“THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE” 21 
muscle. He was still a young wolf, who had 
never mated—and there was no mate for him. 
He felt lonely and unsatisfied. 
Then, one day, Fang and Softfur disappeared 
altogether. He sniffed along their trail, out of 
curiosity, until he came to a warm ledge where, 
under an overhanging rock, they had excavated a 
hole. Being a gentleman, as such things go 
among wolves, and also having a wholesome re- 
spect for Fang’s jaws, Swiftfoot withdrew, 
springing up the ledge to the top. Here the 
timber was all below him, and he looked out over 
a wide expanse of earth, over valleys and towns, 
and other ranges of green mountains and a big 
sheet of silvery water in the distance, with a wall 
of blue peaks beyond it, that were, of course, the 
Adirondacks. Well, if his pack was to den here, 
he might as well spend the coming warm season 
somewhere about, also. Trotting off, he finally 
found himself a little half cave, under a ledge, 
where last autumn’s leaves had blown in and 
made a soft bed. He pawed them up a bit to 
get the coolness of the under leaves next to his 
skin, and lay down to sleep. This, he resolved, 
