93 
The White Wolf's Hunting 
in his pen a sudden terrible squealing would break out 
on the still night; and when the fisherman rushed 
out the pen would be empty, with nothing whatever to 
account for piggie’s disappearance. For to their un¬ 
trained eyes even the tracks of the wolves were covered 
up by those of the numerous big huskies. If a cat 
prowled abroad, or an uneasy dog scratched to be let 
out, there would be a squall, a yelp, — and the cat would 
not come back, and the dog would never scratch at the 
door to be let in again. 
Only when nothing stirred in the village, when the 
dogs and cats had been spirited away, and when not even 
a rat stole from under the houses to gnaw at a fishbone, 
would the fishermen know of their big silent visitors. 
Then the wolves would gather on a snow-drift just out¬ 
side the village and raise a howl, a frightful wail of 
famine and disappointment, that made the air shudder. 
From within the houses the dogs answered with mad 
clamor. A door would open to show first a long seal 
gun, then a fisherman, then a fool dog that darted be¬ 
tween the fisherman’s legs and capered away, ki-yi-ing 
a challenge to the universe. A silence, tense as a 
bowstring; a sudden yelp — Hui-hui , as the fisherman 
whistled to the dog that was being whisked away over 
the snow with a grip on his throat that prevented any 
answer; then the fisherman would wait and call in vain, 
and shiver, and go back to the fire again. 
