8 
Northern Trails. Book I 
from the big rock on the mountain, the huskies fled 
away wildly from the shore, and only the sob of the 
breakers broke the stillness. 
That was my first (and Noel’s last) shadowy glimpse 
of Wayeeses, the huge white wolf which I had come a 
thousand miles over land and sea to study. All over the 
Long Range of the northern peninsula I followed him, 
guided sometimes by a rumor — a hunter’s story or a 
postman’s fright, caught far inland in winter and hud¬ 
dling close by his fire with his dogs through the long 
winter night — and again by a track on the shore of 
some lonely, unnamed pond, or the sight of a herd of 
caribou flying wildly from some unseen danger. Here 
is the white wolf’s story, learned partly from much 
watching and following his tracks alone, but more from 
■Noel the Indian hunter, in endless tramps over the hills 
and caribou marshes and in long quiet talks in the fire¬ 
light beside the salmon rivers. 
