Trails that Cross in the Snow 
121 
The snort and plunge of the smitten animal startled 
this young stag and he turned aside from his course. 
Like a shadow the big wolf that Mooka was watching 
changed his place so as to head the game, while two of 
the pack on the open barrens slipped around the caribou 
and turned him back again to the woods. At the edge of 
the cover the stag stopped for a last look, pointing his 
ears first at Noel’s caribou, which now lay very still in 
the snow, then at the wolves, which with quick instinct 
had singled him out of the herd, knowing in some 
subtle way he was watched from beyond, and which 
gathered about him in a circle, sitting on their tails and 
yawning. Slowly, silently Mooka’s wolf crept forward, 
pushing his great body through the snow. A terrific 
rush, a quick snap under the stag’s chest just behind the 
fore legs, where the heart lay; then the big wolf leaped 
aside and sat down quietly again to watch. 
It was soon finished. The stag plunged away, settled 
into his long rack, slowed down to a swaying, weaken¬ 
ing trot. After him at a distance glided the big wolf, 
lapping eagerly at the crimson trail, but holding him¬ 
self with tremendous will power from rushing in head¬ 
long and driving the game, which might run for miles 
if too hard pressed. The stag sank to his knees; a 
sharp yelp rang like a pistol-shot through the still 
woods; then the pack rolled in like a whirlwind, and 
it was all over. 
