70 
Northern Trails. Book I 
out a cub and follow him headlong through brush and 
brake till some subtle warning thrilled through his mad¬ 
ness, telling him to heed his flank; then as he whirled 
he would find the savage old mother close at his heels, 
her white fangs bared and a dangerous flash in her eyes 
as she saw the hamstring so near, so easy to reach. One 
spring and a snap, and the ramping, masterful stag 
would have been helpless as a rabbit, his tendons cut 
cleanly at the hock; another snap and he must come 
down, spite of his great power, and be food for the 
growing cubs that sat on their tails watching him, 
unterrified now by his fierce challenge. But Megaleep’s 
time had not yet come; besides, he was too tough. So 
the wolves studied him awhile, amused perhaps at the 
rough play; then, as if at a silent command, they van¬ 
ished like shadows into the nearest cover, leaving the 
big stag in his rage to think himself master of all 
the world. 
Sometimes as the old he-wolf ranged alone, a silent, 
powerful, noble-looking brute, he would meet the caribou, 
and there would be a fascinating bit of animal play. 
He rarely turned aside, knowing his own power, and the 
cows and fawns after one look would bound aside and 
rack away at a marvelous pace over the barrens. In a 
moment or two, finding that they were not molested, 
they would turn and watch the wolf curiously till he 
disappeared, trying perhaps to puzzle it out why the 
