84 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
Surely there must be a pack somewhere, if there 
were moose again. Moose belong to the big 
woods. He trotted down the tracks, to have a 
look at the quarry. As he drew in close to the 
big creatures, feeding in a deep swamp, himself 
having to leap from tussock to tussock, the bull got 
his scent and reared angry antlers with a snort. 
Swiftfoot, alone and unaided, had no intention of 
a contest with those horns. He snarled a defi- 
ance, but he circled the little herd and trotted 
away, intent on finding a pack to help him. 
As he moved off, from four or five miles away 
came a thin whistle. It meant little to Swiftfoot. 
He did not know it was a night freight leaving 
the Lenox station. He was unaware of the start- 
ling contrast between his presence here, and that 
town of expensive villas and modern, luxuriant 
civilization, so close beside him. He still trotted 
southward. But he met no wolf pack. He did 
not know there had been no wolf pack here for a 
hundred years, that he, and he alone, was return- 
ing now over the high hill ridges where the pio- 
neers had built their villages and cleared their 
farms, returning because protective laws had at 
