73 
The Way of the Wolf 
and put his nose down into the stag’s hoof-marks for a 
long, deep sniff, and go quietly on his way again. A 
wolf’s nose never forgets. When he finds that trail 
wandering with a score of others over the snow, in 
the bitter days to come when the pack- are starving, 
Wayeeses will know whom he is following. 
Besides the caribou there were other things to rouse 
the cubs’ curiosity and give them something pleasant 
to do besides eating and sleeping. When the hunter’s 
moon rose full and clear over the woods, filling all 
animals with strange unrest, the pack would circle the 
great harbor, trotting silently along, nose to tail in 
single file, keeping on the high ridge of mountains and 
looking like a distant train of husky dogs against the 
moonlight. When over the fishing village they would 
sit down, each one on the loftiest rock he could find, 
raise their muzzles to the stars, and join in the long 
howl, Ooooooo-wow-ow-ow! a terrible, wailing cry that 
seemed to drive every dog within hearing stark crazy. 
Out of the village lanes far below they rushed headlong, 
and sitting on the beach in a wide circle, heads all in 
and tails out, they raised their noses to the distant, wolf- 
topped pinnacles and joined in the wailing answer. Then 
the wolves would sit very still, listening with cocked ears 
to the cry of their captive kinsmen, till the dismal howl¬ 
ing died away into silence, when they would start the 
clamor into life again by giving the wolf’s challenge. 
