154 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 



door of the outer ring. The pitiful bleating of the goat, frightened 

 by being taken from his usual surroundings, attracts Isegrim. He 

 does not in the least like the look of the strange enclosure, but the 

 frantic behaviour of the goat, still more terrified by the wolfs 

 appearance on the scene, makes him forget his habitual caution, 

 and he begins to try to get at the welcome booty. Several times 

 does he prowl round the outer fence, ever more quickly and eagerly, 

 twisting and snuffing, sometimes coming quite near, and again re- 

 treating, till at last he discovers the only door by which it is possible 

 for him to get near the goat. His appetite gets the better of his 

 natural cunning. Still hesitating, but yet advancing, he pushes his 

 head and body through the narrow doorway. With despairing cries 

 the goat springs to the opposite side of the inner fence. Without 

 further consideration or hesitation the robber follows. The goat 

 rushes round in a circle, and the wolf does the same, with this 

 difference, that he has to move between the two rows of stakes. 

 Then the projecting door impedes his progress. But the victim is 

 now so near, and apparently so sure, that the wolf dashes furiously 

 forwards, pressing the door outwards; the spring-catch falls with a 

 snap into its groove, and the distrustful, cautious dupe is trapped — 

 trapped without being able to get a step nearer the tempting booty. 

 Unable to turn round, boiling over with rage, he runs and trots and 

 jumps, ever forwards, ever in a circle, hurrying without a pause on 

 his endless circuit. The intelligent goat soon appreciates the situation, 

 and though still crying and trembling, remains standing in the middle 

 of the inner circle. The wolf also begins to see the fruitlessness of 

 his circling, and tries to recover his freedom, tearing splinters a foot 

 long out of the stakes with his teeth, howling with rage and fear, 

 but all in vain. After a night of torment, the daylight appears — 

 the wolf's last morning. The villagers begin to move about, and 

 voices mingle with the barking of dogs. Dark men, accom- 

 panied by noisy dogs, approach the scene of the tragedy. 

 Motionless, like a corpse, the wolf lies; scarce a wink of his eyes 

 betrays that there is still life in him. With furious barking the 

 dogs press round the outer fence, but he does not move; with mock- 

 ing welcome the men call to him, but he heeds not. But neither dogs 



