95 
The White Wolf's Hunting 
sheltered hollow of the hills the fishermen’s families were 
sleeping away the bitter winter. Here for one long 
night they watched and waited in vain; for every liv¬ 
ing thing was safe in the tilts behind barred doors. In 
the morning little Noel’s eyes kindled as he saw the 
wolves’ tracks; and when they came back again the tilts 
were watching. As the lop-eared cub darted after a cat 
that shot like a ray of moonlight under a cabin, a win¬ 
dow opened noiselessly, and zing! a bowstring twanged 
its sharp warning in the tense silence. With a yelp the 
wolf tore the arrow from his shoulder. The warm blood 
followed the barb, and he lapped it eagerly in his 
hunger. Then, as the danger swept over him, he gave 
the trail cry and darted away. Doors banged open here 
and there; dogs barked to crack their throats; seal guns 
roared out and sent their heavy echoes crashing like 
thunder among the hills. Silence fell again over the 
lodge; and there were left only a few frightened dogs 
whose noses had already told them everything, a few 
fishermen who watched and listened, and one Indian boy 
with a long bow in his hand and an arrow ready on the 
string, who trailed away with a little girl at his side try¬ 
ing to puzzle out the track of one wolf that left a drop of 
blood here and there on the snow in the scant moonlight. 
Far up on the hillside in a little opening of the woods 
the scattered pack came together again. At the first up¬ 
roar, so unbearable to a silence-loving animal, they had 
