The Winnipeg Wolf 
daily way and held the hordes of Curs at bay 
or slew them when he found them few or sin- 
gle; harried the drunkard, evaded men with 
guns, learned traps—learned poison, too—just 
how, we cannot tell, but learn it he did, for he 
passed it again and again, or served it only 
with a Wolf’s contempt. 
Not a street in Winnipeg that he did not 
know; not a policeman in Winnipeg that had 
not seen his swift and shadowy form in the 
gray dawn as he passed where he would; not 
a Dog in Winnipeg that did not cower and 
bristle when the telltale wind brought proof 
that old Garou was crouching near. His only 
path was the warpath, and all the world his 
foes. But throughout this lurid, semi-mythic 
record there was one recurring pleasant thought 
— Garou never was known to harm a child. 
V 
Ninette was a desert-born beauty like her 
Indian mother, but gray-eyed like her Nor- 
mandy father, a sweet girl of sixteen, the belle 
of her set. She might have married any one 
310 
. —— 
ye ee PE ee 
Set tt St Se er int i et 
Ek Ln 
