THE RUN OF THE WOLVES 169 



parched lips of the long-striding Half-breed 

 that delicacy would soon be his. He travelled 

 faster at the thought of it ; also he must push 

 his quarry to tire him, so the Moose would lie 

 down and rest all night. 



The dusk was beginning to settle down as 

 Mooswa struck straight for Pelican Portage, 

 though it was only four o clock in the afternoon. 

 Would Blue Wolf be there to turn back the 

 pursuer ? If by any chance his comrade missed, 

 what a weary struggle he would have next day 

 with the blood-thirsty Breed ever on his trail. 

 As Mooswa neared the Portage, a low, whimper 

 ing note caught his ear. Then another answered 

 close by ; and another, and another joined in, 

 until the w r oods rang with a fierce chorus it was 

 the Wolf-pack s Call of the Killing: 



&quot; Wh-i-m-m-p ! Wh-i-i-m-m-p ! buh-h ! 

 bu-h-h ! buh-h-h ! O-o-o-o-h-h ! O-o-o-o-h-h ! 

 Bl-o-o-d ! Bl-o-o-d ! ! Bl-o-o-o-o-d ! ! ! &quot; That 

 was the Wolf-cry, sounding like silvery music in 

 the ears of the tired Moose. 



&quot; Hungry, every one of them ! &quot; he mut 

 tered. &quot; If Fran9ois stumbles, or sleeps, or for 

 gets the Man-look for a minute, Rof s Pack will 

 slay him.&quot; Then he coughed asthmatically, and 

 Blue Wolf bounded into the open, shaking his 

 shaggy coat. 



