12 



25? O/dMo/fs 

 Clia/lenge 



wildly from the shore, and only the sob of 

 the breakers broke the stillness. 



That was my first (and Noel's last) shad- 

 owy glimpse of Wayeeses, the huge white 

 wolf which I had come a thousand miles 

 over land and sea to study. All over the 

 Long Range of the northern peninsula I fol- 

 lowed him, guided sometimes by a rumor — 

 a hunter's story or a postman's fright, caught 

 far inland in winter and huddling close by 



his fire with 



his dogs 



through 



the Ions- 



winter night — and again by a track on the 

 shore of some lonely, unnamed pond, or the 

 sight of a herd of caribou flying wildly from 

 some unseen danger. Here is the white 

 wolf's story, learned partly from much watch- 

 ing and following his tracks alone, but more 

 from Noel the Indian hunter, in endless 

 5 tramps over the hills and caribou marshes 



«and in long 



; quiet talks in 



the firelight 



beside the 



salmon rivers. 



