14 
Northern Trails. Book I 
rocks, and the wary, magnificent wanderer of the broad 
caribou barrens; but they understood each other, and 
neither wolf nor caribou had any fear or hostile intent 
one for the other. And this is not strange at all, as 
might be supposed by those who think animals are 
governed by fear on one hand and savage cruelty on 
the other, but is one of the commonest things to be 
found by those who follow faithfully the northern trails. 
Wayeeses had chosen her den well, on the edge of 
the untrodden solitudes—sixty miles as the crow flies— 
that stretch northward from Harbor Weal to Harbor 
Woe. It was just under the ridge, in a sunny hollow 
among the rocks, on the southern slope of the great 
mountains. The earliest sunshine found the place and 
warmed it, bringing forth the bluebells for a carpet, 
while in every dark hollow the snow lingered all sum¬ 
mer long, making dazzling white patches on the - moun¬ 
tain ; and under the high waterfalls, that looked from 
the harbor like bits of silver ribbon stretched over the 
green woods, the ice clung to the rocks in fantastic 
knobs and gargoyles, making cold, deep pools for the 
trout to play in. So it was both cool and warm there, 
and whatever the weather the gaunt old mother wolf 
could always find just the right spot to sleep away the 
afternoon. Best of all it was perfectly safe; for though 
from the door of her den she could look down on the 
old Indian’s cabin, like a pebble on the shore, so steep 
