68 
Northern Trails. Book I 
times, as a dog goes again and again to the place where 
he once hid a bone, and nosed it all over regretfully to 
be quite sure that they had overlooked nothing. 
More interesting to the wolves in these glad days 
than the game or the storehouse, or the piles of caplin 
which they cached under the sand on the shore, were 
the wandering herds of caribou,—splendid old stags with 
massive antlers, and long-legged, inquisitive fawns trot¬ 
ting after the sleek cows, whose heads carried small 
pointed horns, more deadly by far than the stags’ cumber¬ 
some antlers. Wherever the wolves went they crossed 
the trails of these wanderers swarming out of the 
thickets, sometimes by twos and threes, and again 
in straggling, endless lines converging upon the vast 
open barrens where the caribou gathered to select their 
mates for another year. Where they all came from was 
a mystery that filled the cubs’ heads with constant won¬ 
der. During the summer you see little of them,—here 
a cow with her fawn hiding deep in the cover, there a 
big stag standing out like a watchman on the mountain 
top; but when the early autumn comes they are every¬ 
where, crossing rivers and lakes at regular points, and 
following deep paths which their ancestors have fol¬ 
lowed for countless generations. 
The cows and fawns seemed gentle and harmless 
enough, though their very numbers filled the young 
wolves with a certain awe. After their first lesspn it 
