The Winnipeg Wolf 
Many strong hands with shovels came to the 
delicately curled snowdrifts that barred our 
way, and in an hour the engine could pass— 
SY only to stick in another drift yet farther on. 
It was dreary work—day after day, night after 
night, sticking in the drifts, digging ourselves 
out, and still the snow went whirling and play- 
ing about us. 
“Twenty-two hours to Emerson,” said the 
official; but nearly two weeks of digging passed 
before we did reach Emerson, and the poplar 
country where the thickets stop all drifting of 
the snow. ‘Thenceforth the train went swiftly, 
the poplar woods grew more thickly —we passed 
for miles through solid forests, then perhaps 
through an open space. As we neared St. 
Boniface, the eastern outskirts of Winnipeg, 
we dashed across a little glade fifty yards wide, 
and there in the middle was a group that stirred 
me to the very soul. 
In plain view was a great rabble of Dogs, 
large and small, black, white, and yellow, wrig- 
gling and heaving this way and that way in a 
rude ring; to one side was a little yellow Dog 
stretched and quiet in the snow; on the outer 
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