90 
Northern Trails. Book I 
killed him in a terrible fight before he had fairly shaken 
the sleep out of his eyes. 
Old Tomah, the trapper, was abroad now, taking ad¬ 
vantage of the spring hunger. The wolves often crossed 
his snow-shoe trail, or followed it swiftly to see whither 
it led. For a wolf, like a farm dog, is never satisfied till 
he knows the ways of every living thing that crosses his 
range. Following the broad trail Wayeeses would find 
here a trapped animal, struggling desperately with the 
clog and the cruel gripping teeth, there the flayed carcass 
of a lynx or an otter, and yonder the leg of a dog or a 
piece of caribou meat hung by a cord over a runway, 
with the snow disturbed beneath it where the deadly 
trap was hidden. One glance, or a sniff at a distance, 
was enough for the wolf. Lynxes do not go about the 
range without their skins, and meat does not naturally 
hang on trees; so Wayeeses, knowing all the ways of 
the woods, would ignore these baits absolutely. Never¬ 
theless he followed the snow-shoe trails until he knew 
where every unnatural thing lay hidden; and no matter 
how hungry he was, or how cunningly the old Indian 
hid his devices, or however deep the new snow covered 
all traces of man’s work, Wayeeses passed by on the 
other side and kept his dainty feet out of every snare 
and pitfall. 
Once, when the two cubs that hunted together were 
hard pinched with hunger, they found Old Tomah in 
