooth’stribe. The third day after the struggleunder the water he killed a big beaver that approached too close to thewillow thicket. The fifth day two of theoung beavers wandered into the



flooded depression back of thewindfall and Kazan caught them ishallow water and tore them into

pieces. After these successful assaultsthe beavers began to work mostly anight. This was to Kazan’s advantage,

for he was a night-hunter. On each otwo consecutive nights he killed a beaver. Counting the young, he hadkilled seven when the otter came.

Never had Broken Tooth been

placed between two deadlier or more

ferocious enemies than the two thanow assailed him. On shore Kazan washis master because of his swiftness,keener scent, and fighting trickery. In

the water the otter was a still greater menace. He was swifter than the fisthat he caught for food. His teeth werelike steel needles. He was so sleek andslippery that it would have beeimpossible for them to hold him wittheir chisel-like teeth could they have



caught him. The otter, like the beaver, possessed no hunger for blood. Yet inall the Northland he was the greatesdestroyer of their kind—an evegreater destroyer than man. He cameand passed like a plague, and it was i

the coldest days of winter that greatesdestruction came with him. In thosedays he did not assault the beavers itheir snug houses. He did what macould do only with dynamite—made aembrasure through their dam. Swiftlthe water would fall, the surface ice

would crash down, and the beaver houses would be left out of water.Then followed death for the beavers— starvation and cold. With the

protecting water gone from about their houses, the drained pond a chaoticmass of broken ice, and the

temperature forty or fifty degrees below zero, they would die within afew hours. For the beaver, with histhick coat of fur, can stand less cold



than man. Through all the long winter the water about his home is asnecessary to him as fire to a child.

But it was summer now and Broke

Tooth and his colony had no very great

fear of the otter. It would cost themsome labor to repair the damage hedid, but there was plenty of food and iwas warm. For two days the otter frisked about the dam and the deepwater of the pond. Kazan took him for a beaver, and tried vainly to stalk him.

The otter regarded Kazan suspiciousland kept well out of his way. Neither knew that the other was an ally.Meanwhile the beavers continued their

work with greater caution. The water in the pond had now risen to a poinwhere the engineers had begun theconstruction of three lodges. On thethird day the destructive instinct of theotter began its work. He began toexamine the dam, close down to the



foundation. It was not long before hefound a weak spot to begin work on,and with his sharp teeth and small

bullet-like head he commenced hisdrilling operations. Inch by inch heworked his way through the dam,

burrowing and gnawing over and under the timbers, and always through thecement. The round hole he made wasfully seven inches in diameter. In sixhours he had cut it through the five-foo

base of the dam.

A torrent of water began to rushfrom the pond as if forced out by ahydraulic pump. Kazan and Gray Wolwere hiding in the willows on the

south side of the pond when thishappened. They heard the roar of thestream tearing through the embrasureand Kazan saw the otter crawl up tothe top of the dam and shake himsellike a huge water-rat. Within thirtyminutes the water in the pond had



fallen perceptibly, and the force of thewater pouring through the hole wasconstantly increasing the outlet. Ianother half hour the foundations of thethree lodges, which had been laid iabout ten inches of water, stood on

mud. Not until Broken Toothdiscovered that the water was recedinfrom the houses did he take alarm. Hewas thrown into a panic, and very sooevery beaver in the colony tearinexcitedly about the pond. They swaswiftly from shore to shore, paying no

attention to the dead-line now. BrokenTooth and the older workmen made for the dam, and with a snarling cry theotter plunged down among them andout like a flash for the creek above the

pond. Swiftly the water continued tofall and as it fell the excitement of the

beavers increased. They forgot Kazaand Gray Wolf. Several of the younger members o



the colony drew themselves ashore othe windfall side of the pond, andwhining softly Kazan was about to slip

back through the willows when one othe older beavers waddled up througthe deepening mud close on his

ambush. In two leaps Kazan was upohim, with Gray Wolf a leap behindhim. The short fierce struggle in themud was seen by the other beavers andthey crossed swiftly to the oppositeside of the pond. The water hadreceded to a half of its greatest widt

before Broken Tooth and his workmendiscovered the breach in the wall othe dam. The work of repair was beguat once. For this work sticks and brusof considerable size were necessary,and to reach this material the beaverswere compelled to drag their heav

bodies through the ten or fifteen yardsof soft mud left by the falling water.Peril of fang no longer kept them back.Instinct told them that they were



fighting for their existence—that if theembrasure were not filled up and thewater kept in the pond they would ver soon be completely exposed to their enemies. It was a day of slaughter for Gray Wolf and Kazan. They killed two

more beavers in the mud close to thewillows. Then they crossed the cree below the dam and cut off three beavers in the depression behind thewindfall. There was no escape for these three. They were torn into pieces.Farther up the creek Kazan caught a

oung beaver and killed it. Late in the afternoon the slaughter

ended. Broken Tooth and his

courageous engineers had at lasrepaired the breach, and the water ithe pond began to rise.

Half a mile up the creek the bi

otter was squatted on a log basking ithe last glow of the setting sun. To-



morrow he would go and do over again his work of destruction. Thawas his method. For him it was play.

But that strange and unseen arbiter

of the forests called O-ee-ki, “the

Spirit,” by those who speak the wildtongue, looked down at last with mercupon Broken Tooth and his death-stricken tribe. For in that last glow osunset Kazan and Gray Wolf slippedstealthily up the creek—to find theotter basking half asleep on the log.

The day’s work, a full stomach,and the pool of warm sunlight in whiche lay had all combined to make the

otter sleepy. He was as motionless asthe log on which he had stretchedhimself. He was big and gray and old.For ten years he had lived to prove hiscunning superior to that of man. Vainlytraps had been set for him. Wilytrappers had built narrow sluice-ways



of rock and tree in small streams for him, but the old otter had foiled their cunning and escaped the steel jawswaiting at the lower end of each sluice.The trail he left in soft mud told of hissize. A few trappers had seen him. His

soft pelt would long ago have found itsway to London, Paris or Berlin had inot been for his cunning. He was fit for a princess, a duke or an emperor. For ten years he had lived and escaped thedemands of the rich.

But this was summer. No trapper would have killed him now, for his pelt was worthless. Nature and instinc both told him this. At this season he

did not dread man, for there was noman to dread. So he lay asleep on thelog, oblivious to everything but thecomfort of sleep and the warmth of thesun.

Soft-footed, searching still for



signs of the furry enemies who hadinvaded their domain, Kazan slippedalong the creek. Gray Wolf ran close athis shoulder. They made no sound, andthe wind was in their favor—bringinscents toward them. It brought the otter

smell. To Kazan and Gray Wolf it wasthe scent of a water animal, rank andfishy, and they took it for the beaver.They advanced still more cautiously.Then Kazan saw the big otter asleep othe log and he gave the warning toGray Wolf. She stopped, standing with

her head thrown up, while Kazan madehis stealthy advance. The otter stirreduneasily. It was growing dusk. Thegolden pool of sunlight had fadedaway. Back in the darkening timber anowl greeted night with its first-lowcall. The otter breathed deeply. His

whiskered muzzle twitched. He wasawakening—stirring—when Kazaleaped upon him. Face to face, in fair fight, the old otter could have given a



good account of himself. But there wasno chance now. The wild itself had for the first time in his life become hisdeadliest enemy. It was not man now—

but O-ee-ki, “the Spirit,” that had laidits hand upon him. And from the Spirit

there was no escape. Kazan’s fangssank into his soft jugular. Perhaps hedied without knowing what it was thahad leaped upon him. For he died— quickly, and Kazan and Gray Wolf went on their way, hunting still for enemies to slaughter, and not knowing

that in the otter they had killed the oneally who would have driven the beavers from their swamp home.

The days that followed grew more

and more hopeless for Kazan and GraWolf. With the otter gone BrokenTooth and his tribe held the winninghand. Each day the water backed alittle farther into the depressiosurrounding the windfall. By the



middle of July only a narrow strip oland connected the windfall hummocwith the dry land of the swamp. Ideep water the beavers now workedunmolested. Inch by inch the water rose, until there came the day when i

began to overflow the connecting strip.For the last time Kazan and Gray Wol passed from their windfall home andtraveled up the stream between the tworidges. The creek held a new meaninfor them now and as they traveled thesniffed its odors and listened to its

sounds with an interest they had never known before. It was an interesmingled a little with fear, for something in the manner in which the

beavers had beaten them remindedKazan and Gray Wolf of man . And thatnight, when in the radiance of the bi

white moon they came within scent othe beaver colony that Broken Toothhad left, they turned quickly northwardinto the plains. Thus had brave old



Broken Tooth taught them to respectthe flesh and blood and handiwork ohis tribe.



Chapter XXI

A Shot On The Sand-Bar

July and August of 1911 weremonths of great fires in the Northland.The swamp home of Kazan and GraWolf, and the green valley between thetwo ridges, had escaped the seas odevastating flame; but now, as they set

forth on their wandering adventuresagain, it was not long before their

padded feet came in contact with theseared and blackened desolation thahad followed so closely after the

plague and starvation of the precedinwinter. In his humiliation and defeat,

after being driven from his swamphome by the beavers, Kazan led his blind mate first into the south. Twentymiles beyond the ridge they struck thefire-killed forests. Winds fromHudson’s Bay had driven the flames inan unbroken sea into the west, and the



had left not a vestige of life or a patcof green. Blind Gray Wolf could notsee the blackened world, but she

sensed it. It recalled to her memory othat other fire, after the battle on theSun Rock; and all of her wonderful

instincts, sharpened and developed bher blindness, told her that to the nort —and not south—lay the hunting-grounds they were seeking. The straiof dog that was in Kazan still pulledhim south. It was not because he soughman, for to man he had now become as

deadly an enemy as Gray Wolf herself.It was simply dog instinct to travelsouthward; in the face of fire it waswolf instinct to travel northward. Atthe end of the third day Gray Wolwon. They recrossed the little valle

between the two ridges, and swun

north and west into the Athabascacountry, striking a course that wouldultimately bring them to the headwatersof the McFarlane River.



Late in the preceding autumn a

prospector had come up to Fort Smith,on the Slave River, with a pickle bottlefilled with gold dust and nuggets. Hehad made the find on the McFarlane.

The first mails had taken the news tothe outside world, and by midwinter the earliest members of a treasure-hunting horde were rushing into thecountry by snow-shoe and dog-sledge.Other finds came thick and fast. TheMcFarlane was rich in free gold, and

miners by the score staked out their claims along it and began work.Latecomers swung to new fieldsfarther north and east, and to For

Smith came rumors of “finds” richer than those of the Yukon. A score of men at first—then a hundred, fivehundred, a thousand—rushed into thenew country. Most of these were fromthe prairie countries to the south, andfrom the placer beds of the



Saskatchewan and the Frazer. From thefar North, traveling by way of theMackenzie and the Liard, came asmaller number of seasoned

prospectors and adventurers from theYukon—men who knew what it meant

to starve and freeze and die by inches. One of these late comers was

Sandy McTrigger. There were severalreasons why Sandy had left the Yukon.He was “in bad” with the police who

patrolled the country west of Dawson,

and he was “broke.” In spite of thesefacts he was one of the bes prospectors that had ever followed theshores of the Klondike. He had made

discoveries running up to a million or two, and had promptly lost thethrough gambling and drink. He had noconscience, and little fear. Brutalitywas the chief thing written in his face.His undershot jaw, his wide eyes, lowforehead and grizzly mop of red hair



proclaimed him at once as a man not to be trusted beyond one’s own vision or the reach of a bullet. It was suspectedthat he had killed a couple of men, androbbed others, but as yet the police hadfailed to get anything “on” him. Bu

along with this bad side of him, SandMcTrigger possessed a coolness and acourage which even his worst enemiescould not but admire, and also certaimental depths which his unpleasanfeatures did not proclaim.

Inside of six months Red Gold Cithad sprung up on the McFarlane, ahundred and fifty miles from For Smith, and Fort Smith was five

hundred miles from civilization. WheSandy came he looked over the crudecollection of shacks, gambling housesand saloons in the new town, and madeup his mind that the time was not ripefor any of his “inside” schemes juset. He gambled a little, and wo



sufficient to buy himself grub and halan outfit. A feature of this outfit was anold muzzle-loading rifle. Sandy, whoalways carried the latest Savage on themarket, laughed at it. But it was the

best his finances would allow of. He

started south—up the McFarlane.Beyond a certain point on the river prospectors had found no gold. Sand pushed confidently beyond this point. Not until he was in new country did he begin his search. Slowly he worked hisway up a small tributary whose

headwaters were fifty or sixty miles tothe south and east. Here and there hefound fairly good placer gold. Hemight have panned six or eight dollars’worth a day. With this much he wasdisgusted. Week after week hecontinued to work his way up-stream,

and the farther he went the poorer his pans became. At last only occasionallydid he find colors. After suchdisgusting weeks as these Sandy was



dangerous—when in the company oothers. Alone he was harmless.

One afternoon he ran his canoe

ashore on a white strip of sand. Thiswas at a bend, where the stream had

widened, and gave promise of at leasa few colors. He had bent down closeto the edge of the water whesomething caught his attention on thewet sand. What he saw were thefootprints of animals. Two had comedown to drink. They had stood side b

side. And the footprints were fresh— made not more than an hour or two before. A gleam of interest shot intoSandy’s eyes. He looked behind him,

and up and down the stream. “Wolves,” he grunted. “Wish I

could ‘a’ shot at ‘em with that oldminute-gun back there. Gawd—listeto that! And in broad daylight, too!”

He jumped to his feet staring of



into the bush. A quarter of a mile away Gray

Wolf had caught the dreaded scent oman in the wind, and was giving voiceto her warning. It was a long wailin

howl, and not until its last echoes haddied away did Sandy McTrigger move.Then he returned to the canoe, took ouhis old gun, put a fresh cap on thenipple and disappeared quickly over the edge of the bank.

For a week Kazan and Gray Wol

had been wandering about theheadwaters of the McFarlane and thiswas the first time since the precedin

winter that Gray Wolf had caught thescent of man in the air. When the wind

brought the danger-signal to her shewas alone. Two or three minutes

before the scent came to her Kazan hadleft her side in swift pursuit of a snow-shoe rabbit, and she lay flat on her



belly under a bush, waiting for him. Ithese moments when she was aloneGray Wolf was constantly sniffing theair. Blindness had developed her scentand hearing until they were next toinfallible. First she had heard the rattle

of Sandy McTrigger’s paddle againstthe side of his canoe a quarter of amile away. Scent had followed swiftly.Five minutes after her warning howlKazan stood at her side, his head flunup, his jaws open and panting. Sandhad hunted Arctic foxes, and he was

using the Eskimo tactics now, swingingin a half-circle until he should come upin the face of the wind. Kazan caught asingle whiff of the man-tainted air andhis spine grew stiff. But blind GraWolf was keener than the little red-eyed fox of the North. Her pointed

nose slowly followed Sandy’s progress. She heard a dry stick cracunder his feet three hundred yardsaway. She caught the metallic click o



his gun-barrel as it struck a bircsapling. The moment she lost Sandy ithe wind she whined and rubbedherself against Kazan and trotted a fewsteps to the southwest.

At times such as this Kazan seldorefused to take guidance from her.They trotted away side by side and bthe time Sandy was creeping up snake-like with the wind in his face, Kazawas peering from the fringe of river

brush down upon the canoe on the

white strip of sand. When Sandreturned, after an hour of futilestalking, two fresh tracks led straighdown to the canoe. He looked at the

in amazement and then a sinister griwrinkled his ugly face. He chuckled ashe went to his kit and dug out a smallrubber bag. From this he drew a tightlcorked bottle, filled with gelatinecapsules. In each little capsule werefive grains of strychnine. There were



dark hints that once upon a time SandMcTrigger had tried one of thesecapsules by dropping it in a cup ocoffee and giving it to a man, but the

police had never proved it. He wasexpert in the use of poison. Probabl

he had killed a thousand foxes in histime, and he chuckled again as hecounted out a dozen of the capsules andthought how easy it would be to gethis inquisitive pair of wolves. Two or three days before he had killed acaribou, and each of the capsules he

now rolled up in a little ball of deer fat, doing the work with short sticks i place of his fingers, so that therewould be no man-smell clinging to thedeath-baits. Before sundown Sandy seout at right-angles over the plain,

planting the baits. Most of them he

hung to low bushes. Others he droppedin worn rabbit and caribou trails. Thehe returned to the creek and cooked hissupper.



Then next morning he was up early,

and off to the poison baits. The firs bait was untouched. The second was ashe had planted it. The third was gone.A thrill shot through Sandy as he

looked about him. Somewhere within aradius of two or three hundred yards hewould find his game. Then his glancefell to the ground under the bush wherehe had hung the poison capsule and aoath broke from his lips. The bait hadnot been eaten. The caribou fat la

scattered under the bush and stillimbedded in the largest portion of iwas the little white capsule— unbroken. It was Sandy’s first

experience with a wild creature whoseinstincts were sharpened by blindness,and he was puzzled. He had never known this to happen before. If a fox or a wolf could be lured to the point otouching a bait, it followed that the baiwas eaten. Sandy went on to the fourt



and the fifth baits. They wereuntouched. The sixth was torn to

pieces, like the third. In this instancethe capsule was broken and the white

powder scattered. Two more poison baits Sandy found pulled down in this

manner. He knew that Kazan and GrayWolf had done the work, for he foundthe marks of their feet in a dozedifferent places. The accumulated badhumor of weeks of futile labor foundvent in his disappointment and anger.At last he had found something tangible

to curse. The failure of his poison baitshe accepted as a sort of climax to hisgeneral bad luck. Everything wasagainst him, he believed, and he madeup his mind to return to Red Gold City.Early in the afternoon he launched hiscanoe and drifted down-stream wit

the current. He was content to let thecurrent do all of the work to-day, andhe used his paddle just enough to keephis slender craft head on. He leaned



back comfortably and smoked his pipe,with the old rifle between his knees.The wind was in his face and he kept asharp watch for game.

It was late in the afternoon whe

Kazan and Gray Wolf came out on asand-bar five or six miles down-stream. Kazan was lapping up the coolwater when Sandy drifted quietlaround a bend a hundred yards abovethem. If the wind had been right, or iSandy had been using his paddle, Gra

Wolf would have detected danger. Itwas the metallic click-click of the old-fashioned lock of Sandy’s rifle thatawakened her to a sense of peril.

Instantly she was thrilled by thenearness of it. Kazan heard the soundand stopped drinking to face it. In thamoment Sandy pressed the trigger. A

belch of smoke, a roar of gunpowder,and Kazan felt a red-hot stream of fire

pass with the swiftness of a lightning-



flash through his brain. He stumbled back, his legs gave way under him, andhe crumpled down in a limp heap.Gray Wolf darted like a streak off intothe bush. Blind, she had not seen Kazawilt down upon the white sand. No

until she was a quarter of a mile awafrom the terrifying thunder of the whiteman’s rifle did she stop and wait for him.

Sandy McTrigger grounded his

canoe on the sand-bar with an exultan

ell. “Got you, you old devil, didn’t I?”

he cried. “I’d ‘a’ got the other, too, i

I’d ‘a’ had something besides thisdamned old relic!”

He turned Kazan’s head over with

the butt of his gun, and the leer osatisfaction in his face gave place to asudden look of amazement. For the firs

time he saw the collar about Kazan’s



neck. “My Gawd, it ain’t a wolf,” he

gasped. “It’s a dog, Sandy McTrigger — a dog!”



Chapter XXII

Sandy’S Method

McTrigger dropped on his knees inthe sand. The look of exultation wasgone from his face. He twisted thecollar about the dog’s limp neck untilhe came to the worn plate, on which hecould make out the faintly engraved

le t t e r s K-a-z-a-n . He spelled theletters out one by one, and the look ihis face was of one who stilldisbelieved what he had seen andheard.

“A dog!” he exclaimed again. “A

dog, Sandy McTrigger an’ a—a beauty!” He rose to his feet and looked

down on his victim. A pool of bloodlay in the white sand at the end oKazan’s nose. After a moment Sandy

bent over to see where his bullet had



struck. His inspection filled him with anew and greater interest. The heav

ball from the muzzle-loader had strucKazan fairly on top of the head. It wasa glancing blow that had not eve

broken the skull, and like a flash Sand

understood the quivering and twitchinof Kazan’s shoulders and legs. He hadthought that they were the last muscular throes of death. But Kazan was nodying. He was only stunned, and would

be on his feet again in a few minutes.Sandy was a connoisseur of dogs—o

dogs that had worn sledge traces. Hehad lived among them two-thirds of hislife. He could tell their age, their value, and a part of their history at aglance. In the snow he could tell thetrail of a Mackenzie hound from that oa Malemute, and the track of an Eskimo

dog from that of a Yukon husky. Helooked at Kazan’s feet. They werewolf feet, and he chuckled. Kazan was

part wild. He was big and powerful,



and Sandy thought of the cominwinter, and of the high prices that dogswould bring at Red Gold City. Hewent to the canoe and returned with aroll of stout moose-hide babiche. Thehe sat down cross-legged in front o

Kazan and began making a muzzle. Hedid this by plaiting babiche thongs ithe same manner that one does imaking the web of a snow-shoe. In teminutes he had the muzzle over Kazan’s nose and fastened securelyabout his neck. To the dog’s collar he

then fastened a ten-foot rope o babiche. After that he sat back andwaited for Kazan to come to life.

When Kazan first lifted his head he

could not see. There was a red fil before his eyes. But this passed awaswiftly and he saw the man. His firsinstinct was to rise to his feet. Threetimes he fell back before he couldstand up. Sandy was squatted six fee



from him, holding the end of the babiche, and grinning. Kazan’s fangsgleamed back. He growled, and thecrest along his spine rose menacingly.Sandy jumped to his feet.

“Guess I know what you’refiggering on,” he said. “I’ve had your kind before. The dam’ wolves haveturned you bad, an’ you’ll need awhole lot of club before you’re righagain. Now, look here.”

Sandy had taken the precaution o

bringing a thick club along with the babiche. He picked it up from wherehe had dropped it in the sand. Kazan’s

strength had fairly returned to him now.He was no longer dizzy. The mist hadcleared away from his eyes. Beforehim he saw once more his old enemy,man—man and the club. All of thewild ferocity of his nature was rousedin an instant. Without reasoning he



knew that Gray Wolf was gone, andthat this man was accountable for her going. He knew that this man had also

brought him his own hurt, and what heascribed to the man he also attributedto the club. In his newer undertaking o

things, born of freedom and Gray Wolf,Man and Club were one andinseparable. With a snarl he leaped atSandy. The man was not expecting adirect assault, and before he couldraise his club or spring aside Kazahad landed full on his chest. The

muzzle about Kazan’s jaws saved him.Fangs that would have torn his throaopen snapped harmlessly. Under theweight of the dog’s body he fell back,as if struck down by a catapult.

As quick as a cat he was on his fee

again, with the end of the babichetwisted several times about his hand.Kazan leaped again, and this time hewas met by a furious swing of the club.



It smashed against his shoulder, andsent him down in the sand. Before hecould recover Sandy was upon him,with all the fury of a man gone mad. Heshortened the babiche by twisting iagain and again about his hand, and the

club rose and fell with the skill andstrength of one long accustomed to itsuse. The first blows served only to addto Kazan’s hatred of man, and theferocity and fearlessness of his attacks.Again and again he leaped in, and eactime the club fell upon him with a force

that threatened to break his bones.There was a tense hard look abouSandy’s cruel mouth. He had never known a dog like this before, and hewas a bit nervous, even with Kazamuzzled. Three times Kazan’s fangswould have sunk deep in his flesh had

it not been for the babiche. And if thethongs about his jaws should slip, or break—.



Sandy followed up the thought wita smashing blow that landed oKazan’s head, and once more the old

battler fell limp upon the sand.McTrigger’s breath was coming inquick gasps. He was almost winded.

Not until the club slipped from hishand did he realize how desperate thefight had been. Before Kazarecovered from the blow that hadstunned him Sandy examined themuzzle and strengthened it by addinanother babiche thong. Then he

dragged Kazan to a log that high water had thrown up on the shore a few yardsaway and made the end of the babicherope fast to a dead snag. After that he

pulled his canoe higher up on the sand,and began to prepare camp for thenight.

For some minutes after Kazan’sstunned senses had become normal helay motionless, watching Sand



McTrigger. Every bone in his bodygave him pain. His jaws were sore and

bleeding. His upper lip was smashedwhere the club had fallen. One eye wasalmost closed. Several times Sandcame near, much pleased at what he

regarded as the good results of the beating. Each time he brought the club.The third time he prodded Kazan witit, and the dog snarled and snappedsavagely at the end of it. That waswhat Sandy wanted—it was an oldtrick of the dog-slaver. Instantly he

was using the club again, until with awhining cry Kazan slunk under the protection of the snag to which he wasfastened. He could scarcely drahimself. His right forepaw wassmashed. His hindquarters sank under him. For a time after this second

beating he could not have escaped hadhe been free. Sandy was in unusually good



humor. “I’ll take the devil out of you all

right,” he told Kazan for the twentiettime. “There’s nothin’ like beatin’s tomake dogs an’ wimmin live up to the

mark. A month from now you’ll beworth two hundred dollars or I’ll skiou alive!”

Three or four times before dus

Sandy worked to rouse Kazan’sanimosity. But there was no longer anydesire left in Kazan to fight. His twoterrific beatings, and the crushing blowof the bullet against his skull, had madehim sick. He lay with his head betwee

his forepaws, his eyes closed, and didnot see McTrigger. He paid noattention to the meat that was throwunder his nose. He did not know whethe last of the sun sank behind thewestern forests, or when the darknesscame. But at last something roused hi



from his stupor. To his dazed andsickened brain it came like a call froout of the far past, and he raised hishead and listened. Out on the sandMcTrigger had built a fire, and the manstood in the red glow of it now, facing

the dark shadows beyond the shoreline.He, too, was listening. What hadroused Kazan came again now—thelost mourning cry of Gray Wolf far outon the plain.

With a whine Kazan was on his

feet, tugging at the babiche. Sandsnatched up his club, and leapedtoward him.

“Down, you brute!” hecommanded.

In the firelight the club rose and

fell with ferocious quickness. WheMcTrigger returned to the fire he was

breathing hard again. He tossed his

club beside the blankets he had spread



out for a bed. It was a different lookinclub now. It was covered with bloodand hair.

“Guess that’ll take the spirit out o

him,” he chuckled. “It’ll do that—or

kill ‘im!” Several times that night Kaza

heard Gray Wolf’s call. He whined

softly in response, fearing the club. Hewatched the fire until the last embersof it died out, and then cautiousldragged himself from under the snag.Two or three times he tried to stand onhis feet, but fell back each time. Hislegs were not broken, but the pain o

standing on them was excruciating. Hewas hot and feverish. All that night hehad craved a drink of water. WhenSandy crawled out from between his

blankets in the early dawn he gave hi both meat and water. Kazan drank thewater, but would not touch the meat.



Sandy regarded the change in him witsatisfaction. By the time the sun was uphe had finished his breakfast and wasready to leave. He approached Kazafearlessly now, without the club.Untying the babiche he dragged the do

to the canoe. Kazan slunk in the sandwhile his captor fastened the end of thehide rope to the stern of the canoe.Sandy grinned. What was about tohappen would be fun for him. In theYukon he had learned how to take thespirit out of dogs.

He pushed off, bow foremost.Bracing himself with his paddle hethen began to pull Kazan toward the

water. In a few moments Kazan stoodwith his forefeet planted in the dampsand at the edge of the stream. For a

brief interval Sandy allowed the babiche to fall slack. Then with asudden powerful pull he jerked Kazaout into the water. Instantly he sent the



canoe into midstream, swung it quickldown with the current, and began to

paddle enough to keep the babiche tauabout his victim’s neck. In spite of hissickness and injuries Kazan was nowcompelled to swim to keep his head

above water. In the wash of the canoe,and with Sandy’s strokes growingsteadily stronger, his position becameeach moment one of increasing torture.At times his shaggy head was pulledcompletely under water. At othersSandy would wait until he had drifted

alongside, and then thrust him under with the end of his paddle. He grewweaker. At the end of a half-mile hewas drowning. Not until then didSandy pull him alongside and drag hiinto the canoe. The dog fell limp andgasping in the bottom. Brutal thoug

Sandy’s methods had been, they hadworked his purpose. In Kazan therewas no longer a desire to fight. He nolonger struggled for freedom. He knew



that this man was his master, and for the time his spirit was gone. All hedesired now was to be allowed to liein the bottom of the canoe, out of reacof the club, and safe from the water.The club lay between him and the man.

The end of it was within a foot or twoof his nose, and what he smelled washis own blood.

For five days and five nights the

ourney down-stream continued, andMcTrigger’s process of civilizing

Kazan was continued in three more beatings with the club, and another resort to the water torture. On themorning of the sixth day they reached

Red Gold City, and McTrigger put uphis tent close to the river. Somewherehe obtained a chain for Kazan, andafter fastening the dog securely back othe tent he cut off the babiche muzzle.

“You can’t put on meat in a



muzzle,” he told his prisoner. “An’ Iwant you to git strong—an’ fierce ashell. I’ve got an idee. It’s an idee youcan lick your weight in wildcats. We’ll

pull off a stunt pretty soon that’ll fillour pockets with dust. I’ve done i

afore, and we can do it here . Wolf an’dog—s’elp me Gawd but it’ll be adrawin’ card!”

Twice a day after this he brought

fresh raw meat to Kazan. QuicklKazan’s spirit and courage returned to

him. The soreness left his limbs. His battered jaws healed. And after thefourth day each time that Sandy camewith meat he greeted him with the

challenge of his snarling fangs.McTrigger did not beat him now. Hegave him no fish, no tallow and meal— nothing but raw meat. He traveled fivemiles up the river to bring in the fresentrail of a caribou that had beekilled. One day Sandy brought another



man with him and when the stranger came a step too near Kazan made asudden swift lunge at him. The maumped back with a startled oath.

“He’ll do,” he growled. “He’s

lighter by ten or fifteen pounds than theDane, but he’s got the teeth, an’ thequickness, an’ he’ll give a good show

before he goes under.” “I’ll make you a bet of twenty-five

per cent. of my share that he don’t gounder,” offered Sandy.

“Done!” said the other. “How long

before he’ll be ready?”

Sandy thought a moment. “Another week,” he said. “He

won’t have his weight before then. Aweek from to-day, we’ll say. NextTuesday night. Does that suit you,Harker?”



Harker nodded. “Next Tuesday night,” he agreed.

Then he added, “I’ll make it a half omy share that the Dane kills your wolf-dog.”

Sandy took a long look at Kazan.

“I’ll just take you on that,” he said.Then, as he shook Harker’s hand, “Idon’t believe there’s a dog betweenhere and the Yukon that can kill thewolf!”



Chapter XXIII

Professor McGill

Red Gold City was ripe for a nighof relaxation. There had been somegambling, a few fights and enougliquor to create excitement now andthen, but the presence of the mounted

police had served to keep things

unusually tame compared with events afew hundred miles farther north, in theDawson country. The entertainment

proposed by Sandy McTrigger and JanHarker met with excited favor. Thenews spread for twenty miles abouRed Gold City and there had never

been greater excitement in the towthan on the afternoon and night of the big fight. This was largely becauseKazan and the huge Dane had bee

placed on exhibition, each dog in aspecially made cage of his own, and afever of betting began. Three hundred



men, each of whom was paying fivedollars to see the battle, viewed thegladiators through the bars of their cages. Harker’s dog was acombination of Great Dane and mastiff,

born in the North, and bred to the

traces. Betting favored him by the oddsof two to one. Occasionally it ran threeto one. At these odds there was plentyof Kazan money. Those who wererisking their money on him were theolder wilderness men—men who hadspent their lives among dogs, and who

knew what the red glint in Kazan’seyes meant. An old Kootenay miner spoke low in another’s ear:

“I’d bet on ‘im even. I’d give odds

if I had to. He’ll fight all around theDane. The Dane won’t have nomethod.”

“But he’s got the weight,” said the

other dubiously. “Look at his jaws, an’



his shoulders—” “An’ his big feet, an’ his soft

throat, an’ the clumsy thickness of his belly,” interrupted the Kootenay man.“For Gawd’s sake, man, take my word

for it, an’ don’t put your money on theDane!” Others thrust themselves betwee

them. At first Kazan had snarled at allthese faces about him. But now he la

back against the boarded side of thecage and eyed them sullenly fro

between his forepaws. The fight was to be pulled off i

Barker’s place, a combination osaloon and cafe. The benches andtables had been cleared out and in thecenter of the one big room a cage tefeet square rested on a platform threeand a half feet from the floor. Seats for the three hundred spectators were

drawn closely around this Suspended



ust above the open top of the cagewere two big oil lamps with glassreflectors.

It was eight o’clock when Harker,

McTrigger and two other men bore

Kazan to the arena by means of thewooden bars that projected from the bottom of his cage. The big Dane wasalready in the fighting cage. He stood

blinking his eyes in the brilliant light othe reflecting lamps. He pricked up hisears when he saw Kazan. Kazan did

not show his fangs. Neither revealedthe expected animosity. It was the firstthey had seen of each other, and amurmur of disappointment swept theranks of the three hundred men. TheDane remained as motionless as a rocwhen Kazan was prodded from his

own cage into the fighting cage. He didnot leap or snarl. He regarded Kazawith a dubious questioning poise to hissplendid head, and then looked agai



to the expectant and excited faces othe waiting men. For a few momentsKazan stood stiff-legged, facing theDane. Then his shoulders dropped, andhe, too, coolly faced the crowd thahad expected a fight to the death. A

laugh of derision swept through theclosely seated rows. Catcalls, jeerintaunts flung at McTrigger and Harker,and angry voices demanding their money back mingled with a tumult ogrowing discontent. Sandy’s face wasred with mortification and rage. The

blue veins in Barker’s forehead hadswollen twice their normal size. Heshook his fist in the face of the crowd,and shouted:

“Wait! Give ‘em a chance, you

dam’ fools!” At his words every voice was

stilled. Kazan had turned. He wasfacing the huge Dane. And the Dane



had turned his eyes to Kazan.Cautiously, prepared for a lunge or asidestep, Kazan advanced a little. TheDane’s shoulders bristled. He, too,advanced upon Kazan. Four feet apar they stood rigid. One could have heard

a whisper in the room now. Sandy andHarker, standing close to the cage,scarcely breathed. Splendid in ever limb and muscle, warriors of ahundred fights, and fearless to the poinof death, the two half-wolf victims oman stood facing each other. None

could see the questioning look in their brute eyes. None knew that in thisthrilling moment the unseen hand of thewonderful Spirit God of thewilderness hovered between them, andthat one of its miracles was descendinupon them. It was understanding .

Meeting in the open—rivals in thetraces—they would have been rollinin the throes of terrific battle. But herecame that mute appeal of brotherhood.



In the final moment, when only a stepseparated them, and when meexpected to see the first mad lunge, thesplendid Dane slowly raised his headand looked over Kazan’s back throughthe glare of the lights. Harker trembled,

and under his breath he cursed. TheDane’s throat was open to Kazan. But between the beasts had passed thevoiceless pledge of peace. Kazan didnot leap. He turned. And shoulder toshoulder—splendid in their contempof man—they stood and looked throug

the bars of their prison into the one ohuman faces. A roar burst from the crowd—a

roar of anger, of demand, of threat. Inhis rage Harker drew a revolver andleveled it at the Dane. Above thetumult of the crowd a single voicestopped him.

“Hold!” it demanded. “Hold—i



the name of the law!” For a moment there was silence.

Every face turned in the direction othe voice. Two men stood on chairs

behind the last row. One was Sergeant

Brokaw, of the Royal NorthwestMounted. It was he who had spoken.He was holding up a hand,commanding silence and attention. Othe chair beside him stood another man. He was thin, with droopinshoulders, and a pale smooth face—a

little man, whose physique and hollowcheeks told nothing of the years he hadspent close up along the raw edge othe Arctic. It was he who spoke now,

while the sergeant held up his hand.His voice was low and quiet:

“I’ll give the owners five hundred

dollars for those dogs,” he said. Every man in the room heard the

offer Harker looked at Sandy For an



instant their heads were close together. “They won’t fight, and they’ll make

good team-mates,” the little man wenon. “I’ll give the owners five hundreddollars.”

Harker raised a hand. “Make it six,” he said. “Make it si

and they’re yours.” The little man hesitated. Then he

nodded. “I’ll give you six hundred,” he

agreed.

Murmurs of discontent rosethroughout the crowd. Harker climbedto the edge of the platform.

“We ain’t to blame because theywouldn’t fight,” he shouted, “but ithere’s any of you small enough to



want your money back you can git it asou go out. The dogs laid down on us,

that’s all. We ain’t to blame.” The little man was edging his wa

between the chairs, accompanied b

the sergeant of police. With his paleface close to the sapling bars of thecage he looked at Kazan and the biDane.

“I guess we’ll be good friends,” he

said, and he spoke so low that only thedogs heard his voice. “It’s a big price,

but we’ll charge it to the Smithsonian,lads. I’m going to need a couple ofour-footed friends of your moral

caliber.” And no one knew why Kazan and

the Dane drew nearer to the littlescientist’s side of the cage as he pulledout a big roll of bills and counted ousix hundred dollars for Harker and

Sandy McTrigger



Chapter XXIV

Alone In Darkness

Never had the terror and lonelinessof blindness fallen upon Gray Wolf asin the days that followed the shootinof Kazan and his capture by SandMcTrigger. For hours after the shot shecrouched in the bush back from the

river, waiting for him to come to her.She had faith that he would come, as hehad come a thousand times before, andshe lay close on her belly, sniffing theair, and whining when it brought noscent of her mate. Day and night werealike an endless chaos of darkness to

her now, but she knew when the sunwent down. She sensed the firsdeepening shadows of evening, and sheknew that the stars were out, and thathe river lay in moonlight. It was anight to roam, and after a time shemoved restlessly about in a small



circle on the plain, and sent out her first inquiring call for Kazan. Up frothe river came the pungent odor osmoke, and instinctively she knew thait was this smoke, and the nearness oman, that was keeping Kazan from her.

But she went no nearer than that firscircle made by her padded feet.Blindness had taught her to wait. Sincethe day of the battle on the Sun Rock,when the lynx had destroyed her eyes,Kazan had never failed her. Threetimes she called for him in the earl

night. Then she made herself a nesunder a banskian shrub, and waiteduntil dawn.

Just how she knew when nigh

blotted out the last glow of the sun, sowithout seeing she knew when dacame. Not until she felt the warmth othe sun on her back did her anxietovercome her caution. Slowly shemoved toward the river, sniffing the air



and whining. There was no longer thesmell of smoke in the air, and shecould not catch the scent of man. Shefollowed her own trail back to thesand-bar, and in the fringe of thick

bush overhanging the white shore o

the stream she stopped and listened.After a little she scrambled down andwent straight to the spot where she andKazan were drinking when the shocame. And there her nose struck thesand still wet and thick with Kazan’s

blood. She knew it was the blood o

her mate, for the scent of him was allabout her in the sand, mingled with theman-smell of Sandy McTrigger. Shesniffed the trail of his body to the edgeof the stream, where Sandy haddragged him to the canoe. She foundthe fallen tree to which he had bee

tied. And then she came upon one othe two clubs that Sandy had used to beat wounded Kazan intosubmissiveness. It was covered wit



blood and hair, and all at once GrayWolf lay back on her haunches andturned her blind face to the sky, andthere rose from her throat a cry for Kazan that drifted for miles on thewings of the south wind. Never had

Gray Wolf given quite that cry before.It was not the “call” that comes witthe moonlit nights, and neither was ithe hunt-cry, nor the she-wolf’searning for matehood. It carried wit

it the lament of death. And after thatone cry Gray Wolf slunk back to the

fringe of bush over the river, and laywith her face turned to the stream. A strange terror fell upon her. She

had grown accustomed to darkness, bunever before had she been alone in thadarkness. Always there had been theguardianship of Kazan’s presence. Sheheard the clucking sound of a sprucehen in the bush a few yards away, andnow that sound came to her as if fro



out of another world. A ground-mouserustled through the grass close to her forepaws, and she snapped at it, andclosed her teeth on a rock. The musclesof her shoulders twitched tremulousland she shivered as if stricken b

intense cold. She was terrified by thedarkness that shut out the world froher, and she pawed at her closed eyes,as if she might open them to light.Early in the afternoon she wandered

back on the plain. It was different. Ifrightened her, and soon she returned to

the beach, and snuggled down under the tree where Kazan had lain. She wasnot so frightened here. The smell oKazan was strong about her. For anhour she lay motionless, with her headresting on the club clotted with his hair and blood. Night found her still there.

And when the moon and the stars cameout she crawled back into the pit in thewhite sand that Kazan’s body hadmade under the tree.



With dawn she went down to the

edge of the stream to drink. She couldnot see that the day was almost as dar as night, and that the gray-black sk was a chaos of slumbering storm. Bu

she could smell the presence of it ithe thick air, and could feel the forkedflashes of lightning that rolled up witthe dense pall from the south and west.The distant rumbling of thunder grewlouder, and she huddled herself againunder the tree. For hours the stor

crashed over her, and the rain fell in adeluge. When it had finished she slunout from her shelter like a thing beaten.Vainly she sought for one last scent o

Kazan. The club was washed clean.Again the sand was white whereKazan’s blood had reddened it. Evenunder the tree there was no sign of hileft.

Until now only the terror of bein



alone in the pit of darkness thaenveloped her had oppressed GraWolf. With afternoon came hunger. Itwas this hunger that drew her from thesand-bar, and she wandered back intothe plain. A dozen times she scented

game, and each time it evaded her.Even a ground-mouse that she corneredunder a root, and dug out with her

paws, escaped her fangs. Thirty-six hours before this Kaza

and Gray Wolf had left a half of their

last kill a mile of two farther back othe plain. The kill was one of the bi barren rabbits, and Gray Wolf turnedin its direction. She did not require

sight to find it. In her was developed toits finest point that sixth sense of theanimal kingdom, the sense oorientation, and as straight as a pigeomight have winged its flight she cuthrough the bush to the spot where thehad cached the rabbit. A white fox had



been there ahead of her, and she foundonly scattered bits of hair and fur.What the fox had left the moose-birdsand bush-jays had carried away.Hungrily Gray Wolf turned back to theriver.

That night she slept again whereKazan had lain, and three times shecalled for him without answer. Aheavy dew fell, and it drenched the lasvestige of her mate’s scent out of thesand. But still through the day tha

followed, and the day that followedthat, blind Gray Wolf clung to thenarrow rim of white sand. On thefourth day her hunger reached a poin

where she gnawed the bark frowillow bushes. It was on this day thashe made a discovery. She wasdrinking, when her sensitive nosetouched something in the water’s edgethat was smooth, and bore a faint odor of flesh. It was one of the big norther



river clams. She pawed it ashore,sniffing at the hard shell. Then shecrunched it between her teeth. She hadnever tasted sweeter meat than thawhich she found inside, and she begahunting for other clams. She found

many of them, and ate until she was nolonger hungry. For three days more sheremained on the bar.

And then, one night, the call came

to her. It set her quivering with astrange new excitement—somethin

that may have been a new hope, and ithe moonlight she trotted nervously upand down the shining strip of sand,facing now the north, and now the

south, and then the east and the west— her head flung up, listening, as if in thesoft wind of the night she was trying tolocate the whispering lure of awonderful voice. And whatever it wasthat came to her came from out of thesouth and east. Off there—across the



barren, far beyond the outer edge of thenorthern timber-line—was home . Andoff there, in her brute way, shereasoned that she must find Kazan. Thecall did not come from their oldwindfall home in the swamp. It came

from beyond that, and in a flashinvision there rose through her blindnessa picture of the towering Sun Rock, othe winding trail that led to it, and thecabin on the plain. It was there tha

blindness had come to her. It was therethat day had ended, and eternal nigh

had begun. And it was there that shehad mothered her first-born. Naturehad registered these things so that thecould never be wiped out of her memory, and when the call came it wasfrom the sunlit world where she hadlast known light and life and had las

seen the moon and the stars in the bluenight of the skies. And to that call she responded,



leaving the river and its food behindher—straight out into the face odarkness and starvation, no longer fearing death or the emptiness of theworld she could not see; for ahead oher, two hundred miles away, she

could see the Sun Rock, the windintrail, the nest of her first-born betweethe two big rocks— and Kazan !



Chapter XXV

The Last Of McTrigger

Sixty miles farther north Kazan laat the end of his fine steel chain,watching little Professor McGillmixing a pail of tallow and bran. Adozen yards from him lay the big Dane,his huge jaws drooling in anticipatio

of the unusual feast which McGill was preparing. He showed signs o pleasure when McGill approached hiwith a quart of the mixture, and hegulped it between his huge jaws. Thelittle man with the cold blue eyes andthe gray-blond hair stroked his bac

without fear. His attitude was differentwhen he turned to Kazan. Hismovements were filled with caution,and yet his eyes and his lips weresmiling, and he gave the wolf-dog noevidence of his fear, if it could becalled fear.



The little professor, who was up in

the north country for the SmithsoniaInstitution, had spent a third of his lifeamong dogs. He loved them, andunderstood them. He had written a

number of magazine articles on dointellect that had attracted wideattention among naturalists. It waslargely because he loved dogs, andunderstood them more than most men,that he had bought Kazan and the biDane on the night when Sand

McTrigger and his partner had tried toget them to fight to the death in the RedGold City saloon. The refusal of thetwo splendid beasts to kill each other

for the pleasure of the three hundredmen who had assembled to witness thefight delighted him. He had alread

planned a paper on the incident. Sandhad told him the story of Kazan’scapture, and of his wild mate, GraWolf, and the professor had asked him



a thousand questions. But each daKazan puzzled him more. No amount okindness on his part could bring aresponsive gleam in Kazan’s eyes. Notonce did Kazan signify a willingness to

become friends. And yet he did not

snarl at McGill, or snap at his handswhen they came within reach. Quitefrequently Sandy McTrigger came over to the little cabin where McGill wasstaying, and three times Kazan leapedat the end of his chain to get at him, andhis white fangs gleamed as long as

Sandy was in sight. Alone with McGillhe became quiet. Something told hithat McGill had come as a friend thanight when he and the big Dane stoodshoulder to shoulder in the cage thahad been built for a slaughter pen.Away down in his brute heart he held

McGill apart from other men. He hadno desire to harm him. He toleratedhim, but showed none of the growinaffection of the huge Dane. It was this



fact that puzzled McGill. He had never before known a dog that he could nomake love him.

To-day he placed the tallow and

bran before Kazan, and the smile in his

face gave way to a look of perplexity.Kazan’s lips had drawn suddenly back.A fierce snarl rolled deep in his throat.The hair along his spine stood up. Hismuscles twitched. Instinctively the

professor turned. Sandy McTrigger hadcome up quietly behind him. His brutal

face wore a grin as he looked aKazan. “It’s a fool job—tryin’ to make

friends with him” he said. Then headded, with a sudden interested gleain his eyes, “When you startin’?”

“With first frost,” replied McGill.

“It ought to come soon. I’m going tooin Sergeant Conroy and his party a

Fond du Lac by the first of October ”



“And you’re going up to Fond d

Lac—alone?” queried Sandy. “Whydon’t you take a man?”

The little professor laughed softly. “Why?” he asked. “I’ve bee

through the Athabasca waterways adozen times, and know the trail as well

as I know Broadway. Besides, I like to be alone. And the work isn’t too hard,with the currents all flowing to thenorth and east.”

Sandy was looking at the Dane,

with his back to McGill. An exultant

gleam shot for an instant into his eyes. “You’re taking the dogs?”

“Yes.” Sandy lighted his pipe, and spoke

like one strangely curious.



“Must cost a heap to take these

trips o’ yourn, don’t it?” “My last cost about seven thousand

dollars. This will cost five,” saidMcGill.

“Gawd!” breathed Sandy. “An’ yo

carry all that along with you! Ain’t you

afraid—something might happen—?” The little professor was lookin

the other way now. The carelessness inhis face and manner changed. His blueeyes grew a shade darker. A hardsmile which Sandy did not see hovered

about his lips for an instant. Then heturned, laughing. “I’m a very light sleeper,” he said.

“A footstep at night rouses me. Even aman’s breathing awakes me, when Imake up my mind that I must be on mguard. And, besides”—he drew from



his pocket a blue-steeled Savageautomatic—“I know how to use this .”He pointed to a knot in the wall of thecabin. “Observe,” he said. Five timeshe fired at twenty paces, and wheSandy went up to look at the knot he

gave a gasp. There was one jaggedhole where the knot had been. “Pretty good,” he grinned. “Mos

men couldn’t do better’n that withrifle.”

When Sandy left, McGill followed

him with a suspicious gleam in hiseyes, and a curious smile on his lips.Then he turned to Kazan.

“Guess you’ve got him figgered ouabout right, old man,” he laughedsoftly. “I don’t blame you very muchfor wanting to get him by the throat.Perhaps—”

He shoved his hands deep in his



pockets, and went into the cabin.Kazan dropped his head between hisforepaws, and lay still, with wide-open eyes. It was late afternoon, earlin September, and each night broughtnow the first chill breaths of autumn.

Kazan watched the last glow of the suas it faded out of the southern skies.Darkness always followed swiftlafter that, and with darkness camemore fiercely his wild longing for freedom. Night after night he hadgnawed at his steel chain. Night after

night he had watched the stars, and themoon, and had listened for GraWolf’s call, while the big Dane laysleeping. To-night it was colder thanusual, and the keen tang of the windthat came fresh from the west stirredhim strangely. It set his blood afire

with what the Indians call the FrosHunger. Lethargic summer was goneand the days and nights of hunting wereat hand. He wanted to leap out into



freedom and run until he wasexhausted, with Gray Wolf at his side.He knew that Gray Wolf was off there

—where the stars hung low in the clear sky, and that she was waiting. Hestrained at the end of his chain, and

whined. All that night he was restless —more restless than he had been aany time before. Once, in the far distance, he heard a cry that he thoughwas the cry of Gray Wolf, and hisanswer roused McGill from deepsleep. It was dawn, and the little

professor dressed himself and cameout of the cabin. With satisfaction henoted the exhilarating snap in the air.He wet his fingers and held theabove his head, chuckling when hefound the wind had swung into thenorth. He went to Kazan, and talked to

him. Among other things he said,“This’ll put the black flies to sleep,Kazan. A day or two more of it andwe’ll start.”



Five days later McGill led first the

Dane, and then Kazan, to a packedcanoe. Sandy McTrigger saw them off,and Kazan watched for a chance toleap at him. Sandy kept his distance,

and McGill watched the two with athought that set the blood runninswiftly behind the mask of his carelesssmile. They had slipped a mile down-stream when he leaned over and laid afearless hand on Kazan’s head.Something in the touch of that hand,

and in the professor’s voice, kepKazan from a desire to snap at him. Hetolerated the friendship witexpressionless eyes and a motionless

body. “I was beginning to fear I wouldn’

have much sleep, old boy,” chuckledMcGill ambiguously, “but I guess I cantake a nap now and then with youalong!”



He made camp that night fiftee

miles up the lake shore. The big Danehe fastened to a sapling twenty yardsfrom his small silk tent, but Kazan’schain he made fast to the butt of a

stunted birch that held down the tent-flap. Before he went into the tent for the night McGill pulled out hisautomatic and examined it with care.

For three days the journe

continued without a mishap along theshore of Lake Athabasca. On the fourthnight McGill pitched his tent in aclump of banskian pine a hundredards back from the water. All that day

the wind had come steadily fro behind them, and for at least a half othe day the professor had beewatching Kazan closely. From the westthere had now and then come a scenthat stirred him uneasily. Since noon hehad sniffed that wind. Twice McGill



had heard him growling deep in histhroat, and once, when the scent hadcome stronger than usual, he had baredhis fangs, and the bristles stood upalong his spine. For an hour after striking camp the little professor did

not build a fire, but sat looking up theshore of the lake through his huntinglass. It was dusk when he returned towhere he had put up his tent andchained the dogs. For a few momentshe stood unobserved, looking at thewolf-dog. Kazan was still uneasy. He

lay facing the west. McGill made noteof this, for the big Dane lay behindKazan—to the east. Under ordinar conditions Kazan would have facedhim. He was sure now that there wassomething in the west wind. A littleshiver ran up his back as he thought o

what it might be. Behind a rock he built a very small

fire, and prepared supper. After this he



went into the tent, and when he cameout he carried a blanket under his arm.He chuckled as he stood for a momenover Kazan.

“We’re not going to sleep in there

to-night, old hoy,” he said. “I don’t likewhat you’ve found in the west wind. Imay he a— thunder-storm! ” Helaughed at his joke, and buried himselin a clump of stunted banskians thirt

paces from the tent. Here he rolledhimself in his blanket, and went to

sleep. It was a quiet starlit night, and

hours afterward Kazan dropped his

nose between his forepaws anddrowsed. It was the snap of a twig tharoused him. The sound did not awakethe sluggish Dane but instantly Kazan’shead was alert, his keen nostrilssniffing the air. What he had smelledall day was heavy about him now. He



lay still and quivering. Slowly, fromout of the banskians behind the tent,there came a figure. It was not the little

professor. It approached cautiously,with lowered head and hunchedshoulders, and the starlight revealed

the murderous face of SandMcTrigger. Kazan crouched low. Helaid his head flat between hisforepaws. His long fangs gleamed. Buhe made no sound that betrayed hisconcealment under a thick banskianshrub. Step by step Sandy approached,

and at last he reached the flap of thetent. He did not carry a club or a whipin his hand now. In the place of either of those was the glitter of steel. At thedoor to the tent he paused, and peeredin, his back to Kazan.

Silently, swiftly—the wolf now in

every movement, Kazan came to hisfeet. He forgot the chain that held him.Ten feet away stood the enemy he



hated above all others he had ever known. Every ounce of strength in hissplendid body gathered itself for thespring. And then he leaped. This timethe chain did not pull him back, almosneck-broken. Age and the elements had

weakened the leather collar he hadworn since the days of his slavery ithe traces, and it gave way with a snap.Sandy turned, and in a second leapKazan’s fangs sank into the flesh of hisarm. With a startled cry the man fell,and as they rolled over on the ground

the big Dane’s deep voice rolled out inthunderous alarm as he tugged at hisleash. In the fall Kazan’s hold was

broken. In an instant he was on his feet,ready for another attack. And then thechange came. He was free . The collar was gone from his neck. The forest, the

stars, the whispering wind were allabout him. Here were men, and of there was—Gray Wolf! His earsdropped, and he turned swiftly, and



slipped like a shadow back into theglorious freedom of his world.

A hundred yards away something

stopped him for an instant. It was nothe big Dane’s voice, but the sharp

crack—crack—crack , of the little professor’s automatic. And above thatsound there rose the voice of SandMcTrigger in a weird and terrible cry.



Chapter XXVI

An Empty World

Mile after mile Kazan went on. For a time he was oppressed by theshivering note of death that had cometo him in Sandy McTrigger’s cry, andhe slipped through the banskians like ashadow, his ears flattened, his tail

trailing, his hindquarters betraying thacurious slinking quality of the wolf anddog stealing away from danger. Thenhe came out upon a plain, and thestillness, the billion stars in the clear vault of the sky, and the keen air thatcarried with it a breath of the Arctic

barrens made him alert andquestioning. He faced the direction othe wind. Somewhere off there, far tothe south and west, was Gray Wolf.For the first time in many weeks he sa

back on his haunches and gave thedeep and vibrant call that echoed



weirdly for miles about him. Back ithe banskians the big Dane heard it,and whined. From over the still bodof Sandy McTrigger the little professor looked up with a white tense face, andlistened for a second cry. But instinct

told Kazan that to that first call therewould be no answer, and now hestruck out swiftly, galloping mile after mile, as a dog follows the trail of itsmaster home. He did not turn hack tothe lake, nor was his direction towardRed Gold City. As straight as he might

have followed a road blazed by thehand of man he cut across the fortmiles of plain and swamp and foresand rocky ridge that lay between hiand the McFarlane. All that night hedid not call again for Gray Wolf. Withhim reasoning was a process brough

about by habit—by precedent—and asGray Wolf had waited for him manytimes before he knew that she would

be waiting for him now near the sand-



bar. By dawn he had reached the river,

within three miles of the sand-bar.Scarcely was the sun up when he stoodon the white strip of sand where he and

Gray Wolf had come down to drink.Expectantly and confidently he lookedabout him for Gray Wolf, whiningsoftly, and wagging his tail. He beganto search for her scent, but rains hadwashed even her footprints from theclean sand. All that day he searched

for her along the river and out on the plain. He went to where they hadkilled their last rabbit. He sniffed athe bushes where the poison baits had

hung. Again and again he sat back onhis haunches and sent out his matincry to her. And slowly, as he did thesethings, nature was working in him thamiracle of the wild which the Creeshave named the “spirit call.” As it hadworked in Gray Wolf, so now it stirred



the blood of Kazan. With the going othe sun, and the sweeping about him oshadowy night, he turned more andmore to the south and east. His wholeworld was made up of the trails over which he had hunted. Beyond those

places he did not know that there wassuch a thing as existence. And in thatworld, small in his understanding othings, was Gray Wolf. He could notmiss her. That world, in hiscomprehension of it, ran from theMcFarlane in a narrow trail throug

the forests and over the plains to thelittle valley from which the beavershad driven them. If Gray Wolf was nothere—she was there, and tirelessly heresumed his quest of her.

Not until the stars were fading ou

of the sky again, and gray day wasgiving place to night, did exhaustioand hunger stop him. He killed arabbit, and for hours after he had



feasted he lay close to his kill, andslept. Then he went on.

The fourth night he came to the

little valley between the two ridges,and under the stars, more brilliant now

in the chill clearness of the earlautumn nights, he followed the creedown into their old swamp home. Iwas broad day when he reached theedge of the great beaver pond that nowcompletely surrounded the windfallunder which Gray-Wolf’s second-born

had come into the world. Broken Toothand the other beavers had wrought a big change in what had once been hishome and Gray Wolf’s, and for many

minutes Kazan stood silent andmotionless at the edge of the pond,sniffing the air heavy with theunpleasant odor of the usurpers. Untilnow his spirit had remained unbroken.Footsore, with thinned sides and gaunhead, he circled slowly through the



swamp. All that day he searched. Andhis crest lay flat now, and there was ahunted look in the droop of hisshoulders and in the shifting look of hiseyes. Gray Wolf was gone.

Slowly nature was impinging thafact upon him. She had passed out ohis world and out of his life, and hewas filled with a loneliness and a grieso great that the forest seemed strange,and the stillness of the wild a thing thanow oppressed and frightened him.

Once more the dog in him wasmastering the wolf. With Gray Wolf hehad possessed the world of freedom.Without her, that world was so big and

strange and empty that it appalled him.Late in the afternoon he came upon alittle pile of crushed clamshells on theshore of the stream. He sniffed at the

—turned away—went back, andsniffed again. It was where Gray Wolhad made a last feast in the swamp



before continuing south. But the scenshe had left behind was not stronenough to tell Kazan, and for a secondtime he turned away. That night heslunk under a log, and cried himself tosleep. Deep in the night he grieved i

his uneasy slumber, like a child. Andday after day, and night after night,Kazan remained a slinking creature othe big swamp, mourning for the onecreature that had brought him out ochaos into light, who had filled hisworld for him, and who, in going fro

him, had taken from this world evethe things that Gray Wolf had lost inher blindness.



Chapter XXVII

The Call Of Sun Rock

In the golden glow of the autumsun there came up the streaoverlooked by the Sun Rock one day aman, a woman and a child in a canoe.Civilization had done for lovely Joawhat it had done for many another wild

flower transplanted from the depths othe wilderness. Her cheeks were thin.Her blue eyes had lost their luster. Shecoughed, and when she coughed theman looked at her with love and fear ihis eyes. But now, slowly, the man had

begun to see the transformation, and o

the day their canoe pointed up thestream and into the wonderful vallethat had been their home before the callof the distant city came to them, henoted the flush gathering once more iher cheeks, the fuller redness of her lips, and the gathering glow o



happiness and content in her eyes. Helaughed softly as he saw these things,and he blessed the forests. In the canoeshe had leaned back, with her headalmost against his shoulder, and hestopped paddling to draw her to him,

and run his fingers through the sof golden masses of her hair. “You are happy again, Joan,” he

laughed joyously. “The doctors wereright. You are a part of the forests.”

“Yes, I am happy,” she whispered,

and suddenly there came a little thrillinto her voice, and she pointed to awhite finger of sand running out into

the stream. “Do you remember—yearsand years ago, it seems—that Kazaleft us here? She was on the sand over there, calling to him. Do yoremember?” There was a little trembleabout her mouth, and she added, “Iwonder—where they—have gone.”



The cabin was as they had left it.

Only the crimson bakneesh had growup about it, and shrubs and tall grasshad sprung up near its walls. Oncemore it took on life, and day by day the

color came deeper into Joan’s cheeks,and her voice was filled with its oldwild sweetness of song. Joan’shusband cleared the trails over his oldtrap-lines, and Joan and the little Joan,who romped and talked now,transformed the cabin into home . One

night the man returned to the cabin late,and when he came in there was a glowof excitement in Joan’s blue eyes, anda tremble in her voice when she

greeted him. “Did you hear it?” she asked. “Did

ou hear— the call ?” He nodded, stroking her soft hair.

“I was a mile back in the cree



swamp,” he said. “I heard it!” Joan’s hands clutched his arms. “It wasn’t Kazan,” she said. “I

would recognize his voice. But iseemed to me it was like the other— the call that came that morning from thesand-bar, his mate ?”

The man was thinking. Joan’sfingers tightened. She was breathing alittle quickly.

“Will you promise me this?” she

asked, “Will you promise me that youwill never hunt or trap for wolves?”

“I had thought of that,” he replied.“I thought of it—after I heard the call.Yes, I will promise.”

Joan’s arms stole up about hisneck.



“We loved Kazan,” she whispered.“And you might kill him—or her ”

Suddenly she stopped. Bot

listened. The door was a little ajar,and to them there came again the

wailing mate-call of the wolf. Joan rato the door. Her husband followed.Together they stood silent, and withtense breath Joan pointed over thestarlit plain.

“Listen! Listen!” she commanded.

“It’s her cry, and it came from the Sunock !”

She ran out into the night, forgettin

that the man was close behind her now,forgetting that little Joan was alone iher bed. And to them, from miles andmiles across the plain, there came awailing cry in answer—a cry thaseemed a part of the wind, and thathrilled Joan until her breath broke in a

strange sob



Farther out on the plain she wen

and then stopped, with the golden glowof the autumn moon and the starsshimmering in her hair and eyes. It wasmany minutes before the cry came

again, and then it was so near that Joa put her hands to her mouth, and her cr rang out over the plain as in the days oold.

“ Kazan! Kazan! Kazan !” At the top of the Sun Rock, Gra

Wolf—gaunt and thinned by starvation —heard the woman’s cry, and the callthat was in her throat died away in a

whine. And to the north a swiftlymoving shadow stopped for a moment,and stood like a thing of rock under thestarlight. It was Kazan. A strange fireleaped through his body. Every fiber ohis brute understanding was afire witthe knowledge that here was home . I



was here, long ago, that he had lived,and loved, and fought—and all at oncethe dreams that had grown faded andindistinct in his memory came back tohim as real living things. For, comingto him faintly over the plain, he heard

oan’s voice! In the starlight Joan stood, tense

and white, when from out of the palemists of the moon-glow he came to her,cringing on his belly, panting andwind-run, and with a strange whinin

note in his throat. And as Joan went tohim, her arms reaching out, her lipssobbing his name over and over again,the man stood and looked down upo

them with the wonder of a new andgreater understanding in his face. Hehad no fear of the wolf-dog now. Andas Joan’s arms hugged Kazan’s greatshaggy head up to her he heard thewhining gasping joy of the beast andthe sobbing whispering voice of the



girl, and with tensely gripped hands hefaced the Sun Rock.

“My Gawd,” he breathed. “I

believe—it’s so—” As if in response to the thought i

his mind, there came once more acrossthe plain Gray Wolf’s mate-seeking cr of grief and of loneliness. Swiftly as

though struck by a lash Kazan was ohis feet—oblivious of Joan’s touch, oher voice, of the presence of the man.In another instant he was gone, andJoan flung herself against her husband’s breast, and almost fiercelytook his face between her two hands.

“ Now do you believe?” she cried pantingly. “ Now do you believe in theGod of my world—the God I havelived with, the God that gives souls tothe wild things, the God that—that has

brought—us, all—together—once

more home !”



His arms closed gently about her. “I believe, my Joan,” he

whispered. “And you understand—now—wha

it means, ‘Thou shalt not kill’?” “Except that it brings us life—yes,

I understand,” he replied. Her warm soft hands stroked his

face. Her blue eyes, filled with theglory of the stars, looked up into his.

“Kazan and she —you and I—and

the baby! Are you sorry—that we came back?” she asked.

So close he drew her against his

breast that she did not hear the wordshe whispered in the soft warmth of her hair. And after that, for many hours,they sat in the starlight in front of the



cabin door. But they did not hear againthat lonely cry from the Sun Rock. Joaand her husband understood.

“He’ll visit us again to-morrow,”

the man said at last. “Come, Joan, le

us go to bed.” Together they entered the cabin.

And that night, side by side, Kazaand Gray Wolf hunted again in themoonlit plain.



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Table of Contents

Kazan 3By James Oliver Curwood 4

Contents 5Chapter I 7Chapter II 18

Chapter III 32Chapter IV 52

Kazan_ Father of Baree - James Oliver Curwood

Documents

Transcript of Kazan_ Father of Baree - James Oliver Curwood