WHEN ‘WOLF!’ WAS CRIED. 7 
which it had—the wood became peopled with 
green-eyed, flittmg ghosts—more wolves, a 
pack forty strong. 
Two minutes later the three were out upon 
the plain again, going back the way they had 
come, the three big brutes a little ahead, the 
leader in front, his two satellites close on either 
flank—the leader of the pack and the two 
next strongest—with the main pack flung like 
a cloud behind. 
Back along the miles the three led the 
pack—back across the trail of the sleigh, back 
to another wood, into which they vanished. 
A long pause followed, then a single echoing 
bay. Another bay answered; a third; and 
then, clear and loud upon the dead stillness, 
there burst out a ringing, full-throated, rousing 
music, as of a pack of English foxhounds in 
‘full cry.’ 
Out of the deep gloom of the wood on to 
the moonlit, lonely snow swept the pack again 
—wolves, not foxhounds—baying beautifully. 
On they raced, close together, swift, unanimous, 
checking, swerving, sweeping on, driving the 
trail like fury—a grand sight. Nature’s hounds 
at work. 
And the trail? The taint of the entrails of 
a deer and the hoof-prints of a horse ridden 
swiftly. 
