87 
The White Wolf's Hunting 
game to come down, and the lynx waiting for the wolves 
to go away. Upweekis was at a disadvantage, for he 
could not see when he had won; and he generally came 
down in an hour or two, only to find the wolves hot on 
his trail before he had taken a dozen jumps. Whereupon 
he took to another tree and the game began again. 
When the night was exceeding cold — and one who 
has not felt it can hardly imagine the bitter, killing in¬ 
tensity of a northern midnight in February—the wolves, 
instead of going away, would wait under the tree in 
which the lynx had taken refuge, and the silent, appall¬ 
ing death-watch began. A lynx, though heavily furred, 
cannot long remain exposed in the intense cold without 
moving. Moreover he must grip the branch on which 
he sits more or less firmly with his claws, to keep from 
falling; and the tense muscles, which flex the long claws 
to drive them into the wood, soon grow weary and numb 
in the bitter frost. The wolves meanwhile trot about to 
keep warm; while the stupid cat sits in one spot slowly 
perishing, and never thinks of running up and down the 
tree to keep himself alive. The feet grow benumbed 
at last, powerless to hold on any longer, and the lynx 
tumbles off into the wolves’ jaws; or else, knowing the 
danger, he leaps for the nearest wolf and dies fighting. 
Spite of the killing cold, the problem of keeping warm 
was to the wolves always a simple one. Moving along 
through the winter night, always on a swift, silent trot, 
