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A WILDERNESS DOG
The Biography of a Gray Wolf

ANA A S COPELANS -

He FireD THE REMAINING Two SHoTS IN His REVOLVER

Var = U
« « \ Ny, S “nl

H EG \\
me te EU ‘i amet — OAs We > by

ig a * Si;
Bycarence H, i AW Whe es

Author of
Shageye Coat. the Biography of a Beaver
Black Bruin. ihe Biography of a Bear

Shovelhorns, ihe Biography of a Moose
efc.

Illustrated by

Charles Copeland

ce

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W.JACOBS & C?
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1910, by —
Georce W. Jacoss & Company
Published September, IQIO

All rights reserved
Printed in U. S, A.

Dedicated to
THE BOY CAMPERS OF AMERICA

little men of the out-of-doors, who
fall asleep cach night with their eyes
upon the star-gemmed heavens, and
wake each morning with the thrushes ;
who ripen in the sun, the wind and
the rain, like nuts upon the forest
trees ; and who catch something of the
beauty and mystery of nature and hold
zt in their young hearts, like the morn-
ang dew in the chalice of the flower

VII.
VIII.
IX.
b@
XI.

INTRODUCTION . x

CHRISTMAS IN THE BIG WoopDs

VIXEN : - :
THE DEN IN THE ROCKS
THE KILLERS . §
GooD HUNTING . :

IN THE TOILS OF MAN
Back To His First LOVE
FAITHFUL AS A DoG .
HEARD IN THE SILENCE
THE RED RAGE . :
THE WILDERNESS CALL

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227
247
275

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HE FIRED THE REMAINING Two SHOTS

In H1s REVOLVER s :

THEY STARTED A FINE BUCK OUT
OF A CLUMP OF SPRUCES . :

HAIRFACE SPED TO HIS IMPER-
ILED MASTER . é ; :

FRANTICALLY THEY RACED
THROUGH THE SCORCHING
Woops i 4 2 i

HE GLOWERED DOWN AT THE
HOUSES OF MEN IN THE VALLEY

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INTRODUCTION

ee ee Fe ee ee en ee eT Pee eee er oo. a 5 ge 2 J { rinse ne te Se ee eS ey ME Ce ns

INTRODUCTION

Into the folk-lore and the fireside tales
of nearly all peoples has come striding the
tall, sinister figure of the great gray wolf.

Sometimes it is in fairy stories as in “ Lit-
tle Red Ridinghood,” which in Grimm’s
Fairy Tales is explained as a mythical
legend, describing the alternate day and
night and the daily disappearance of the
moon (the grandmother) before the sun,
which is the wolf. Again, it is in legend,
as in the story of the founding of Rome by
Romulus and Remus, through the kind
maternal offices of their foster-mother, the
she-wolf.

In still more startling form it comes to
us from India in those gruesome tales of
wolf children, and there seem to be many
of them which are credited by Englishmen

14 Introduction

who know India and its people. Such a
tale is Kipling’s story of Mowgli, the fasci-
nating yet fearful account of a_ child
snatched from the fireside by a she-wolf
and taken away to her den, where he was
suckled and brought up in all ways like
one of the wolf whelps, running either upon
two feet or four at will, uttering strange
cries like a wild beast, and eating flesh.
Such is the description of the Indian wolf-
child. But Mowgli became a great leader
of the pack, supplementing the cunning of
the wolf with that of man, and, whenever
he could, preventing the pack from eating
human flesh.

Nearly every people in its struggle on the
frontier has fought with wolves; hence
frontier literature abounds in accounts of
hairbreadth escapes from them. Nowhere
is this more true than in the literature of
Russia, where the wolves are most destruc-
tive to human life. In many parts of that

Introduction 15

country the fight for existence against
wolves is a desperate one, and the govern-
ment bounties upon these gray marauders
are very heavy.

In other countries the wolves content
themselves with simply making raids upon
sheep and cattle, or other stock, and area
very serious menace to the stock-raiser.
This is particularly true in the northwestern
portion of our own country, where continu-
ous war has gone on between the stock-
raiser and the wolves ever since the days of
Clarke and Lewis.

There have been many famous fighters in |

this border warfare ;—wolves renowned for
their strength and cunning who have set at
naught the traps and the poison of men and
their skill as hunters, and gone on year
after year with their devastation. In such
cases a wolf becomes legendary, and lives in
fireside tales long after he has gone the way
of his sires.

16 Introduction

Such a wolf was “ the wild beast of Gen-
endare,” who terrorized Brittany in the
north of France in 1760. He carried on
his work of destruction among human be-
ings for five years, although the skilled
hunters of the country pursued him con-
stantly, and notwithstanding the fact that
the king had offered a large reward for his
scalp, and for a portion of the time the bet-
ter part of the French army was employed
in hunting him.

In times of famine, wolves have been
known to lay siege to large towns and not
to allow the citizens to come forth for many
weeks. But most of these strange things
happened several centuries ago ; to-day the
wolf is no longer a menace to life, and much
less so to property than formerly.

The wolf is quick to learn from sad ex-
perience. Twenty or thirty years ago he
could be both poisoned and trapped by the
man upon our western frontier. To-day he

Introduction 17

knows both traps and strychnine and can
be taken in neither way, so that man has
again to sharpen his wits if he would pro-
tect his stock against the gray pack.

The wolf differs greatly in size, ferocity,
and cunning, according to the region he
inhabits, for it seems to be his environment :
that brings out his varying characteristics. MH]

Naturalists are not of one accord as to the Hit
classification of wolves. All are agreed
that there are two very distinctly marked
species, but of the sub-divisions there seem
to be many, all differing slightly, although
not enough to render them really distinct Hi
from their brother wolves. The two widely He
differing varieties are the tall gray timber lia
wolf, the scourge of the frontier, and his i
small brown brother, the prairie wolf, or
coyote of the Mexican. These two are Hi
easily told apart in all climes, for one is a i
giant and the other, in comparison, a |
pigmy.

18 Introduction

Some of the very largest wolves on record
are found in Colorado and in our north-
western states. Many of them tip the beam
at considerably over one hundred pounds,
and there are a few instances on record
of wolves weighing one hundred and forty
and one hundred and fifty pounds. One
hundred pounds is a fair weight for a timber
wolf, while a very large coyote does not
weigh over thirty or thirty-five pounds. So
the gap between these two wolves will be
seen to be wide. From the coyote down,
however, there seems to be a gradual and
an easy grade to the fox, for there is a
wolf in Mexico called the fox-wolf, who
is the natural link between the two.

Again, the gray wolf varies in size and
color according to the clime he inhabits.
Usually he is a grizzled gray, tawny in

places, and also with many hairs tipped
with black; but in parts of Texas he isa
dingy rufous red, while in another portion

Introduction 19

of the same state he is black. Along the
upper Missouri River white wolves were
quite common twenty years ago, so it will
be seen that the gray wolf is not always
gray. The coyote, which corresponds to the
jackal in the eastern hemisphere, is nearly
always some shade of brown; but he is a
sneaking, no-account fellow, so it does not
much matter what color he is.

In the cold winter months, when food
becomes scarce, the wolves form themselves
into packs of from six to twenty members
and hunt their food incommon. Then it
is that the law of the pack, a rather simple
though rigorous code, is in force.

The pack is always under the guidance
of a leader; the strongest and most cunning
wolf has this honor. He it is who directs
their movements, and exacts rigid obedi-
ence. If any transgress his law, their
punishment is death, which the gray,
grizzled veteran metes out himself, while

20 Introduction

the remainder of the pack look on with
approval.

Male wolves are never allowed to trans-
gress his laws, but females are shown more
leniency. The reason for this is that a
male wolf will rarely bite a female. No
matter how much the she-wolf may exas-
perate her lord, he seldom punishes her ;
but simply turns his head and lets her
slash him with her fangs at will.

Wolf whelps are simply a lot of tumbling,
snapping, frolicking wilderness puppies.
This is very easily proven. If one puts a
collie pup into a wolf den, and allows it to
be brought up with the wolf whelps, it will
in one generation return completely to the
wild, and when it has matured will be a
veritable wolf, perhaps a little less ferocious
than its real wolf brothers, yet to all intents
and purposes a wolf. On the other hand,
bring the wolf whelp into camp before he is
old enough to have developed his wolfish

Introduction 21

traits, and you can make quite a respectable
dog of him, although he will always be
wolfish, and it would take several genera-
tions to make a clever dog of him.

Wolf-coursing has ever been a favorite
sport upon the frontier, where the very con-
ditions under which the people live breed
recklessness and daring. In Europe it has
been the pastime of the upper classes, and
crowned heads have often distinguished
themselves in famous wolf-hunts. Even
to-day the Czar of all the Russias is sup-
posed to own the finest wolfhounds in the
world. Each year the royal family and the
great retinue of the Czar go forth to test the
skill of these Russian wolfhounds, and
prizes are awarded to the best dogs.

Here, however, the sport seems to be
rather cruel, as the dogs are run in packs and
are taught to catch the wolf, each dog getting
hold of a leg and stretching his body, thus
holding him until the hunters come up.

22 Introduction

A few years ago an American gentleman
imported some of these famous Russian
| wolfhounds, but they were entirely unable
to make the American timber wolf submit
to this stretching ordeal, as he seems to be
stronger and fiercer than any of his brothers.

My father and an uncle went west in the
early fifties, when Chicago was a small vil-
lage, with rough plank walks and other
primitive features. In those days, the
farmers came to town, drawing their wheat
in four-horse wagons. Some traversed a
distance of one hundred and fifty miles over
the prairies, and wolves often followed these
teams for hours. When a small boy, it was
my delight to sit at my father’s knee and
| hear stories of wolves upon the great plains
til in the early days.

i ti The most exciting of all these tales, to

which I listened with bated breath, were the
| accounts of wolf-coursing, in which dare-
a) devil sport the men and boys indulged in

Introduction 23

the late autumn. The packs used in these
hunts were usually a motley set of dogs:
deerhounds, foxhounds, shepherds, bull-
dogs, and many varieties of mongrels.

The hiding-places of the wolves were in
what is called the bottom-lands, along the
river-courses, where there was timber which
afforded them good cover. Unless you
could find your wolf in the open, this cover
had to be beaten and the wolf driven out.
When he was at last sighted, pandemonium
broke loose among both the pack and the
horsemen, for it was a part of the game to
make as much noise as possible, the theory
being that this confused the wolf and pre-
vented his making his best run. Shouts
rang out, horns were blown, pistols were
discharged, and away they all went at a
frightful pace across the rough prairie.

About the only stratagem used was to
keep the wolf in the open and ride hard.
This riding was far more treacherous than

i
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i
nN

24 Introduction

that ordinarily indulged in by fox-hunters
who hunt to hounds, for much of the way
led through cities of prairie dogs, where the
ground was fairly perforated with the bur-
rows of these interesting little creatures.

With the horse going at a dead run, it
was impossible to guide him and keep him
out of danger; so he was usually given his
head in any of this bad land, the rider
knowing well that the horse’s instinct was
better than his own judgment in such a
crisis.

Frequently after a long, hard chase, the
wolf got away; but often he was at last
brought to bay, and, amid a babel of snarl-
ing dogs, shouting men, and the crack of
firearms, paid the price of being a wolf and
an outcast of civilization.

The particular reason why I am inter-
ested in wolves and am writing this book
is to show that the wolf is the wilderness
brother of our friend the dog; that he is

Introduction 25

the dog’s wild ancestor, like him in nearly
every respect, but without his love and
affection, which long association with man
has so strongly developed. Tome the affec-
tion of a good dog is one of the most beau-
tiful things in the brute kingdom.

Just when or where the great gray wolf.

and man became acquainted is uncertain,
but that they did become acquainted the
dog can testify. It is probable that for cen-
turies the wolf hovered upon the outskirts
of man’s camp-fire, fearful yet attracted,
wishing to draw in close to this strange
figure that crouched by the fire, yet not
daring to do so. They met upon the moun-
tain-top and in the deep valley, in spring,
summer, autumn and winter, yet were
strangers, until at last the fear wore away,
and the great gaunt wolf drew in close to the
man’s habitation.

Perhaps he was hungry and the man
threw him a fish, or it may be that the

26 Introduction

fascination of the firelight was too much for
his curiosity; but at last he came and sat
by the side of the man creature and finally
snuggled up close to him, putting his long
cruel muzzle into the hand of his master.
Then he licked the hand of man, and has
been his slave and admirer ever since, lovy-
ing him through poverty and disgrace, in
sickness and in health, eager to forgive an
injury, faithful unto death as only a dog
can be. Such is the trustful brute that has
come to us from the pack of the gray wolf.

CHAPTER I

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A Wilderness Dog

CHAPTER I
CHRISTMAS IN THE BIG WOODS

Ir was Christmas Eve in the big woods,
but none of the silent-footed fur folk that
came and went like shadows in its gray,
ghastly aisles, or any of the swift-winged
denizens of the tree-tops were aware of the
fact. For them to-morrow would not be the
very best and the gladdest day in all the
year. To their senses the sun would shine
no brighter, and the winds would be no

warmer.

All day long they had come and gone,
each upon his errand of subsistence bent.
To catch somebody else, and not get caught
himself,—that was the game. It was a

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30 A Wilderness Dog

rather hazardous game, but they had all of
them always played it, and knew no other.
If it was a hard lot, they did not realize it,
for unlike man and the domestic creatures,
they had not been pampered by civilization,
and did not know the luxuries of shelter
and artificial warmth.

But they played the game well, each in
his own way.

The fox had gone about his hunting just
as diligently that day as he ever had in his
life, for game was scarce this winter, and
the rabbit, the partridge, the wood-mouse,
and everything else that is meat for Rey-
nard had looked to it that this sly fellow
went without his supper.

And each was well equipped to fight the
battle. The rabbit had put on his ermine
coat, that none of his many enemies might
see him, and his broad-padded feet fell upon
the snow, light as the falling of an autumn
leaf. The weasel had also put on his white

2S islews’
‘ uv

Christmas in the Big Woods 31

coat, which was unfortunate for all his prey
both big and little, since it made him so
inconspicuous in the new snow. The great
horned owl had grown a fine fringe upon his
wings, that his coming might be swift and
sure; and the partridge, swaying in the
tree-top as he budded, might not hear his
approach or know of his whereabouts, until
steely talons enfolded him.

Thus the old warfare went on, and it
made no difference whether it was Christ-
mas Eve or not. In the ancient woods the
snows that had fallen thick and fast, ever
since about Thanksgiving-time, were three
or four feet deep. The laurel and the scrub
spruces in many cases were entirely hidden.
The rabbit swamps were a tangle of paths,
main-traveled roads, and innumerable side-
streets leading in every direction. Here
and there one could see where a buck rabbit
had his rubbing-post upon a soft maple or
a white birch.

a2 A Wilderness Dog

This was his own particular post, and
for another rabbit to use it, would be as
much a breach of etiquette, as for you or
me to use another person’s comb or brush.
Impolite rabbits sometimes trespassed the
long-established rules of conduct for the
woods, and then there were battles royal,
simply over a rubbing-post ;—but men often
fight over even smaller things than that.

Occasionally also one might see where a
partridge had plunged under the snow, for a
night’s rest. Here it was that the prowling
fox, who does most of his hunting at night,
sometimes found the sound sleeper; then
there were signs of a scuffle and blood upon
the snow, and perhaps a few feathers, for
Reynard is a sly fellow, else he would have
starved ages ago.

Early that morning of December twenty-
fourth, just as the sun glorified the eastern
hilltops, and set all the myriad snow-crystals
in field and forest to sparkling, a tote-team

Christmas in the Big Woods a0

had started from McGregor’s Point, a small
lumbering and trading town on the upper
Ottawa River, to carry supplies to camp
No. 18, of the Ottawa River Lumber Com-
pany.

The team was driven by Roderick McEl-
wain, a vigorous Scotch boy of about eight-
een years. The load was a few general
provisions for the camp, and also the mail
from the outside world, with many parcels
brimming with Christmas cheer. In short,
the load was a sort of Merry Christmas from
the world to camp No. 18.

The trip was a long one, considering the
fact that the snow was deep, and much of
the way the team could merely wallow
slowly ; but in other places, where the pines
and the spruces were especially heavy, the
track was fairly good. Young McElwain
had been over the trail every other day since
the first snowfall, and although it was a
winding, devious way, he knew all of its

34 A Wilderness Dog

twists and turns, as well as you or I would
know our own city street. This was his
woodsman’s instinct.

But the roads had never been as bad as
they were to-day, and when the blue shadows
of the early winter twilight began creeping
through the woods, he had covered only
about two-thirds of the journey, and there’
were still seven or eight good English miles
between him and a night’s lodging for both
man and beast. This would not be so bad
if the moon were bright, but there were
signs of its being cloudy, and the outlook
was not pleasant.

Anxiously Roderick watched the long
blue shadows creep through the forest, and
the sable mantle of night enfold the white
landscape; but it was not with fear, for to
his strong nerves the forest held no terrors.
It was the inconvenience of plodding for
miles upon a winding, twisting trail in
nearly total darkness that bothered him.

Christmas in the Big Woods es

At first a few stars, brighter than their fel-
lows, pricked through the haze, but even
these were soon obscured by the enfolding
gloom.

With the coming of night, the wind began
to freshen and to moan a cheerless wailing
dirge in the tree-tops. A benumbing chill
also crept into the air, and altogether the
night boded ill for the young traveler caught
so far from shelter. ,

As the darkness deepened, he was obliged
to go still more slowly and occasionally
even to get out and hunt for the trail. This
he was able to do, even in the darkness, by
treading about in the snow, for the trail was
hard, while the untrodden snows were very
soft, and as soon as one got off the track he
sank deep in them.

It was an eerie night of moaning winds
and groaning branches, punctuated with
the occasional hooting of an owl or the

sharp bark of a prowling fox.

36 A Wilderness Dog

Once the young teamster got a few feet
off the trail, and it was with great difficulty
that he guided his plunging, frightened
horse back to safety. Just as he had found
the trail once more, and was again plodding
upon his arduous way, a long, desolate,
high-keyed howl floated down through the
aisles of the gloom-haunted forest. It was
so thin, so wavering, and so much like the
howling of the wind, that a less experienced
ear than Roderick’s might have been mis-
taken in the sound. But, although he had
heard the cry rarely before, he knew it in-
stantly as foreboding menace, especially
to a lone traveler far from shelter. It was
the hunting cry of the great gray wolf.

Presently the fitful wind again bore the
wild, weird howl to his ears. At first he
had been doubtful of the direction from
which it had come, but now he located it
without difficulty, for it sounded somewhat
nearer. The great gray hunter was on his

Christmas in the Big Woods 27

trail, after his flesh and that of old Benny,
the tote-horse.

A few minutes before he had been debat-
ing the advisability of camping for the
night; now, that was out of the question.
He must press on desperately and see if he
could not reach Lake Quambog before the
fight came, for he was sure that there would
be a fight. The deep snows had made hunt-
ing bad for the wolves, and they certainly
were in earnest this time.

He reached under the seat to see if the
thirty-two calibre revolver which he always
carried was there, and, after reassuring him-
self that it was safe, braced his nerves, and
urged Benny forward.

Soon the howling was repeated, this time
much nearer,—so near in fact that it gave
Roderick quite a start. They were follow-
ing rapidly. Again and again the desolate,
blood-curdling cry was reiterated, each time
a little nearer. Like an inexorable fate,

38 A Wilderness Dog

this menace from the seemingly peaceful
woods bore down upon the young man.

Five anxious minutes dragged by, and
the cries were not repeated. A less expe-
rienced woodsman than Roderick might
have been deceived into the belief that his
trail had been abandoned, but not he. He
knew full well that their silence meant they
had discovered his proximity, and were
closing in, or reconnoitering their prey.

Another minute of this suspense went
by and then old Benny stopped stock still
in the trail and began snorting and shaking
with fright. Roderick peered into the
darkness, and, forty or fifty feet ahead,
made out the two yellow phosphorous eyes
of a wolf, burning like live coals.

This was serious. They had either inten-
tionally or unwittingly got directly in his
way, so that further progress was impossible
until the road was cleared. Why could not
the miserable brutes content themselves with

Christmas in the Big Woods 39

following behind? Then they might even
help him to urge the tired horse forward.

Roderick reached down under the seat
for his revolver, and, turning Benny’s head
as far to one side as he could and still keep
him on the trail, he took deliberate aim be-
tween the two bright coals and fired. The
old tote-horse reared and plunged, and for
a moment the boy had his hands full quiet-
ing him. When he gota chance to look for
the wolf, the two coals had disappeared and
the way was again clear.

Once more they started forward, but now
Benny was keyed to the highest pitch. He
too understood the danger, and that wild,
unreasoning terror, which horses often show
in time of peril, made him almost unman-
ageable.

For an arduous quarter of a mile they
moved on again, the horse plunging and
snorting, and the driver holding on to him

for dear life, and, by a superhuman effort,

40 A Wilderness Dog

keeping him in the path. Then Roderick’s
quick ear caught the soft patter of feet on
the trail behind, and, turning, he made out
three or four tall gray shapes following.
How bold they were becoming! If they
were not checked they might at any minute
jump upon his low load from behind and
attack him; so turning part way around,
and at the same time keeping as tight a
rein on the horse as he could, he fired one
more shot at his menacing enemies. But
the shot was probably high; and, although
they all sneaked into the cover at the
side of the trail and followed warily for a
few rods, no harm was done them as far as
Roderick could see. Soon he heard the
rhythmic pat-a-pat-pat in the road behind,
and knew that they were following again.
They were not as much of a menace from
behind, however, as when they blocked his
way in front, so he let them come on, until
one caught at the end of a blanket that was

Christmas in the Big Woods 41

flapping behind, and sought to pull it from
the load. Then Roderick whirled and fired
again. As before, they took to the under-
brush, but not for long.

A bright thought now came to him. He
reached down under the blankets and
_ dragged up a ham, about the only eatable
thing in the load, and threw it over the
back of the sled, as a peace-offering to his
pursuers. |

The famished pack fell upon it like
furies, and the boy shuddered at the
thought of what they would do to him
if they got the chance. But they were
soon back, like Oliver Twist, asking for
more. Roderick had no more meat for
them, and little else that he fancied they
would care for; but at last, seeing how
hard they were pressing him, he hurled
the buffalo robe at them, and it, too, went
the way of the ham.

The lake was now barely half a mile

42 A Wilderness Dog

distant, and the boy’s hopes began to rise ;
if he could only reach it; he knew that he
could offer a better fight. There the way
was smooth and open, and if the moon
would only come up, he felt certain that he
could beat them off. So, as fast as the
wolves pressed him too hard, he fired the
remaining two shots in his revolver, and
urged the frantic horse forward.

Yet the pack pressed him closer and
closer, and he was soon obliged to strike
with the whip and to shout, in order to
keep them from springing upon the load
behind.

The rearing and plunging of the horse
did not permit of his loading the revolver
again, and he now began to fear that he
had made a mistake in not keeping his last
two shots until they came to close quarters.
He reached down under the seat and got
out the axe which he always carried. That
did not need to be reloaded, and, after all,

Christmas in the Big Woods 43

was about as good a weapon at close range
as the revolver.

Suddenly a mighty wolf leaped fairly
upon the top of the load. At the same
instant Roderick had a premonition of
danger, and turned just in time to see the
brute spring.

The axe was light, and the young man
was strong, and his plight made him des-
perate. Before the wolf could advance or
retreat, with a mighty blow he sent him
sprawling in the road behind. It was a
lucky blow well placed, and the fallen
wolf’s famished comrades, frenzied by the
blood that flowed freely from a gash in his
head, made short work of him.

For fifteen minutes Roderick and his
jaded horse plodded on without molesta-
tion, and then he gave a great shout of joy.
The moon was at last breaking through the
clouds, and the lake, wind-swept and nearly
free of snow, was just ahead. He had also

44 | A Wilderness Dog

reloaded his revolver during the cessation
of hostilities, and now felt much better able
to continue the struggle.

“Come on,” he shouted, as the horse
broke into a wild gallop across the frozen
lake, ‘and I will give you a bit of lead for
supper.”

His pursuers needed no further invita-
tion, and soon six gigantic timber wolves
were racing over the ice after him.

Bang, went his revolver and the bullet
skimmed over the ice. It was almost im-
possible to hit one of them, with his atten- —
tion so closely riveted upon the horse, and
going at this breakneck pace. Three of the
brutes raced alongside and three behind,
but Benny still kept up his frantic speed.
Soon two alarming facts were apparent:
first, that the horse was nearly exhausted ;
and, second, that the wolves were on the
outside, running the team around in a
great circle.

Christmas in the Big Woods 45

When Roderick fully realized these two
facts, his blood ran cold. Benny would
soon drop, and they would be at the mercy
of the pack. He cheered on the poor horse
with friendly cries, and shouted hoarse im-
precations at his foes; but in spite of all he
could do, the pace slackened, and the great
circle in which they were running grew
smaller and smaller.

As long as they kept in rapid motion,
Roderick did not much fear that the wolves
would try to close in on him, but as soon
as they came to a dead stop, then he knew
that there would be a desperate battle. He
would have to protect both himself and the
horse, for he did not intend to abandon his
faithful steed to these famished brutes.

After fifteen minutes of rapid running,
the tired horse was blowing and gasping,
nearly winded; but the gaunt timber
wolves galloped on, as fresh as ever.
Clearly it was no hardship for them. The

46 A Wilderness Dog

circle in which they were now running was
only about twenty rods in diameter, and at
first it had been half a mile. Surely it
seemed that the chances of escape upon the
lake, which Roderick had thought so bright
a few minutes before, were vanishing rapidly.

The wolves now galloped in close, and
once a gigantic tawny fellow snapped at
Benny’s leg. Roderick shuddered to think
how soon the pack would have been upon
them, had the wolf drawn blood.

In a last effort to frighten them a little
farther from the horse he fired his remain-
ing two shots, and again his revolver was
empty. Just at the moment that the last
shot rang out clear and sharp upon the night
air, a tall, gaunt figure leaped fairly upon
the load behind him. Roderick felt the
hot breath of the beast upon the back of his
neck, so sure and strong had been the leap.

Quick as a flash he turned, raising the
empty revolver to strike the wolf, who, he

we oa oe
See ee a ee

ee ee

Christmas in the Big Woods 47

had no doubt, would give him a desperate
fight for life.

The revolver fell, but not by his volition.
Instead it fell from his nerveless hand by
its own weight, and with a glad cry of both
triumph and thanksgiving, he seized the
great brute about the neck in a transport
of delight.

“Vixen, old girl,” he cried, “‘ Vixen, you
came just in time to get me out of a
mighty tight place. Now we'll show ’em.
Seek ’em, Vixen; seek ’em.”

The tall, sinewy Irish deerhound, who
had come out of the distant camp, drawn
hither by some subtle premonition of her
master’s danger, needed no further urging ;
for she was a famous wolf-dog and a terrible
fighter. She sprang into the gap between
the jaded horse and the pack, her hackles
raised, her fangs bared, and her hairy face
wrinkled into a devilish snarl.

As she stood there defending from danger

48 A Wilderness Dog

those that she loved, she was a formidable
figure. Three feet at the shoulders she
stood, and she tipped the beam at one hun-
dred and twenty-five pounds. There was
not an ounce of fat upon her, but her mus-
cles were like whip-cords, and her motions
were as quick as those of a wolf.

At this new front, the pack drew off a
few feet until they should inspect the new
adversary, to determine her fighting quali-
ties, and the horse slowed down to asham-
bling trot.

Roderick now reloaded his revolver, and
felt safer. His luck had changed and a
minute later with a deliberate aim he
knocked over the leader, a grizzled dog
wolf. Seeing his advantage, he sent shot
after shot into the pack. This soon demor-
alized them and they sneaked off across the
ice into the shadows of the forest, leaving
Roderick and Vixen in full possession of
the field.

.

Christmas in the Big Woods 49

When the last skulking gray form had
disappeared, Roderick hugged the great
deerhound with sheer delight; but they
lost no time in getting the team turned
about and started for camp, which was
barely a mile from the edge of the lake.

Vixen mounted guard on top ef the load,
whereshestood with raised hackles, growling
and menacing,asmuchastosay: “‘ Keep your
distance, you sneaking gray cowards. Iam
protecting the load, and any one that harms
it or my master will have to settle with
me.”

Twenty minutes later, the tote-team, with
the great gray hound still mounting guard,
came intocamp, and Roderick narrated his
escape to an excited group of lumbermen.

“Mighty close call, Rod,” said Dugan
Campbell, the boss, when he had heard the
boy’s story. ‘‘That dog’s intelligence does
beat the world. You will all remember
how she came to me last winter when I

50 A Wilderness Dog

broke my leg in the windfall. She always
seems to know if a man is in trouble.
About half an hour ago, boy, she got ex-
cited, and whined and scratched at the door,
and nothing would do but she must go outside,
and as soon as I let her out, she put off
through the woods as though the devil was
after her.”

“The devil was after me, and not her,”
laughed Roderick. Now that the trouble
was over he could afford to joke about it,
especially as he had come out of it so well.

Then there was supper for both man and
beast, and after that sweet sleep in a warm
bunk in the long, low room; but you may
be sure that Vixen was the heroine of the
camp for many a day.

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VIXEN

CHAPTER II
VIXEN

From that night when the tall Irish deer-
hound came to the aid of the beleaguered
driver of the tote-team, a strong friendship
sprang up between Roderick and the dog.
They had always liked each other, but this

tussle with the wolves seemed to cement the :

bond of friendship between them, just as
men upon the battle-field become the best
of friends in a few hours.

The dog had not really belonged to
Roderick ; but, as the manager of the lum-
ber-camp who owned her was his uncle, he
had always spoken of the hound as his.
After this adventurous night, seeing the
growing intimacy of the two, Mr. McElwain
gave Vixen to Roderick outright, and the
two celebrated the occasion of the transfer

54 A Wilderness Dog

by a long snow-shoe tramp through the
winter woods.

Still another sign of attachment was also
noticed: the hound now always went to
meet her new master on his return from
the Point, which occurred every other day.
She seemed to have some sixth sense that
told her when the tote-team was within
two or three miles of the camp.

The hour of Roderick’s return was quite
irregular, depending upon the condition of
the trail. Sometimes it was three or four
o’clock in the afternoon, often it was not
until nine o’clock at night; but the dog
always hit it just right. Half an hour
before the team finally appeared in camp,
she would start out, and her master would
soon return with the hound riding trium-
phantly on top of the load.

The coarse lumbermen in the camp were
not to the dog’s liking, and she would
tolerate no familiarity on their part. I?fany

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Vixen $5

one transgressed the bounds of propriety,
he was soon told, by raised hackles and
bared teeth, to keep his distance; but if a
lumberman was drunk, the dog seemed to
understand, and would not bite him, no
matter how much he offended her. This
rarely occurred, however, as all liquors
were denied the camp, and it was only
when spirits were smuggled in that they
were to be had at all. |

Every morning when the men tumbled
out of their bunks, the hound would also
arise from her bed in the stables, stretch
herself, and come into the mess-room for
breakfast, for she was quite one of the large
family. This was before light, and there
was great activity in camp, especially in
the cook-room and at the stables, where
men and horses were being fed. Vixen
took her mess of beans and corn bread as
soberly as any one.

If you pointed your finger at her and

56 A Wilderness Dog

smiled or laughed, her dignity would be
offended. If you were a stranger, she
would become so infuriated that your
mirth would at once cease; but, if you
were a friend, she would slink into some
dark corner and leave her _ breakfast
unfinished.

When the men and teams went away for
the cutting and hauling of logs, she either
stretched herself by the fire and slept, or
went on long hunting-trips in the snow-
laden forest.

These were busy days in the woods, and
mournful days for one who loved the
forest.

The keen double-bitted axes were swing-
ing and ringing all day long, and every
few minutes a forest giant, that had
withstood the elements for a hundred or
perhaps two hundred years, would be seen
to totter, and finally, with a rush of wind,
a crash like thunder, and a cloud of snow,

Vixen 57

would fall like a wounded warrior among
its already denuded fellows.

All day long the saws kept up their
monotonous song of wee-waw, wee-waw ;
while busy teamsters guided straining
horses drawing logs to the skidway. Hach
-man and each team had its particular task,
and all did it with dispatch.

There was little talking or jesting; all
were too engrossed in their work. Besides,
inattention meant danger to life and limb.
A moment’s heedlessness on the part ofa
driver or a cant-hook man, and a huge
log, weighing tons, would: get away and
perhaps crush some one in the tumble.
There was also a menace in the continually
falling trees. Often as the trees fell great
limbs broke off and lodged in tops of other
trees, unnoticed by the woodsmen. Per-
haps a day or a week later, this limb
would come hurtling down upon some un-
suspecting head. Peaceful as the scene

58 A Wilderness Dog

appeared, with the green plumes and white
snow, there was danger on every hand.

You have merely to look into the face of
a lumberman to read this eternal vigilance
that is the price of safety in thecamp. His
eyes are alert, his ears are alert, his muscles
are tense and alert, and his whole organism
is ready to spring this way or that at a sec-
ond’s notice.

It was amid such busy scenes of the
lumber-camp in the heart of the wilderness,
that this friendship between boy and dog
was formed, so perfect in its understanding
that the lumbermen often said that Vixen
knew what her master was thinking Just as
well as he did. Certainly, if watching his
every movement could have given her the
cue to his thoughts, she possessed them in
full.

In February, there came warm weather
with occasional thaws that sometimes made
the trail impassable for several days. Then

2 ee eee ee ee Se

Pee ee ee eee eS ee eee ee

Vixen 59

the two occupied their time hunting and
tramping the wilderness. Finally, about
the first of March, the logs were cut and all
hands turned their attention to helping the
teamsters and the cant-hook men, for the
spring rains and high water would soon be
on, and every log must be at the river in
time for high water.

The logging-camp was about half a mile
from the right branch of the upper Saganal,
which had been enlarged at this point by
an ambitious dam. Into the lake made by
this dam, thousands and tens of thousands
of logs had been shot. It was intended all
should be there when the dam was blown
up with dynamite and, with a rush and a
roar, the great log-drive was started upon
its way down to the Ottawa River.

One crisp morning the first week in
March, Vixen arose from her snug nest in
the corner of the stable earlier than com-
mon, yawned, stretched her muscles, and,

60 A Wilderness Dog

going to the stable-door and forcing it open,
trotted off through the gray gloom of the
forest, without even waiting for her break-
fast. The morning passed and she did not
return, and, when the tote-team came in at
night, for once she was not waiting on the
road to greet her master. This was notall ;
for neither that day, nor that week, nor that
month, did she return ; in fact, she was
never seen in camp again.

It is with her strange disappearance from
camp and her subsequent life that this
story is now immediately concerned; so let
us follow her through the spruce gloom to
her uncommon fate.

The night before, while the lumbermen
slumbered, a silent figure as tall and as
muscular as that of the great hound stole
through the camp and at last came stealthily
to the stable-door. Here it paused for sev-
eral moments until its good nose made it
conversant with the contents of the stable.

Vixen 61

At first the nose was confused by the many
odors, but finally after sifting them and
analyzing each one, the stranger knew that
the Irish deerhound whom he had seen the
night of the fight upon the lake was sleep-
ing in the corner near by.

Once sure of this fact, he began sniffing |

and scratching softly. Instantly the hound
awoke and stood on guard with raised
hackles and bared fangs at the other side of
the strong plank door. But the stranger on
the outside still continued to sniff and the
hound’s anger subsided.

I do not know that they appointed the
tryst then and there; but certain it is that
finally the gray wolf went away, and the
hound went back to her corner, and that
she disappeared the following morning be-
fore the camp was astir.

She seemed not to be uncertain of where
she was going, but took a straight track
across country through labyrinths of swamp,

62 A Wilderness Dog

over high bluffs, and across deep gorges,
where only instinct could guide her.
i} After two hours of steady trotting, she
came out on the top of a high bluff and saw
the tall gray wolf waiting for her. Perhaps
| she had expected this or perhaps it was a
| mere accident. However that may be, after
| ' bristling and growling at her old enemy,
, the deerhound went up and sniffed noses

with him, and after a few more prelimi-
| naries, the two trotted off into the forest,
| going side by side, apparently well satisfied
with each other’s company.

Thus it happened that the tall hound
obeyed an instinct which was as strong now
as before the wolves ventured into the camp
of man and became dogs. A wolf she was
at the first; so was it any wonder that
occasionally the wolf nature reasserted
itself, and the dog went back to the wild,
especially when the dog kin were far away
in the distant settlements ?

Vixen 63

The woodsmen laughed at Roderick, who
was half heart-broken over the loss of his
old friend. At first he swore that she
would return in a day or two; she had
merely gone on a long hunt and would
soon come back.

Hach night, upon the return trip from
the Point, he fully expected to see her
loping along the trail to meet him, as had
been her custom ever since the fight with
the wolves on the lake; but she never
came, and each night he drove into camp
dejected and lonely because of his loss.

Meanwhile Vixen and the old gray wolf,
whose kind she had hitherto fought with a
mad fury, hunted and romped together,
and the former enmity between the dog
and its wild brother was forgotten, or rather
there was a truce in favor of this particular
wolf. When another dog wolf did appear
one day, Vixen flew at him with all the old
fury, and drove him frantically from the

64 A Wilderness Dog

vicinity, thus proving her dog fidelity to
the old tradition of hatred. But the dog
wolf did not turn upon her, true to the law

of the pack, which does not permit a male
wolf to fight with a female.

By the first of April the last of the logs
had been sent down the chute and out upon
the lake, and the spring rains came down
in torrents. Then the lumbermen broke
camp, a part of them going back to the
Point with the teams and camp equipment,
and the rest going with the drive.

It was a week or ten days, though, before
the ice was really out of the river, and the
dam was dynamited. Then there was a
sight to make mere men shiver and hold
their breath, when the elements, for months
chained in ice behind the stout log dam,
ran mad, and spent the fury that had been
so long pent up.

A considerable portion of the dam gave
way. The waters roared, foamed, and

Vixen 65

hissed; the logs leaped and tumbled,
smashing into one another like battering-
rams; and the entire lake, filled with mil-
lions and millions of feet of timber, seemed
suddenly energized, and of one accord the
drive began grinding on its way toward the
Ottawa. The infuriated waters sucked and
whirled, tugged and pushed, while the logs
groaned and tumbled, fought and butted
like living things. There were dull thuds
and sudden sharp cracks resembling those
of a rifle, as the whole scene resolved into a
mountain of tumult like that of the glaciers
of old.

Above and about this terrible, grinding,
death-dealing monster, leaped excited men.
They stood upon the logs as they swayed
and rushed. They leaped from point to
point like mad men. Danger seemed to
them to be of little moment so long as the
avalanche of timber went grinding upon its
terrible way.

66 A Wilderness Dog

In the commotion due to getting the
drive started, Roderick for the first time
forgot the loss of his dog friend ; but when,

a month later, the drive was safe out in the
branch, and well on its way to the mills, he
gave up his job and went back to the scene
of the winter’s camp to seek Vixen.

It was so forlorn a hope to find the
faithful dog when over two months had
elapsed since her disappearance, that Rod-
erick said nothing about his real errand to
his friends; but merely gave out that he
was going on a fishing and camping expe-
dition. This was partly true, as the trout
were already biting freely in the ice-cold
waters and the camp was a necessity in this
wilderness. He took a small rifle, some
fishing-tackle, and a hatchet, “ going light,”
as a woodsman would say.

For a week or so he lingered in the re-
gion of the lumber-camp. Now that the
snow was gone, the devastation made by the

Vixen 67

lumbermen waseven more apparent. There
were great piles of sawdust everywhere.
Jagged stumps and tree-tops piled mountain
high made a desolate scene, when one
thought of the tranquil forest with its pha-
lanx of woodland giants that had been there
the spring before.

It was something of a solace to the boy’s
wounded spirit to be alone in the wilder-
ness, but day after day went by and he was
no nearer his quest. It had been a wild-
goose chase anyhow, he thought, for the dog
was dead or she would have returned to him
long ago. This had been his own conclu-
sion, and it was merely on the suggestion
of an old trapper that she had gone off with
the wolves that he had come back to look
for her.

One day about the middle of May, when
he had been in the wilderness for two
weeks, Roderick was fishing in a deep pool
of a turbulent stream, just beneath a fall,

I |

68 A Wilderness Dog

when his attention was attracted by a vio-
lent crashing in the thicket near by. He
had not even time to conjecture what might
cause such a commotion, when the head of
a fine buck flashed through the thicket and
was gone; but by theswaying of the bushes
he could follow the buck’s course in his mad
flight.

While the boy was still wondering what
made the deer in such a hurry, the form of
a great gray wolf slipped rapidly through
the cover in pursuit. Roderick’s sympa-
thies were immediately aroused in behalf
of the buck. He dropped the fish-pole,
seized his rifle, and hurried to a point where
he thought both the buck and the wolf.
would leave the cover and give him a chance
for a shot; but before the deer reached the
open, something happened that quite
changed his calculations. |

Suddenly from the cover, the buck was
seen to give two or three gigantic leaps;

Vixen 69

then there was a great thrashing and crash-
ing and a groan from the deer as though
his heart were being torn out of him.

It was useless trying to wait for the shot
in the open, which might come too late.
He might hit the buck, but he would frighten
his assailant at least. This reasoning was
done in a flash, just as the woodsman always
thinks, and then Roderick sent two bullets
into the cover in quick succession.

The result was most satisfactory. At
the shots, the buck, apparently freeing
himself from his pursuer, came into the
open, leaping and snorting, and Roderick
had the satisfaction of seeing him make
good his escape, for no wolf followed him.

When the blowing fugitive had disap-
peared, the boy reloaded his rifle and went
into the cover to see what effect, if any, his
shots had taken. He had marked the spot
where the struggle had occurred and had no
difficulty in locating it. In the midst of

7O A Wilderness Dog

the thicket he stumbled upon a mighty wolf
gasping in the last death-throes. But no,
it was not a wolf, it wasadog. Thena wild,
heart-broken cry came from the boy’s lips
as he gazed, horror-stricken, upon the
prostrate figure.

It was Vixen, his own Vixen, that the
bullet had found; Vixen gone back to the
wolves and turned venison killer. Roderick
knelt beside the dying dog and held her
head in his lap, unmindful of the blood
that dripped freely upon his hunting-shirt.
He caressed the hairy face, and fondled the
long ears, and the old hound licked his
hands in forgiveness of the fatal shot. So,
by the cruel caprice of fate, the faithful dog,
who had come to his aid in his hour of peril,
was laid low by her master’s bullet, and he
could do nothing but pour out his heart’s love
in broken sentences, as the light of intelli-
gence and love faded from her eyes, until
she at last stretched out dead at his feet.

Vixen 7

For more than an hour he sat there per-
fectly motionless, although he knew that the
deep chest no longer drew breath. This was H
his last act of love, of atonement for the mis-
take which was the fault of neither. Then,
with his hatchet and some sharp sticks, he
dug a grave, that her mate, the great gray
wolf, might not find her, and covered her
with the cool sweet earth which is the wind-
ing-sheet of dog and man alike.

But this was not until he had noted that
her breasts were swollen with milk; a fact
that Roderick well knew meant a litter of
wolf-dogs somewhere in the vicinity, who
would now starve unless he could find
them, and thus there would be a double
tragedy on his hands.

CHAPTER III

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CHAPTER Et

THE DEN IN THE ROCKS

WueEwn the old he-wolf saw his mate fall,
kicking in her death struggle, he under-
stood at once the danger at hand. It did
not need the crack of the rifle and the scent
of powder, or that most repugnant of all
scents, the man taint, to tell him that he
was upon perilous ground. His percep-
tions were so fine that he even knew this
particular man to be he whom the wolves
had hunted that winter’s night upon the
lake.

Then, as now, this man creature had been
most destructive of his kind, so he melted
like a gray shadow into the deepest of the
cover, and Roderick did not see him again.

There is a great difference among wild

| 76 A Wilderness Dog
creatures in the manner of their getting out —
| of sight in time of danger. The bear goes
blunderingly, making considerable racket,
but the members of the cat family slink
away as silently as shadows. Most dogs are
i more or less noisy in going through thick
cover, but their brother, the wolf, has
caught the cat habit of slinking, and his
neutral color helps him to disappear
1| readily.
When he had gained a sufficient distance
| from the cover to permit it, the old wolf
| broke into his accustomed lope, and did not
| stop until he had put several miles between
himself and the scene of the tragedy.

That night when the moon was high
above the eastern hilltops, he came back
Me | and went carefully over all the ground, be-
i ginning with the man’s footsteps at the pool
where he had been fishing. He followed
the scent thence to the spot where the deer-
hound had fallen, and near by he dis-

The Den in the Rocks 77

covered a fresh mound of dirt. His good
nose told him that his dead mate was
buried beneath. To make sure of this, he
dug down a foot or two, until he could
touch her cold, lifeless nose, after which he.
carefully scratched back the dirt.

In time of famine, or even moderate
hunger, he would have eaten her; but his
belly was full, so the grave in the thicket
was not profaned. He then followed
Roderick’s trail back to his camp, and
there sat upon his tail for an hour, watch-_
ing the embers of the dying camp-fire.

At last he went away, and an hour later
the young man was roused by a series of
long-drawn, desolate howls; howls that rose
and swelled in mighty volume until they
filled the listening woods. Although they
came from the throat of a wolf, yet were
these cries the very embodiment of grief,
anguish unspeakable, mournful as the
minor cadences of the wind and the waters.

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78 A Wilderness Dog

Finally the sounds so disturbed Roderick
that he got up and rekindled his camp-fire.

“Gol durn it. I wish he would shut up,”
he muttered. ‘“ Any one would think to
hear him take on that he felt as bad about
it as. 1 do.”

After a while, to the boy’s great relief,
the cries ceased. The old wolf in his grief
had bethought him of the litter of wolf
whelps. He did not know just where the
den was situated, for his mate had guarded
this secret well, but he knew about where
it was.

The mother wolf is usually very jealous
of her young and does not reveal their place
of hiding to her lord; partly because many
males, including the big cats, have a rather
horrible habit of eating their offspring if
they find them before they get their eyes
open. After the young have reached the
frolicsome stage, they will not molest them.
The male deer will also frequently kill the

The Den in the Rocks 79

fawn, especially if it happens to be a male.
Even at that tender age, he probably
recognizes a possible rival.

It took but an hour of diligent hunting,
assisted as he was by his good nose and his
keen instinct, for the old wolf to locate the
den. He went in and lay down beside the
whelps, who at once crowded into his flanks
to nurse. This made the old wolf nervous
and immediately suggested the disadvantage
he would experience in feeding the pups.
Fortunately they were five or six weeks
old and could be shifted to a meat diet if it
was a question of starvation.

At sight and scent of the wriggling whelps,
the old wolf’s responsibility pressed hard
upon him. He had hunted food for his
mate for the past few weeks, but the im-
mediate mothering had not been his, and
now the new difficulty troubled him.

Of one thing hefelt certain. This country
was not a safe place for his offspring, so he

80 A Wilderness Dog

picked one of them up in his great jaws,
and trotted off with it into the outer world
to which the whelps had never penetrated.
Halfan hour later he came back for another,
and still later for the third ; so that, when
the new day dawned, the family had shifted
its abode several miles to the northward,
where the country was still more wild and
rugged.

It was providential, from the wolf's stand-
point, that he did so, for Roderick, too, was
searching for the litter of wolf puppies, and
by a mere chance found the den on the
second day of his search ; but it was quite
empty. This was a great disappointment
to him, as he had hoped for a whelp that he
might atone to it for the unlucky shot which
killed the mother. The signs in the wolf
den were perplexing. It might not be the
right den after all, although he felt sure it
had been inhabited by wolves recently.
Perhaps the real den was somewhere near by,

The Den in the Rocks 81

and Vixen’s puppies were doomed to slow
starvation. So much did this idea work
upon the boy’s feelings, that he spent still
another day searching; but was finally
obliged to give it up, and go on to the log-
drive, which by this time was far down the
river.

About the new den which the old wolf had
selected for his family, he kept vigilant
guard. For two days the whelps refused to
change from a milk to a meat diet, but
necessity finally conquered. ;

At first the wolf despaired of finding any-
thing that they could eat, but he happened
upon a sitting of partridge eggs, and these
delicacies seemed to give the whelps just
the start they needed. In a few days they
were eating mice and squirrels, and even
the partridge whose eggs had served them
in good stead.

There were two things about the whelps
that greatly distressed their guardian, and

82 A Wilderness Dog

that was their whining and whimpering
when hungry, and their continual nestling
when he approached them. For his own
part he was dignified and quiet, and so
much commotion was extremely annoying.

He was often absent from the den for
hours, and when he pretended to be at home,
he usually lay outside, watching with his
yellow, all-seeing eyes everything that
moved within the radius of his vision. He
would lie so quiet that he might have been
a great gray rock, or almost anything rather
than a mass of intense muscles and sin-
ews; a body alert, hungry, terrible in its
destructive powers.

To the whelps in the den, the new quar-
ters were very much like the old. Both
were dark, and, so far as they were con-
cerned, equally suited to their needs. One
is not particular when he spends most of
his time sleeping. As they grew older,
however, this habit, with which all young

The Den in the Rocks 83

things seem to be born, was less and less
persistent, and they sometimes spent an
hour tumbling and rolling about, chewing

one another’s ears, closing upon oneanother’s
throats in imitation of the death grip that
in later life would be so important.

The best quality of the den was that it
was dry, so, no matter how cold and
wet it was outside, this ball of wriggling
wolf whelps was always warm and comfort-
able. The den had many sharp points and
angles, and also holes and hummocks. Into
one of these near the nest a pup would often
roll, and there he would lie upon his back,
kicking and whimpering, not knowing how
to get out of the dilemma. He would con-
tinue to struggle until at last by a desperate
effort he would get upon his feet, and then
set himself the task of climbing out of the
hole. The cries of his mates who missed
him from the nest would give him the right
direction and he would finally get safely

84. A Wilderness Dog

back, probably feeling that he had been
upon a long journey, and had had quite a
narrow escape.

Three sides of the den were black, and
hurt when one ran his nose against them.
The fourth side was whiter than the others
and one could go much farther in this di-
rection than in any other. If he ventured
too far, however, there was usually a warn-
ing growl from the old wolf on guard. The
whelp venturing near the mouth of the den
usually interpreted this growl as meaning,
“Go back or I shall nip you,” and the pup
always obeyed.

A sharp little nip was the form of pun-
ishment that the old wolf used for correct-
ing the habits of his offspring. The nip
was generally administered when a whelp
worried him, or was too noisy; but he left
them as much alone as possible, for both
their outcries for food and their romping
made him nervous.

The Den in the Rocks 85

One day the largest and most courageous
of the whelps went farther and farther to-
ward the light at the mouth of the den.
The old wolf was off hunting, so the warn-
ing growl was not given. Step by step the
pup went forward, until at last he stood in
the mouth of the den in the full blaze of
the morning light. The sun was so bright
and his young eyes were so long used to
semi-darkness that he winked and blinked,
and was finally forced to shut them. He
also felt that this extreme light was a men-
ace, a danger, so he growled fiercely, and
ruffed up the hair on his neck; he would
frighten this strange brightness away.
When he opened his eyes, it was still there,
so he growled again, a deeper and fiercer
growl than before. Still it persisted. By
this time he was getting used to the light ;
it did not hurt him as he had expected, so
he finally ceased his growling and looked
about.

86 A Wilderness Dog

Away in every direction stretched the
strange whiteness, and the outside world
was so large and new that it terrified him ;
he slunk back toward the dark, again
growling. But by degrees he came forward
again, and at last got used to the largeness
of the outer world, just as he had to the
hight.

Step by step he crept, until at last he
reached the edge of a shelf, which fell off
sharply two or three feet to the ground be-
neath. This was the old wolf’s favorite
seat, and the whelp as he sat there was a very
good miniature of his sire.

To him holes and hummocks looked very
much alike. His eyes had not learned per-
spective, or to discriminate between earth
and atmosphere. He felt just as confident
that he could walk upon the air beneath
the shelf as upon the solid rock, so he took
a step forward. As a consequence he went
headlong over the edge of the rock, and

The Den in the Rocks 87

rolled over and over, at last bringing up at
the bottom with a thump that made him

“ki-yi” with might and main. These
sounds sent his two companions, who were
also investigating the light, scurrying back
to the nest, where they cuddled closely to-
gether for mutual protection. What dread-
ful thing had happened to their brother?
Would it come to them next? How far
away he sounded! Was the old wolf pun-
ishing him? These were the things that
they must have thought, if they thought
at all.

Meanwhile the adventurer, at the foot of
the rock, soon discovered that he was not
killed, ceased his whimpering, and sat up,
looking about him at the great world.
When he had been upon the shelf within
easy reach of the den, he felt quite safe ;
but now a strange terror seized him. He
was so far from home and his nose was
bleeding. Altogether he was a sorry sight

88 A Wilderness Dog

as he cowered against the rock, waiting for
he knew not what.

Presently a great gray shape loomed up
in the bushes near by, and the whelp, per-
ceiving it, squeezed up closer to the rock
that he might not be discovered. Even at
that early age the trick of hiding from all
that was strange asserted itself. Wolves
had hidden and slunk from danger for so
many generations, that this whelp, half
wolf and half dog, did it instinctively, as
part of his hereditary knowledge.

Still, he did not escape the notice of the
great gray figure. With a snarl, it sprang
forward, and strong jaws seized the culprit
by the scruff of the neck. Then the two
whelps cowering in the den heard a “ ki-yi-
ing,” beside which the cries that their
brother had uttered when he fell were tame.
The old wolf shook the cub until it seemed
as though he would slip out of his rather
loose skin. The poor little offender flopped

4
;
:
Ht

Pe | te ‘ ce i af *
Da i a i

The Den in the Rocks 89

this way and that, his legs and ears snap-
ping and his loose joints fairly outdoing
themselves for flexibility.

Finally, with a growl, the like of which
had never been heard in the den before, the
old fury sprang inside and deposited the
culprit, too spent now even to sob, beside
his brothers, and stood growling over the
three. The fate of the one-was to be a
warning to the others. This would be their
lot if they ventured to the outside world as
he had done. The punishment had been
so terrible that the three never forgot the
lesson, especially he to whom the correction
had fallen. From that day he was the best
behaved of all the litter.

About a week after the mishap to the
venturesome whelp, the old wolf came forth
one morning and reconnoitered very care-
fully, circling about the den in all direc-
tions, and testing the wind critically with
his good nose. He seemed satisfied that no

I AB LS tm 2 a

go A Wilderness Dog

danger lurked near the den, and went back
to its entrance. There he stood waiting for
a few seconds and then two of the whelps
came creeping into the outer world. They
had never dared to do this before or even to
approach very near to the mouth of the den.
Yet here they were coming out into the
sunlight, apparently unbidden. The old
wolf had made no sound, but they evidently
understood that they had his consent at last.

Any farm-boy who has lain in the grass
and watched an old fox bring forth the fox-
kits to play will tell you that the mother
fox rarely utters a sound in governing them.
If they stray too far into dangerous cover,
she will simply look at them, and the little
foxes will be seen to hesitate as though they
feel the call, but cannot locate it. Then
they will turn, and seeing their mother,
hurry back with an apologetic air.

It was by some such signal as this that
the young wolf whelps knew that the griz-

ee a ne ee ee

a

The Den in the Rocks gl

zled wolf, their father, had given permission
for them to come forth. The last of all the
litter to take advantage of the invitation
was he who had first ventured out on his
own account; when he did come, it was
with hesitation, as though he hardly dared
to believe the good news, after his recent
sorry experience.

The great bright world must have looked
like an endless space to the winking, blink-
ing cubs as they huddled together or crowded
about the old wolf. After the novelty had
worn off, the guardian of the litter would
not allow them to come near him, but pre-
ferred that they should explore and learn
of the outer world for themselves. He sat
upon his haunches while the whelps went
creeping, with many halts and feints, from
point to point; but at the slightest sound
they started and came scurrying back to
him.

Now that they were out in the open, one

Q2 A Wilderness Dog

could see what they looked like. One of
the whelps had bred as a perfect wolf, with
the markings and build of a wolf. One was
a very fair cross between his sire and the old
Irish deerhound, for he had patches of
brown sprinkled through his coat, and was
taller and more rangey than his brothers.
The third whelp was a perfect wolf with the
exception that his face was covered with the
long coarse hair of the deerhound.

The old wolf seemed troubled by the
looks of the second pup; perhaps he did
not understand the patches of brown; at
least there was something about this off-
spring that displeased him. At first he had
half a mind to disown the whelp, and
growled savagely whenever the unfortunate
one came near. He finally seemed to think
better of it and permitted the mongrel to
remain as one of the family, though clearly
in disfavor.

The strongest and most courageous of all

ee ee ee ee ee Sree fr Oe te a err

The Den in the Rocks 93

the litter was he with the hairs upon the
face, who seemed to be the old wolf's favorite.
When they were fed, he it was who always
got the lion’s share. The old wolf also per-
mitted him to go farther from the den than
any of the others, because he felt at once
that he was a promising whelp who could
look after himself.

For an hour or two the pups went creep-
ing about, tumbling into holes and then
scrambling out again with considerable
fright, and having all sorts of adventures
which probably seemed very important to
their young minds. Finally, of one ac-
cord, they all came running to the old wolf,
and then went scurrying into the den.
Again there had been no sound of command,
yet perfect obedience.

After their frolic they were tired, and
soon were curled up in a ball, sleeping.
An hour later when he of the hairy face,
whom we will call Hairface, awoke and

94 A Wilderness Dog

crept to the entrance of the den, the old
wolf had disappeared, and he did not return
until evening.

That first day in the open proved to be
the forerunner of daily excursions into a

wonderful world, full of surprises and with
many things of which to be afraid. Each
day the old wolf took them farther from
home, until in a month’s time they were
often a mile from the den.

At first the game which they hunted was
very small. Stalking grasshoppers and
crickets may seem not very exciting sport,
but when the grasshopper is one’s first kill,
it may be different; at least the young
wolves thought so. They would go creep-
ing stealthily through the weeds and grasses
until game was discovered, when they
would rush in, and usually lose the grass-
hopper. Many failures soon taught them
that it was better to go slowly even at the
last and not rush until within striking

Se Cee Oe 2 ep tS Le ee ee ee es

The Den in the Rocks 95

distance. They tore open the ends of rotten
logs and ate grubs, but this secret was
taught them by the old wolf. He seemed
never to take any pains to teach them, but
when he did anything important, he usually
waited until they had gathered about to
watch.

Nearly all young animals are more or
less imitative; they learn from observing
their elders. This fact is taken advantage
of by dog-trainers who often put an old
dog into the field and let the puppies watch
it hunt. It is also always desirable to have
a few good old hounds in a pack, that the
young ones may learn properly.

After the grasshopper hunting came some
real adventures by moonlight, in search of
field-mice. These shy little fellows would
be running in their tunnels under the
grass-roots, squeaking away and having
the finest kind of times when the wolf
whelps came forth on their quest. It was

Re ee ee

)

96 A Wilderness Dog

almost useless to seek them by daylight, for
then they were quiet. At first the old
wolf called the whelps to a runway which
he located in the grass, and they smelled
the scent, until they knew mice. Then all
four sat down by the runway to wait, each
as motionless as a statue.

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes went by,
and only the usual night sounds, like the
sighing of the wind and the hooting of an
owl, came to their straining ears. At last
Hairface, who was the most keen of the
pups, thought he heard a far-away squeak,
though it was so slight that he could not
be sure. In the excitement of the moment
he moved ever so little, and cocked his
head a little more on one side, that he
might the better catch the sound. But the
old hunter glared at him so fiercely when
he stirred, that he was powerless to move
from where he was, and thenceforward
remained as motionless as a gray boulder

The Den in the Rocks 97

might have been in his place. The sound
that he thought he heard had been real,
and soon slight little squeaks came to the
ears of the waiting wolves from the runways
under the grass.

Presently the old wolf discerned a slight
motion in the grass near by, and his intense
look showed the whelps from which way
the game was coming. Nearer and nearer
drew the small prey, occasionally uttering
his tiny squeak. When just opposite the
point where the grizzled hunter sat, the old
wolf pounced upon the spot where the grass
wriggled ; by putting one paw down hard
upon the runway in front of the mouse and
the other behind, he held him fast. It was
but the matter of a second to poke open the
grass with his sharp nose, and crush the
field-mouse with a bite. But the old wolf
did not eat the mouse. Instead, he gave it to
his favorite, Hairface, while the other whelps
looked on, licking their chops greedily.

98 A Wilderness Dog

This may seem like very small quarry
for wolves, and indeed it was, but it served
two purposes. First, it taught them the
exciting game of hunting; and, second, it
never does in the wild to despise anything
that is meat. Just such bits as these mice,
or even grubs dug from old rotten logs,
might some day stand between the whelps -
and starvation.

It was useless to watch this same runway
at this spot any longer, so the old wolf led
them to another runway, and the fun began
again. This time they did not have to wait
so long, for the moon was now bright, and
the frolics of the mice were in full swing.

The next mouse was caught in just the
same manner as the first, and this the old
hunter gave to the whelp who most re-
sembled him, whom we will call the Wolf;
while the poor Mongrel, who was half dog
in looks, had to wait until the last.

When each had been fed from the results

The Den in the Rocks 99

of the hunt, all took their places as before
by a new runway, and the old hunter signi-
fied to Hairface that he might make the
kill this time. The favored whelp was all
excitement and could hardly wait for his
mouse to come along. When it did at last
appear, he jumped too soon, and the mouse
ran squeaking back along the tunnel. It
was a case of being overanxious, the com-
mon fault of all young hunters; so Hair-
face was not to be blamed, although he felt
quite ashamed. This failure spoiled the
runway even more effectively than if the
mouse had been killed, for he would go
back along the path by which he had come
and notify all his relatives of the danger.

A new runway was therefore sought at some
distance.

This time they had a long wait. When
Hairface’s mouse did at last appear, he
waited until it was directly opposite him,
then planted his paws upon it, and

100 A Wilderness Dog

swooped it up into his mouth, grass and all,
which feat seemed greatly to please the old
wolf. They did not quit until each of the
whelps had caught his mouse.

This moonlight mouse-hunting was really
a sort of child-play for whelps destined to
become mighty hunters among wild beasts,
but here was the very best kind of practice,
and here they learned nearly all the rules
of the game; all, in fact, except courage.
They learned patience, how to turn one’s
self into a bush or a boulder, not to be too
eager, and to strike at the right moment.

CHAPTER IV
THE KILLERS

CHAPTER IV

THE KILLERS

THE Scriptures tell us that the wild beast
seeks his prey from God, meaning that
through a God-given instinct he kills
whenever he is hungry. In the same way
it may be said that man seeks his meat
from God, for he kills no less freely than
do the wild beasts.

As cruel as the sea is the law of subsist-
ence, whereby the things God has made of
necessity war constantly upon one another.

It is almost heart-breaking, when we stop
to consider, that the dainty bunny, with
his twitching nose, and his wig-wagging
ears, at once so gentle and so shy, should
be brought into the world, that half a score
of beasts and birds, each less attractive and
less lovable than himself, may sustain life.

;
.
|
|
1
|

104 A Wilderness Dog

Yet this is the case, for wherever you find
the trail of the rabbit, it is a trail of blood.

Mice, too, inoffensive little field and
wood-mice, beautifully fashioned and in-
teresting in all their ways, cannot even
play in their runways under the grass-roots
on a moonlight night without occasionally
yielding up their lives.

So if the old gray wolf and his three
hungry whelps sought their meat wherever
they could find it, and killed savagely, they
were but wild beasts obeying a God-given
instinct and fighting the battle of life in an
altogether creditable manner.

To be a poor hunter, and to miss where
one tries to kill, is a much greater crime
in wolf law than to kill an animal that
one cannot wholly eat; for on the morrow
the hunting may be poor, and then the
left-over bits will prove most acceptable.

The old wolf, of course, had no theories
about these things, and he broke the back

The Killers - 105

of a fox or a rabbit with as little compunc-
tion as he would have chewed a straw. In
fact, he enjoyed it, for he was a killer.
The sound of crunching bones between

his teeth was sweet music to his ears and
warm blood tickled his palate as did no
other fluid.

The moonlight hunt for meadow-mice
was merely the beginning. Here it was
that the young wolves took their first les-
son, but they soon tried larger game. It
took the wolf two or three days to secure
the object lesson that he wanted next;
but, as he was a patient hunter, he at
last succeeded. Poor Mr. Woodchuck came
to the den of the wolves, kicking in the
jaws of the old hunter, for he had not
killed him, but merely caught him alive
that he might let the whelps worry him
to death. |

When the old wolf freed him near the
mouth of the den, he backed up to the

106 A Wilderness Dog

boulder, and stood on his hind legs, a sorry
little figure, fighting for his life against
great odds, yet game to the end. MHairface
was the first to rush in upon him and he
got a savage slash in the face, which caused
him to draw back and look with aston-
ishment at the woodchuck. Mice had
never behaved in this manner. Before,
the battle had been entirely one-sided.
Now the question of courage came in.
This was just what the old wolf had
looked for. His whelps could not always
kill mice. They would never be wolves
ifthey did. They must learn to punish and
to be punished, and to fight the battle to kill.

The Wolf next tried his luck with the
woodchuck, and got a bad bite in the leg,
which made him hold up his paw and look
mournfully at it. All this time their sire
sat on his haunches looking on gravely ;
but at this point, getting out of patience
with the slow way jn which the battle

The Killers 107

was going, he reached over and caught
the valiant woodchuck by the scruff of
the neck and whirled him over on his
back. The whelps rushed in and each got
a hold, but could simply kill him by
inches. Little by little the fighting waned,
as the valiant old woodchuck’s strength
gave out, until at last he no longer strug-
gled. When all was over, it was Hairface
who had the death grip. He had learned
the trick ; in after years he was always first
to get this grip, and none were so quick
or so strong as to overcome him.

Having learned woodchuck, the old wolf
now took the whelps woodchuck hunting,
and the first morning they had great luck.
They surprised old Mother Woodchuck
and the whole family feeding, and there
was a lively scramble for the hole. Two
of the young woodchucks went the way of
their sire, Hairface killing one, and the old
wolf the other.

en ee

108 A Wilderness Dog

This was nothing, however, to the excite-
ment that they felt when the old wolf
would post the three whelps on one side
of a cover, where they lay as quietly as
three gray logs, while he beat the bush for
them, driving whatever there might be of
game intotheambush. Theold wolf would
quarter back and forth like a pointer, and
nothing escaped his good nose and keen
vision.

Often their prey got away, for the whelps
were not experienced hunters, and it really
needed two old wolves to play this game
well ;—one to beat the bush, and the other
to make the kill when once the quarry was
put up.

Their deadly work was done quietly and
with dispatch. There was little snapping
or snarling, once their puppyhood worry-
ing habit had worn off. Only the Mongrel
persisted in growling and barking, which
greatly annoyed the old wolf, who saw in

The Killers 109

it a sign of weakness. His motto was,
“ Act, and say nothing.”

Upon a sandy side-hill half a mile from
the wolf-den, overlooking a snug little val-
ley, was another family as interesting as
the wolves; in fact, they resembled the
wolves in many ways. The family in ques-
tion was a litter of foxes. They did not
live in a den, but ina burrow. The bur-
row was in asandy side-hill so that it would
be dry. A fox likes to have his front door
at a good altitude so that he may look off
across the country when he comes forth in
the morning.

This burrow ran zigzag back into the
side-hill for fifteen or twenty feet, although
it did not reach a depth of more than four
or five feet; but if one had attempted to
dig out this family he would have found-it
an all-day job. The quickest way to dig
out a litter of foxes is to get the direction of
the burrow with a pole, and then sink a

110 A Wilderness Dog

hole eight or ten feet from the mouth, until
you meet the burrow. From this point you
can again get the direction of the under-
ground passage, and sink another well still
farther on. In this way, by sinking three
or four wells, you can find the nest at the
end of the burrow without uncovering the
whole of the passage.

The foxes had been brought forth from
their den at a certain age, just as the wolves
had been, and introduced to the outside
world. Like the young wolves, they learned
grasshopper hunting, and thought it great
sport. They were also initiated into the
mysteries of mice-hunting, but for them
mice would always be a staple, so 1t was not
mere play in their case.

One day, about the first of September, the
old mother fox took her litter of four prom-
ising whelps down to a narrow strip of
cover, which was fringed with ripening
blackberries. She had discovered that this

The Killers 111

was the favorite feeding-ground of a bevy of
spruce partridges, who usually came into
this cover in the late afternoon. The old
fox wished to have the whelps trail the
partridges and perhaps get a young bird or
two. When half-grown, they will often
squat and let a fox come up within spring-
ing distance.

The fox family had just entered this
cover, and were busy looking for signs of
the partridges, when the wolf family ap-
peared. The old hunter posted his three
half-grown whelps on one side of the cover,
while he himself began beating the bush.
He had not gone far when he struck the
fresh trail of the fox family, and his good
nose at once told him what was afoot. At
the thought of the three waiting hunters
outside the bush, his eyes glittered phos-
phorescently, and he began beating the cover
diligently, though with care that nothing
should escape the way that he had just

112 A Wilderness Dog

come. But if the wolf had a keen nose, the

old fox had an equally good one, and as the
hunter made considerable noise, she soon
scented danger.

She hastened to slip her family out at the
other side of the cover and so to make their
escape; but, instead ran them immediately
into the way of the three waiting wolf
whelps. Then there was a scurry and a
scuffle that was anything but play. Lithe
red forms flashed in and out of the bushes,
closely followed by larger gray ones. There
was twisting and turning, dodging and
doubling, and then at last came the death
struggles.

Hairface singled out one of the foxes for
his own and went after it like the wind.
Again and again he was almost successful,
but by a sharp twist in the trail, his victim
would elude him. At last he was fairly
alongside and his strong jaws closed upon
the fox just behind the shoulder; with a

The Killers 113

sharp bite and a jerk, he broke young Rey-
nard’s back and stretched him upon the
ground.

When this little flurry in the cover had
ceased, it was seen that the wolves had
bagged two of the young foxes and the dam
herself, the old wolf having run her down
and killed her while the whelps were pur-
suing the young foxes. Of the family of
five, who themselves had been looking with
bloodthirsty appetites for the partridge
family of ten, only two now remained, and
they were so badly frightened that they
left that part of the country, and never
came back. Thus it ever was and ever
will be. The big game continually eat the
smaller.

Over two ranges of hills and across two
streams to the northward, living partly
upon the streams, where lily-pads were
plenty, and partly in the wooded hills,
where they could escape the flies in the hot

114 A Wilderness Dog

weather, there dwelt a doe and a little

Seca

dappled fawn.

They killed nothing that crawled, ran, or
flew, yet themselves were in constant danger.
The lynx viewed them from the thicket
with greedy eyes; the bear licked his chops
hungrily whenever he caught sight of them ;
and the wolves warred constantly upon the
deer family, and were their most deadly foe.
Even the great bald eagle, sweeping in
majestic circles far up in the peaceful blue
heavens, had once seen and swooped for the
fawn; but some instinct had warned the
doe of peril, and she had hurried her charge
into thick cover just in time to escape
the cruel talons. This was when the
fawn was but a few days old; now he was
a sleek little fellow of five or six months,
who could nibble at the grass-heads as
busily, if not as effectively, as his mother.

In an evil hour for them the two crossed
the streams and the rugged hills that lay

The Killers Vis

between them and the range of the wolves,
and came over into the country of the gray
hunters. The old wolf discovered their
presence almost the day of their arrival,
and took the whelps out, that they might
learn the scent of deer. He did not strike
at once, for it was good practice for the
whelps to trail the doe and the fawn, observ-
ing their ways and getting used to the deer
family, who would always be important in
their after-lives.

If they had shown any signs of uneasiness,
or of quitting the country, the old hunter
would have given the word; but he felt
quite safe and could afford to abide his
time. One morning early in October, when
the air was keener than it had yet been and
the frost along the watercourses was heavy,
the wolf pack broke their fast on venison.

There was something about this keen
autumn air that gave a new zest to the
appetite. The whelps were all excitement

116 A Wilderness Dog

as the old wolf led the way down to a clump

of spruces where the doe and the fawn usually
spent the night. They seemed to read his
thought, and to know without being told
what was afoot. |

Even Mr. Burroughs, guarded as he is in
admitting intelligence in the brute creation,
says that birds and animals appear to have
a mode of communication which we do not
understand, and which he thinks may pos-
sibly be telepathy.

The old wolf stationed his companions
about the thicket, while he went inside to
start out the deer family. They did not
need any special frightening, for the sight
of him was enough to drive the doe, with
her helpless fawn, frantic; a deer becomes
frenzied and loses its head sooner than al-
most any other of the wild creatures. But
there was another cause for the doe’s fear,
for something told her that the truce be-
tween her and the wolves was over.

The Killers 117

It was not the grizzled veteran’s plan to
kill the fawn himself; for what was the
killing of one fawn to him, when he had
killed scores? He would give the whelps
the first chance, and, if they failed, would
come in as a reserve. So, by a clever dash
at the two, he separated the fawn from its
mother, and then drove her at a breakneck
pace in an opposite direction. .

The three young hunters took their cue
immediately and went after the fawn. This
was new game for them, and they did not
understand reaching for the throat grip, but
contented themselves with snapping at his
legs. Up and down the terrified little deer
raced, bleating pitifully and seeking to
elude his pursuers.

Finally, Hairface caught him fairly by the
hind leg and brought him to earth, and the
Wolf and the Mongrel both pounced upon
him. When the old wolf returned from
running the doe out of the country, the

118 A Wilderness Dog

fawn was dead, and the three bloodthirsty
hunters were gorging themselves just as
any hungry beasts might be expected to do.

Does it seem cruel to you that the dainty
little fawn, who had never done anything
worse than to nibble grass-heads and suck
his mother’s udders, should be pulled down
to glut the appetite of wilderness dogs? At
first thought, perhaps it does; but let us
look at it from the wolf standpoint.

The whelps were lank and needed meat
to fill them out and to give them strength
for the coming winter. They had not
killed for sport as man might have done,
but for meat. They did not kill more than
they wanted for their immediate hunger,
and they killed quickly and humanely.
This, too, was the way of their kind; what
wolves had done from the days of the first
wolf. Venison was to them legitimate meat;
meat that could be had for the taking; meat
that belonged to them, just as the creatures

The Killers 119

of the wild belong to any good hunter, be
he two-legged or four-legged.

Is it not better to kill a deer because one
is hungry, than for the mere pleasure of
mounting its head and satisfying one’s self
as to how it looks? If we condemn the
wolves for seeking their meat from God,
what shall we say of the hunters who have
devastated the great plains and robbed the
forest of its first denizens, merely for sport?

CHAPTER V

GOOD HUNTING

CHAPTER V
GOOD HUNTING

As early as possible in the course of their
education, the old wolf introduced the
whelps to that most dreaded of all scents,
the man scent. It was not every day, how-
ever, that man penetrated to these remote
regions and the opportunity did not offer
itself until a Canuck wood-chopper came
into the wild to cut his winter supply. He
did not approach very near to the den
among the rocks, but the wolf family had
by this time extended their operations for
miles in every direction. Distance was
nothing to these tall, gaunt, galloping
wilderness dogs.

The wood-chopper, Alec Roberts by

name, came into the forest each year and
builded himself a shack while he was en-

124 A Wilderness Dog

gaged in his work. He did this in the
early fall, but did not draw the wood until
snow came.

For several days the wolf family slunk
about where Alec labored, watching him,
but taking good care that he did not see
them. To the whelps he seemed not as
much a menace as to the old leader, who
had felt man’s power too often to doubt it.
It is probable, too, that the puppies also
inherited from their mother a _ natural
liking for man, and so were inclined to be
friendly. The old wolf, by his actions,
said: ‘“ This is a terrible enemy, more to be
feared than all others;” but their natural
instincts said: ‘‘He is not ourenemy. We
have known him somewhere before.”

So much was this the case that, when
they one night discovered the wood-chop-
per’s coat, which he had left upon a wood-
pile, and the old wolf took the cubs to
smell the garment of this dreadful man

Good Hunting 125

creature, the Mongrel did not even bristle
with fear when he sniffed the coat, but
actually wagged his tail. This so exasper-
ated the old fury that he fell upon the
whelp and nearly throttled him in his anger.

The thing about the wood-chopper that
most interested and puzzled the wolf family
was his wood-cutting, They would sit in
the shadows, watching for an hour at a
time while the creature, who had such
wonderful powers, stood upon his hind
legs,—in fact, that was the only way that he
ever stood,—and whacked away upon the
tree against which he seemed to havea great
spite. Finally, as the tree began to sway,
they would get uneasy, and when at last it
fell with a rush of wind and a thunderous
sound that shook the forest, all would slink
away. It was usually several minutes be-
fore they could again get up courage to
watch one who could bring down the
mighty trees with such force.

f

126 A Wilderness Dog

The wood-chopper not only cut wood

during the four or five weeks spent in the
forest, but he also trapped along several
small streams, that threaded their way
through the low ranges of hills with which
the country was broken.

These traps were set for otter, mink,
muskrat, fishers, or almost any of the fur-
bearing animals that were stupid enough to
get into them. Alec had brought a few
small steel-traps with him for this purpose;
he also made several dead-falls by driving
stakes about in a circle and leaving one
side open and suspending a log above this
open spot. The log was held up by a figure
four, the bait being attached to the trigger.
This is the most common home-made trap
used in the northern woods by the half-
breed trappers.

As soon as Alec had his traps all set, the
old wolf with the whelps visited each,
either springing it or in some other way

a aay een oe ane ae

ky rat

Good Hunting 127

rendering it unserviceable. They never ate
any of the bait, but preferred to kill their
own game; the old hunter’s idea being that
poison did not get into meat that they
killed themselves.

For nearly a week they lingered about the
wood-cutter, spoiling his traps and becom-
ing acquainted with his manner of life, but
there was always a difference of mind be-
tween the old wolf and his whelps. To
him, the man was deadly, wholly without
mercy or consideration other than hate.
To the whelps, he was partly a friend,
partly an object of curiosity.

The old wolf noted these things and they
filled him with forebodings. He had never
known wolf whelps to act like this before.
Finally, they tired of watching the wood-
cutter, and went back to their old range.

It was a wonderful morning for the
whelps when they came forth from the den
and found the ground white with snow.

128 A Wilderness Dog

At first they went about, holding up
their paws and looking inquiringly at the
old wolf; but seeing that he paid no atten-
tion to the strange new whiteness, which
now covered all the earth, they ceased
to notice it, and soon got used to the
cold.

There was another curious thing about
this new substance. Wherever they went,
they left tracks. The whelps had seen
these before in the mud; but now the
marks were all around. They not only left
tracks themselves, but the rabbit and the
partridge did so too, and it was easier to
follow them now than it had been before.
When the ground was bare, they had to
follow slowly, and if the trail was old they
could not doit at all. Now they could fol-
low rapidly, and at sight if they wanted,
although it was not always safe to trust too
much to one’s eyes. It was better to de-
pend upon both sight and scent.

betas *

THey STARTED A FINE Buck OUT oF A CLUMP OF SPRUCES

Good Hunting 129

They had the greatest kind of fun rabbit-
hunting. They would pick up a fresh
track and, spreading out a little, that they
might recover it easily when the rabbit
doubled, would follow him pell-mell to the
end of the trail. If the rabbit did not hole,
they would usually catch him in half an
hour, for the poor little thing could not run
with these tall galloping dogs.

But even this rabbit-hunting was tame
compared with the deer-hunts in which
they participated on several occasions.

One morning near the middle of No-
vember, when there were about six inches
of snow upon the ground, they started a fine
buck out of a clump of spruces where he had
been spending the night. The wind was in
their favor or they never would have got
close to him before he took alarm. Away
he went, clearing the low bushes with great

bounds, and rising into the air at any ob-
struction as lightly as though the laws of

130 A Wilderness Dog

gravity were nothing to him and running
was his greatest delight.

He was so fleet and so soon out of sight
that it would seem almost like folly to pur-
sue him, but the grizzled old hunter knew
better and he led the pack after him at a
steady long lope.

It was a fine day forarun. The autumn
sky was absolutely without a cloud, and
the air was as clear as crystal. In the east
the sunbeams were falling across the spruce-
tops and painting the sky above the forest
horizon-line with pink and saffron. The
new show was a spotless white, which only
served to make the dark blue-green of the
larches and spruces more dark and lustrous.

At first Hairface, who was much the
swiftest of the whelps, was inclined to race
with all his might after the buck; but the
old hunter called him in with a savage
snarl. He knew well that this race was not
to the swift, but to him of endurance, and

Good Hunting 131

that to wind one’s self in the first half-hour
would be utter folly; so he made the
whelps keep the long even lope that he
set.

The country was very rough, and as the
race grew hotter and hotter, the buck took
pains that the trail should be a hard one to
follow. He plunged into deep swamps,
where there was a perfect tangle of laurel
and small evergreens. He took frightful
jumps from high bluffs, while the wolf pack
were obliged to go around. He leaped
broad streams and always gained time by
this as the wolf rather hates a wetting. For
several rods he ran upon a series of ledges
where the snow had been blown off, and
here the pack had to circle entirely around
the ledge to find where he left it. But all
this was good practice for the whelps. They

saw how the old wolf quartered to pick up
the trail and soon Hairface was imitating
his sire, though of course without his fine

oo

132 A Wilderness Dog

judgment. The old wolf had an instinct
that usually told him where they would
find the trail, once they lost it.

At first, the trail had led in and out about
the region where the buck had been started,
not going over two or three miles away;
but, after about an hour, the buck became
thoroughly frightened and led them straight
across country, not stopping now for any
antics. He at last appreciated his desperate
plight.

A fine figure was he, as he raced through
deep gulches and over high bluffs, spurn-
ing Mother Earth as though his small legs
had been so many steel springs. His head
was up, his eyes were wide with fear, his
flanks were covered with sweat, and foam
dripped from his muzzle. His cord-like
muscles worked under his loose hide as
freely as though the whole fine mechanism
had been thoroughly oiled for the race that
very morning. Last, but not least, his

Good Hunting 133

white flag was up, and it jerked nervously
as he made his great leaps.

No matter how fast he ran, or with what
gigantic jumps he cleared the thickets, that
steadily-running gray pack was always just
about so far behind. They did not spurt
and try to catch him in a race for the swift,
for that was not their game. It was a race
of endurance. Generations. of wolf sires
had handed down the knowledge that a
wolf cannot often catch a deer in a mad
flight across country, but he can wear him
out with his persistent gallop. ‘True, their
tongues were out, and they panted freely,
but this did them no harm;it was the
natural way to breathe during a long run.

The worst mistake that the buck made
was to drink too freely from the streams
whenever opportunity offered. This filled
him up and helped to make him loggy, for
in such a race as this every pound tells.

At last the gray hunters drew in sight of

134 A Wilderness Dog

their quarry, and then the whelps wanted to
race after him with might and main, but the
old hunter forbade it. No one could tell
how many more good miles the buck was
capable of. To frighten him badly might
defeat their purpose.

Instead of racing, they trotted after him
like collie dogs; but they always took pains
to keep him going at a good pace. There
must be no stopping in this contest; no
minutes in which to catch breath. It was
the steady, unremitting strain that would
tell; so they gave him no quarter and the
race sped on.

The sun reached high noon and there was
no slacking; it dipped toward the western
hills, and blue shadows stole across the
snow, but still pursued and pursuers kept at
their life-and-death game.

By four o’clock, the wolves had come up
to within three or four rods of the buck,
who was badly spent. His breath whistled

Good Hunting 135

through his nose in gasps, and he was
reeking with sweat. His eyes were wide
with terror and he looked continually back
at his pursuers. Once he stopped as though
to give battle, but a snarl from the old wolf
sent him about face and lent new speed to
his flagging limbs.

Presently they came out on a meadow
where there was a small lake, of two or
three acres in extent, fringed with bushes.
It was toward this trap that the old hunter
had been heading the buck for the past
hour. Twice he had turned him this way.

Still gasping for breath, straining every
nerve to escape and without waiting to con-
sider the probable consequences, the poor
fugitive plunged into the icy water and
struck out for the opposite bank. Here was
his great mistake, for, had he kept to the
woods, he might possibly have lost his pur-
suers under the friendly mantle of the im-
pending night. It is much harder to swim

136 A Wilderness Dog

than to run, especially when already winded,
and he had barely strength enough left to
draw himself up on the other side.

As soon as he sprang into the lake, the
plan of the old hunter was apparent. He
left two of the whelps to guard the shore
where the buck had taken to the water, and
he and Hairface quickly slipped about the
end of the lake to the farther side. When
the buck, dripping and exhausted, spent
from his long swim, scrambled out on the
bank, blowing and trembling, they sprang
upon him.

The old warrior got the throat grip at the
first snap and Hairface caught him by the
gambrel joint. Together they brought him
to earth like a log. Although he struck
out viciously with his sharp-cutting hoofs,
and made the best fight that he could in his
weakened condition, it was hopeless. A
minute later the old wolf sent the cry of the
kill echoing across the lake, and the Wolf

Good Hunting 137

and the Mongrel came galloping around to
the feast.

The slaying of this fine buck, however,
was but child’s play compared with the
pulling down of a great bull moose, which
the pack accomplished later on in the winter.
But this was in the deep of the snow, when
other game had become scarce, else the old
wolf would not have counseled so hazardous
an undertaking, fortified as he was with
merely three half-grown whelps.

As the days shortened in December and
the month drew near to its close, the snows
became heavier and heavier, until the laurel
in the rabbit-swamps was entirely covered,
and the little scrub spruces and hemlocks
were merely white mounds. So changed
was all the landscape that one could hardly
have recognized familiar scenes.

_In some places the wind played fantastic
tricks with the new snows. Here, it would
pile them up mountain high ; there, upon

138 A Wilderness Dog

a hilltop, it would sweep the earth almost
bare, so that the brown fronds and the tops
of the weeds would show. All of the lower
branches of the evergreens were weighed
down with snow and in many places one
could walk up into a tree several feet from
the ground. Such were the pranks of the
wind.

In a season like this the rabbits, squirrels,
spruce partridges, and all other creatures
who were meat for the wolf pack, stayed in-
doors as much as possible. What was the
sense of going abroad when all the sources
of food were buried so deeply under the
snow? Perhaps one might be hungry, but
one would get still more so by floundering
about in a hopeless quest for food; food
which was not to be had just then at any
price.

So it happened that, although the pack
scoured the rabbit-swamps persistently, and
nosed about the roots of trees where a proy-

Good Hunting 139

ident squirrel might be routed out, or even
dug under the snow for mice, frequently
they went supperless to bed.

Perhaps you may wonder where their beds
were when the snow was several feet deep.
In this heavily timbered northland, there
are places where the spruces stand so thick
and their boughs so intertwine that one
ean hardly make his way through them
even in summer-time. Here in New Eng-
land, I have often seen such sheltered nooks
where, under a clump of thickly interlaced
spruces, not a flake of snow would fall all
winter long, and the dead needles would be
almost as dry in the spring as they were in
the hottest days of August. In fact, the
snow does not penetrate to these spots nearly
as freely as do the drenching rains of sum-
mer. Reynard, the red fox, in winter often
prefers these sheltered beds under the
spruces to his den, and in such places the
wolf family made their winter home.

140 A Wilderness Dog

It came about that, when the snows were

piled five or six feet deep on the level, and
in many places ten or twelve feet where it
had drifted, when the winds bit like a
serpent, and the steely bright stars in
heaven were cold and pitiless, starvation,
that other wolf, grim and terrible, stared
the pack in the face. This gray, slinking
figure was as persistent in his hunting of
the pack, as they had been in hunting the
denizens of the forest. It followed them by
day and night. Even in their sleep it came
and stood over them.

So much did this creature of their fancies,
who was a terrifying reality, prey upon
them,. that they became gaunt, evil-eyed
and quarrelsome even among themselves,
where good feeling usually reigned.

It was not until their plight grew des-
perate that the old hunter gave the word
that they should undertake the dangerous
feat of killing a moose.

Good Hunting 141

A few days before, the sire had left the
whelps behind and gone twenty miles to
the northward to reconnoitre in some moose
country of which he knew. There was no
need of wearing out the strength of the
entire pack in this scouting, so he went
alone, and the whelps spent the time while
he was away in futile hunting or lying
quietly under the spruces.

The old wolf found two moose-yards, one
of which contained two bulls, three cows,
some yearlings and a couple of calves. He
spent nearly half a day in trying to cut out
one of the calves from the herd, but this
herd was wonderfully well protected by
the bulls who kept them bunched and
‘were proof against all the wiles of the
wolf.

The other yard was nearer home, and
contained a solitary bull, a well-grown four-
year-old, who had concluded to yard by him-
self that year. It was useless to think of

142 A Wilderness Dog

overcoming him alone, so the wolf went

back for his rather feeble pack.

Moose of the size and strength of this bull
frequently stand off a pack of six or eight
full-grown wolves, and here the old hunter
was advancing to the attack with but three
half-grown whelps. Clearly it was a case
where brains must win, if they won at all.
This was just where the experienced leader
was strong. He could fight with his wolf
cunning as well as with his terrible fangs.
Like the hunting of the buck, this would
not be a race to the swift; it would bea
case of endurance; of steady, persistent
harassing ; of threat and of menace which
would not cease until the bull had paid the
price of being meat for the pack.

Such was the old wolf’s plan as he ad-
vanced through the deep snows, with his
three eager whelps, to the yard of the soli-
tary moose.

Although rather young, the bull, upon

Good Hunting 143

whose destruction the wolf pack were in-
tent, was a mighty beast, with a well-grown
set of horns, and a deep and powerful chest.
His coat was coarse and long, of a smoky
gray appearance. His mane and the hair
upon his bell were jet black, while the in-
sides of his legs and his belly were tawny,
almost yellow. So strong was he that he
swung through the deep snow like a mighty
snow-plow, and he bent down small saplings,
on which to feed, with the strength ofa
Goliath.

His yard was well trodden, for it was not
large, so there was no chance of getting him
into the deep snow; crusting him, as a
woodsman would say. The wolf pack,
therefore, under the lead of the old hunter,
began a persistent hounding and harassing
of the moose. Sometimes they would merely
sit about him upon their tails looking at
him, a grim expectant circle. Even when
they made no sound, this worried the bull,

144 A Wilderness Dog

and he would constantly turn his head try-
ing vainly to watch them all at once. If
this annoyance seemed not to be enough,
the whelps would bark intermittently at
him, which always drove him into a rage.

The old wolf himself never barked ; but
the whelps, being half dog, barked often
when excited. Then the bull would charge
furiously, first at one and then at another.
But as often as he charged in this reckless
manner, he would discover that terrible
teeth were clicking at his heels like a great
steel-trap, and he at once understood the
danger of being ham-strung. He tried never
to allow the old wolf to get in his rear, for
he might render him helpless at a single bite
if he found just the right spot. So the bull
soon resorted to the stratagem of backing
up to some thick cover that should protect
his rear, and keep all his enemies in his
front, where he could guard himself with
lowered horns and sharp-cutting hoofs.

Good Hunting 145

They were not much worse than flies; a
constant annoyance, but in their present
temper not to be feared. They would soon
tire of this useless teasing. Instead, how-
ever, they kept it up all through the day,
and, when the blue shadows of night came
creeping across the snow, showed no signs
of quitting.

The moon, luminous and large, climbed
over the eastern hills, and the myriad glit-
tering spear-points of the stars pricked
through the cold gray heavens. Still the
four gray shapes stuck to him like burrs.
All through the night, the hoarse, inter-
mittent barking of these wolf-dogs punc-
tuated the mournful shrieking of the wind
in the tree-tops. The complaining of the
winds, the hooting of a great horned owl,
the sharp cracking of a tree as the frost
broke its heart, and the hoarse barking of
these death-watchers made a solemn and
terrible night chorus.

146 A Wilderness Dog

When the delicate pink and bright red
of the morning streamed up the eastern

horizon, and the pale rays of the sun fell
across the spruce-tops, they were still play-
ing their game of endurance.

That forenoon the old hunter left the
whelps to keep up the worrying process
while he went to hunt food for the pack,
for they were nearly famished, and the
tactics which they were following were
telling on them as well as on the bull.
About noon he brought back a rabbit, and,
although it was merely a taste for the four
hungry dogs, it put new life into them, and
the worrying of the bull was renewed with
zest.

They now drew in much nearer than
they had dared to the first day. His fear
of them was not getting less; in fact, it
hourly grew. Perhaps he foresaw with
prophetic vision the coming death struggle.
The method of the pack was not to flee

Good Hunting 147

pell-mell when he charged, but merely to
slip from his reach, just as a collie dog does
before cattle. He never runs away but
simply slips a yard to the right or the left,
avoiding the horns by so small a margin
that you shudder for your pet. This tan-
talizes the charging cow, and does not waste
the strength of the dog.

When, for the second time, the blue
shadows lengthened along the snow, the
death-watch had drawn in to within fifteen
or twenty feet of the bull, who stood with
lowered head and bloodshot eyes, watching
the wolves narrowly. He was wrought up
to the highest pitch. His eyes flamed, his
breath whistled through his nostrils, and
his bell and mane were covered with frost.

That night there was not so much bark-
ing, but the ghastly circle drew in still
closer; so close, in fact, that the old wolf
occasionally sprang in and made a vicious
snap at the bull’s hind quarters in hopes

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148 A Wilderness Dog

of ham-stringing him. This kept the moose

constantly on guard. If he dared to doze
for even a second these terrible jaws were
clicking at his great sinews. One slash
rightly directed there would render him
helpless. Well he knew this, and, although
his head was so heavy that it seemed to
weigh a ton, he braced himself and glared
straight at his relentless enemies as he
would at a rival bull that he expected
to charge the next minute.

If they only would charge, he would feel
better. His mighty antlers and his sharp
hoofs would soon scatter them. He would
break their backs, and either toss them high
in air, or crush them to jelly in the new
snow. But they would not fight fair.
They were killing him by inches, like the
water which wears away the stone, a grain
at a time.

There was no hunting for the pack the
third day, but a constant narrowing of the

Good Hunting 149

circle, and a constant menace of snapping
jaws and advancing fangs.

That night, when the pitiless stars looked
down, when the demoniacal winds shrieked
in the tree-tops and the shimmering light
was cold as death, when far down in
the frozen earth the pulses of life slept,
at an appropriate death-hour, the old wolf
and his three eager whelps grappled with
the mighty bull in the final battle. He
seemed so exhausted and they were so fam-
ished, the gray wolf of hunger pressed
them so hard, that they chose the lesser of
two evils and welcomed the desperate strug-
gle, which could be no longer delayed.

Like a wave of fury they broke upon him,
springing and snapping, advancing and
retreating before those death-dealing ant-
lers and crushing hoofs. For ten minutes
there was obstinate fighting, and the air
was filled with the sounds of the combat.
There were snarls and hoarse barks from

150 A Wilderness Dog

the pack and the whistling breath of the
forest monarch, together with deep grunts,
and the mighty thud of his hoofs as he

dealt sledge-hammer blows at his illusive
adversaries.

At last Hairface, who was more coura-
geous than prudent, caught the great
blowing fury by his long fleshy upper
lip; his dog tendency caused him to hold
on, and this was almost his undoing. A
wolf leaps and snaps, leaving a frightful
gash and then leaps again. These should
have been Hairface’s tactics, but instead he
held on.

The raging bul] reared in air, carrying
his plucky adversary with him, but when
his sharp-cutting hoofs descended, one of
Hairface’s hind legs hung limp and useless
and one of his ribs was broken. Another
blow such as this would finish him. Seeing
the imminent danger of his favorite whelp,
the old wolf sprang in recklessly, and the

Good Hunting 151

Mongrel and the Wolf followed his ex-
ample.

They tore at the monarch’s legs and
gashed him in a score of places. He
caught the Wolf upon his antlers and
tossed him high in air, to fall lke a log.
He struck with his hoofs like a battering-
ram. There were no more feints now. It
was a question of whether they could pull
him down before he killed the better part
of the pack.

In a lucky moment for them, the old
wolf ham-strung the desperately-fighting
moose, and his hind quarters sank to earth,
helpless. Still standing for a moment upon
his fore-legs, he ripped from right to left
with his antlers and then toppled over.
They were upon him like a submerging
wave.

In three minutes more it was all over.
The great moose had forfeited his life and was
meat for the pack ; but they had not gained

152 A Wilderness Dog

their object without cost. Hairface could
barely drag himself about, while the Wolf
had bought his share of the meat with the
price of his life, for he was already stiff
upon the snow.

What a gorge it was that the moon and
the stars looked down upon when the fam-
ished pack ate their fill]

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CHAPTER VI
IN THE TOILS OF MAN

WINTER, with its deep snow and biting
frost, its loneliness and deprivation, came
and went, and all the countless trees on the
hillsides and in the deep valleys again
shook out their green banners with the
approach of spring. Again the arbutus
shed its illusive fragrance in the pasture-
lands, the dog-tooth violet gemmed the
brook-side, and all the myriad nameless
voices of nature were heard in the land.
With a glad rush, life came flowing back
into every stem and stalk, and again the
green earth was glad. Little by little, so
gradually that you could not have told
where one left off and the other began,
spring merged into summer, and the old
world rioted in color and fragrance. Just

156 A Wilderness Dog

as gradually as it came, the summer waned,
and the scarlet and golden streamers of
autumn danced in the merry breezes, the
first bright camp-fires of the dying year.

Hairface was now a year and a half old,
and, with the exception of the long coarse
hairs upon his face, was a perfect wolf.
His high forehead and massive jaws, his
well-developed shoulders and bushy tail, all
proclaimed him a wolf. His nature and
habits of life were also those of the wolf.
He slunk through the cover lke a gray
shadow ; he crept upon his prey as noise-
lessly as the death he personified; and he
struck like lightning.

Even his sire, the old grizzled veteran,
was nota more skilful hunter than he, for
he combined with the wolf’s quickness of
motion and keenness of scent the intelli-
gence of the dog. He used his head in his
hunting even more often than did his sire.
This was where the deerhound blood told ;

In the Toils of Man 157

otherwise the dog traits were entirely lack-
ing. Of affection, he did not even know
the meaning. The old wolf he feared, and

the Mongrel he despised ; but he would not
much longer fear his sire, for even now he
rebelled when chastised, and they had barely
missed coming to a desperate struggle on
more than one occasion. It was only be-
cause the old wolf rather liked Hairface
that he forebore giving him the thrashing
that he sometimes merited.

In the second autumn of their whelphood,
the old wolf shifted their base of operations
from the wilderness regions and came in
closer to the settlements. Somewhere in
the dim vistas of his memory there were
tantalizing pictures of good hunting near
the home of man. Particularly were these
scenes connected with some woolly white
animals that were to be found in large flocks,
and belonged to their worst enemy, man.
These were stupid creatures, much easier

158 A Wilderness Dog

than a deer to run down and kill, and their
taste was delicious even to memory.

Just about this time the good people,
Scotch and French, in the little parish of
St. Boniface, began to hear alarming stories
of three great wolves that were ranging
the country, killing sheep, and on one oc-
casion even pulling down a yearling heifer.

Rumor, which always runs riot in such
out-of-the-way places, had it that they were
much taller and larger than ordinarily.
As wolves had been very scarce in the
region for several years, at first the inhabit-
ants of St. Boniface were inclined to think
that some large dogs had turned sheep-
killers and had been mistaken for their
more ferocious cousins.

Finally Roderick McElwain, our friend
of the tote-team, saw the small pack. It
followed him one moonlight evening for
several miles, as he was on his way home
from a husking party in a distant parish.

In the Toils of Man 159

Roderick knew wolves as did no one else in
the village; he had encountered them
while driving the tote-team from McGreg-
or’s Point to the lumbering-camps on the
upper Ottawa. So when he pronounced
the pack to be composed of three mighty
wolves, there was no longer any doubt about
it. 7

This statement, from so trustworthy a
source, made a great stir in the parish. It
would never do to allow such a pack to
range the country ; it would not be safe for
either man or beast. Accordingly, a great
hunt was planned, which should destroy
these freebooters, who took such heavy toll
of the farmers.

About a score of men and boys assembled
on the appointed day. They were armed
with every conceivable kind of weapon, and
the pack of dogs that accompanied them
was composed of about every breed ever
seen in Canada. Two full-blooded fox-

160 A Wilderness Dog

hounds were depended on to do the trailing,
and the rest of the pack was to furnish the
moral support, with two-Great Danes to do
the actual fighting, when they should come
up with the wolves.

Within two or three hours, the better part
of the pack had given up in disgust; but
the hounds still trailed the wolves, with
the Danes in the distance. Toward night
one of the big dogs came limping back to
the village, horribly bitten ; but his mate
and the two hounds were missing. <A few
days later they were found in the woods by
some wood-choppers, each with his throat
torn open.

This put an end to the wolf-hunting, so
the pack went unpunished as far as the set-
tlement was concerned, although several old
hunters kept guns loaded for them, and
Roderick himself took up the matter of rid-
ding the country of this new menace.

His first experiment was to purchase

SOA Se ee re

In the Toils of Man 161

about a score of powerful traps, which he
set wherever he heard of depredations by
the wolves; but, as this pack never ate
anything that they did not kill themselves,
the baits had no attraction for them. Be-
sides, the old wolf had had some experience
with steel-traps when he was younger, and
could scent one almost as far as he could
mutton ; so nothing came of the traps but
vexation.

Roderick next tried poison. Whenever
he heard of a killing by the wolves, where
they had left a partly-eaten carcass, he at
once visited the spot and made several slits
in the meat, inserting strychnine; he also
cut off small pieces and treated them in the
same way. All of this work was done in
the most scientific manner. None of the
meat was touched with the bare hand, and
care was taken to leave as little scent as
possible. It was all for naught, how-
ever, as far as the wolves were con-

162 A Wilderness Dog

cerned. The old hunter’s nose was never
at fault.

Two or three of the young men of the
settlement, under Roderick’s lead, then
tried to shoot the wolves by waiting for
them on moonlight nights at a bait that
they left as an allurement. It was the
body of a dead horse, and near it the boys
built a scaffold six or eight feet from the
ground, from which point they watched
their decoy. By this time the wolves were
credited with unheard-of ferocity and cun-
ning, and the boys did not dare wait for
them upon the ground, lest they might be
overpowered. But, like the steel-traps and
the poison, this stratagem also failed.

When wolf-hunts, traps, poison, and guns
had all proved useless, Roderick tried a
new kind of trap which he had read of
as being used successfully in the West.
This was a pitfall about eight feet in depth,
with perpendicular walls. It was made so

In the Toils of Man 163

deep and the walls were so steep, that a
wolf, if once he stumbled into it, never

could get out.

Across the middle of the mouth of this
pitfall was placed a stick, which acted as
an axis for a platform over the mouth of
the hole. When everything was ready, the
platform was covered with leaves and grass
and made to look natural. Such a pitfall
was usually baited by putting some kind
of meat upon the platform, but Roderick
placed his baits at a distance. His idea was
that the wolves might be circling about
the baits inspecting them, as he had dis-
covered was their wont, and accidentally
stumble into his trap.

Kach morning he visited it, reconnoiter-
ing from a distance, as he did not care to
leave any fresh scent in the vicinity.

For the first two mornings, nothing
seemed to be disturbed; but on the third
morning he saw that the platform was

164 A Wilderness Dog
slightly tilted as though something had

whirled it over.

He approached carefully, reinforced by
two comrades, and peeped over the edge of
the pitfall. At the bottom of the hole was a
gigantic gray wolf. The animal was cower-
ing upon the ground, for, although a terri-
ble fighter, the wolf cowers easily when
taken off his guard; this one seemed to be
trying to slink into the very earth.

“We've got him,” Roderick whispered
eagerly to his companions.

The other boys were as much excited as
he at this astounding news, and all drew
close to the mouth of the pit to look down
at the captive. Sure enough; there he was
at the bottom, lying flat upon his belly, his
yellow eyes gleaming fiercely up at them
through the semi-darkness.

“What shall we do with him?” asked
one of Roderick’s companions.

“T know what I am going to do with

In the Toils of Man 165

him,” replied the young Scotchman. He
cocked his rifle and again peered down into

the pit.

What a great beast he was, and what a
menace there was in those two eyes that
burned like coals with the hatred of the
wild animal for man! Roderick shoved
the muzzle of the rifle over the edge of the
pit and lowered his cheek to the stock of
the gun to take aim.

With a snarl that fairly made the youth’s
blood run cold, the cowering wolf leaped to
his hind-legs, putting his fore-paws upon
the sides of the pitfall and reaching his
mighty jaws with their gleaming fangs
almost up into Roderick’s face.

With a cry of astonishment and fear, the
young man sprang back, almost dropping
the rifle in his haste; but he still gazed with
riveted eyes into those of the great gray
wolf.

It was the typical wolf head, with high,

166 A Wilderness Dog

intelligent forehead, and long powerful jaws
that could do such fearful execution ; but
the face was sprinkled with long, coarse,
bristling hair, such as is often seen on some
varieties of hounds.

‘‘ Boys,’ exclaimed Roderick, after a mo-
ment of intense silence, “that may be a
wolf, but his face is that of Vixen, my old
Irish deerhound. The expression is the
same, and the long coarse hair is the same.
No one ever saw such hair as that upon the
face of a full-blooded wolf. I'd bet almost
anything that this is one of her pups.

‘“T don’t believe I ever told you, but she
ran away and mated with a wolf, and I
afterward accidentally shot her. I felt
mighty cut up over it and so kept quiet;
but they all know about it at the lumber-
camps.”

The longer Roderick gazed at the glaring
visage of Hairface, the more certain he
became that this fury now confronting

ee

In the Toils of Man 167

him was one of the old deerhound’s whelps,
until at last it became an absolute con-
viction.

“Half of that wolf belongs to me by
rights,’ he said finally, ‘and the other
half I am going to appropriate. Boys, let’s
take him home alive.”’

But his companions laughed the proposal
to scorn.

“Might as well think of taking home a
streak of greased lightning,” said Hugh
Boyle. ‘ He’s all fight, from the tip of his
nose to the end of his tail.”

“T guess it will be a sorry day for us if
we undertake to get him alive,” remarked
the second. ‘ You had better shoot him
before he chaws some of us up.”

But Roderick was stubborn, as only a
Scotchman can be, so of course the others
had to give in.

Hugh went to the nearest farmhouse,
which was nearly two miles away, for rope,

168 A Wilderness Dog
and the other boys sat down by the pit to

watch their captive. Seeing that there was
to be no immediate hostility upon their
part, Hairface at last lay down upon the
bottom of the pit to await his fate.

When Hugh returned with about one
hundred feet of half-inch rope, each of
them secured a good club, four or five feet
long, that they might stun the prisoner if
it became necessary.

The rope was cut into two pieces and a
slip-noose made at the end of each piece,
Roderick’s idea being to throw two nooses
over the wolf’s head at the same time and
then to choke him into submission. A
wolf, when once cowed, shows very little
fight, although, up to the point where he is
fairly beaten, he is most desperate.

When all was ready, Hugh took one
improvised lasso and Roderick the other,
and they lowered them into the pit in an
attempt to snare their victim. He dodged

In the Toils of Man 169

and twisted from side to side, his great jaws
clicking like a steel-trap, and more than
once they were obliged to draw up the rope
and make a new noose, the old one being
so badly cut that it was no longer service-
able. But patience will accomplish almost
anything, and Roderick persisted, although

- his companions again and again entreated
him to shoot the wolf before he got loose,
and did some of them harm.

At last he slipped his noose over the head
of the frantic Hairface, who fairly went
wild as the rope tightened upon his throat.
He cowered in the bottom of the pit and
sought to cut the cord ; but Roderick pulled
upon it with all his might, bringing the wolf
upon his hind legs, and in this position the
other noose was easily slipped over his head.

Then, with a boy at the end of each rope,
they slowly lifted the strangling wolf out of
the pit, while the third boy stood by with
his club in readiness to strike if necessary.

170 A Wilderness Dog

Restraint of any kind was new to Hair-
face, and he struggled like the mad beast
that he was. His tongue protruded from
his throat its full length, his eyes started
from their sockets, foam dripped from his
powerful jaws, and hoarse snarls escaped
from his throat.

He was fairly bursting with fury, yet ter-
ribly impotent. Never before had anything
availed against his strength and cunning.
Usually he had been able to use his long
fangs, but now this man creature gripped
him by the throat and he was powerless.
The more he struggled, the more helpless
he became. His breath whistled through
his nose in sobs and his eyes grew dim.
The world reeled, and he fell to earth pant-
ing and entirely exhausted. For the mo-
ment, the man creature had conquered
him.

Then, while Roderick’s two companions
held the ropes taut, pulling in opposite

In the Toils of Man 171

directions, Roderick slipped a stick about a
foot long between the wolf’s jaws, pressing
it back into his mouth as far as possible.
He then took a stout cord and passed it in
front of the stick, upon one side of his
mouth, over his jaw, and behind the stick
on the other, thus making a tight lacing
like a letter X. When he had finished and
drawn the cord tight and tied it, the wolf’s
jaws were held as in a vise, and he was as
harmless as though he had no fangs with
which to strike.

Then they slacked the two ropes a bit and
gradually breath and strength came back to
poor Hairface. He soon struggled to his
feet and sat up, glaring about him impo-
tently. He reached up his paws and tried
to poke the stick from his mouth, but it
would not budge. He growled and roared
and threatened, but all to no purpose. As
soon as he became too violent, the two
nooses that still gripped his throat choked

172 A Wilderness Dog

him into submission ; do what he would, he
was powerless.

Soon the two man creatures, whose throats
he would like to tear open, began drawing
him through the woods, each holding him
at a distance with the taut rope, and he
was obliged to follow where they led. The
ropes were resistless. If he became too vio-
lent, they cut off his breath, and left him
gasping and panting upon the ground. His
dog intelligence soon taught him that sub-
mission was the better course, and he went
along reluctantly, abiding his opportunity
for revenge.

For hours this strange company plodded
through the woods. It was slow work, as
the ropes continually got tangled in the un-
derbrush; but finally the boys saw that
their prisoner was really harmless with the
stick in his jaws, so they relaxed the ropes,
and one went ahead and the other behind.

Just about sundown they reached the vil-

In the Toils of Man 173

lage and it was a curious and astonished

crowd that soon congregated to see their
captive. The more timid of the citizens
urged that the wolf be dispatched at once,
but Roderick would not hear of it.

“T tell you he is half dog,” he reiterated
again and again.

Old trappers and hunters viewed him
warily and then shook their heads. ‘“ He
may be part dog,” was their verdict, “ but
he looks like a full-blooded wolf, with the
exception of the long hairs upon his face,
and this may be merely a freak.”

It was the concensus of opinion that for
Roderick to try to keep him and tame him
was a hazardous undertaking, but Roderick
was Scotch, and no Scotchman ever changes
his mind from external pressure. So he
took the wolf-dog, as he persisted in calling
him, to his own home, to the great alarm of
his mother, and put him in a box-stall in
the barn, still keeping in his mouth the

Se ea
se a nen ee ae

Ss

Sa

174 A Wilderness Dog

stick which locked his jaws, and also fast-
ening him with two collars and a chain.
One of the collars was about his neck
and the other about his body behind his
fore-legs, and they were joined together.

In the darkest and most remote corner
of the stall, Hairface cowered, glaring and
snarling at all who came near him. His
yellow, hungry, hate-filled eyes were the
eyes of a wolf. No gleam of affection ever
softened them. He was uncompromising
in his hatred for man, who had undone
him.

Although Roderick spent hours talking
to him and offering him food and water,
he seemed to make no headway in subdu-
ing his wolf nature. The water he would
drink, when no one was by to see, but
food he did not touch. Perhaps he remem-
bered the old wolf’s training, which pre-
scribed that the pack should eat nothing
that they did not kill themselves; or it

x
4.

In the Toils of Man P75

may be he thought the meat put before him
might be poisoned; or possibly it was the
man taint about it that offended him. Cer-

- ee ee Se =

tain it is that for nearly a week he refused
all food.

When at last even Roderick despaired of
keeping his wolf-dog, and was seriously
considering the advice of those who coun-
seled shooting Hairface, the wolf began to
eat. First it was a rabbit that Roderick
had just shot for him. This meat was still
warm with the warmth of nature, so could
not be poison. Having been relieved of the
stick that locked his jaws together, the
half-famished wolf-dog, when left alone,
tore the rabbit to bits and ate it ravenously.

After that there was no trouble about his
eating. Little by little, he began to take
cooked food, such as any dog would eat ; but
the man taint about all his food troubled
him for some time, and he would sniff at
it suspiciously before beginning his meal.

ee —

176 A Wilderness Dog

This much Roderick had accomplished in
a month’s time. The wolf trusted him
enough to eat what he set before him, but
that was about all. Whenever his master
came too near to him, he would crouch as
though to spring, and bare his fangs and
snarl. If his master extended his hand
toward him, the hair upon his neck would
stand on end, his hps would part, showing
his fangs gleaming white, and he would
growl savagely.

“You can’t do anything with him,” said
Hugh one day, when he had come in to see
the wolf and to learn how Roderick was
getting on with him.

“Well, I have got him to eat,” replied
the wolf’s jealous owner, “and perhaps Ill
fetch him yet. Anyhow, he is worth trying.
I have a good mind to put my hand upon
him. I don’t really believe he would bite
me,”’

‘Don’t try it,” cautioned his friend.

In the Toils of Man 77

But Roderick was deaf to his compan-

ion’s warning, and slowly advanced toward
Hairface, holding out his hand, and talk-
ing to him softly all the time.

The wolf-dog crouched in his corner, glar-
ing at his master, and growling continuously.
Lower and lower to the floor he slunk, as
Roderick’s hand approached his head, and
his growl took on a warning throaty
quality.

“Look out, Rod,’ cried Hugh, but he
spoke too late. Quick as a flash the wolf
struck. Roderick snatched his hand back
with the greatest dexterity, but he was
snail-like compared with the movements of
the wolf-dog, who sank his fangs deep in
the flesh. The boy quickly retreated to the
barn floor, shaking his bleeding hand, and
furious at his untamable prisoner.

In a fit of temper he seized his rifle and
raised it to his shoulder, but at the motion
Hairface slunk into his corner and looked

:
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178 A Wilderness Dog

up with fear in hiseyes. He clearly under-
stood the deadly intent of the man creature.
For a moment Roderick hesitated, and then
relented.

For Vixen’s sake, he would give him an-
other trial. After all, he owed something
to Hairface for having robbed him of his
mother. Perhaps he would conquer the
wolf in time, if he were patient.

CHAPTER VII

BACK TO HIS FIRST LOVE

CHAPTER VII

BACK TO HIS FIRST LOVE

Man was the first love of the great gray
timber wolf, who himself was the wilder-
ness dog. Until he at last came to know
and love man, this finer passion of the heart
had never touched him. He had loved his
mate in the mating season in his harsh way,
after his kind, but no other tender sentiment
had ever stirred his heart until he rubbed
against the leg of primeval man, who was
almost as much of a wild beast ashe. They
had often met on the mountain-top and in
the deep valley, at the fording of the stream
and in the dark thicket, yet for long they
were strangers.

There was something about this erect,
self-reliant man creature that fascinated the

182 A Wilderness Dog

wolf. This two-legged animal had such

fearful powers over the other animals and
over the forces of nature. He could bring
fire from two sticks, which of themselves
really possessed no warmth. He could
draw fish from the stream with a small
cord. With a stick he could bring birds
down out of the sky, and the strong, fleet
buck, that the pack would have to follow
for a day to haul down, stopped at his bid-
ding and lay dead on the ground.

This man creature, too, lived in a den
that he fashioned for himself above the
solid earth, while the wild beasts lived in
holes and dens under the earth. He could
make the night bright with his camp-fire,
when there was ho moon, and could warm
his den with that mysterious dancing bright-
ness which held such terrors for the wild
beasts. He could catch the wild horse,
which was fleeter than a wolf, and make
it carry him far over the prairies.

Back to His First Love 183

Is it any wonder that such a creature
finally drew the wolf to him and made of his
foe a friend, as he has done with so many
of the beasts of the field ?

When the wolf took man for his master,
he put off hate, and love entered his heart ;
such love and fidelity as man has never re-
ceived from any other of the wild creatures.

Man was also the wolf-dog’s god ; a crea-
ture that he could worship, a being for
whom if need be, it was sweet to die.

But poor Hairface, crouching in his
corner of the box-stall and glowering at the
man who confronted him, was neither a
dog nor a wolf, but a wolf-dog. He had
been born upon the boundary line between
the domestic and the wild creature. Had
Roderick found him that spring when he
searched for the den in the rocks, he never
would have been a wolf at all, either in dis-
position or in habits of life; but the old
wolf found him instead, and in two years

184 A Wilderness Dog

under his guidance had taken him entirely

back to the wild. Now he was a wolf from
the tip of his massive jaws, which were so
eager to sink their fangs into human flesh,
to the end of his bushy tail, which was also
the typical wolf banner. There was one
thing, however, about him that was still
dog. Nothing could change this fact. The
blood of the old deerhound ran in his veins,
and sooner or later would assert itself.

It was because of this that Roderick
waited and was patient, when all his friends
clamored for the life of Hairface.

He also remembered a scene in the thicket
on that spring morning when the dying
hound had licked her master’s hand as she
gasped out her last breath and forgave him,
although he had taken her life. Surely he
could forgive Hairface for sinking his fangs
in his flesh, provided he overcame him at
last.

Indeed, the good seed was already sown

Back to His First Love 185

and taking root, although Roderick was slow

to see it. Hairface trusted him, for he now
ate the food which his master placed before
him, and to trust in one way was a sign
that he would soon trust in others.

About a week after the first sad experi-
ence when Roderick had attempted to lay
his hand upon Hairface, he tried it again.
This time the wolf-dog growled and bristled
as before, but instead of striking when the
hand approached within reach, he slunk
farther and farther into the corner, turning
his head lest he might again bite his mas-
ter, or so Roderick interpreted it.

So much, at least, had been gained. He
no longer wished to bite his master. This
was a great step, and with another week of
patience Roderick was able to put his hand
fairly upon the massive head, and stroke it,
although the process was not pleasing to
the wolf. One peculiarity, however, Hair-
face always retained, even after he had

186 A Wilderness Dog

come to love his master as deeply as any
dog could have done. He always reached
out to meet the proffered hand with his
jaws. He never allowed it to be put di-
rectly upon the top of his head. First it
must pass by those upturned jaws.

This is a wolfish trait that many dogs
possess; a remnant of the wolf’s lack of
confidence in man. He must first see for
himself, and then, if all is well, will suffer
the hand to approach him.

Once they had got this far, the friendship
between Roderick and his wolf-dog grew
rapidly.

Finally, to the consternation of the good
people of the village, the boy took the
double collar from Hairface and led him
about upon an ordinary leash, just like any
other large dog.

‘“Mebbe you can tame a wolf, mon, and
mebbe you can’t,” said Robert Killdare,
an old Scotch log-driver of the place. “A

Back to His First Love 187

wolf he war born, an’ a wolf he will always
be, I am after thinking. If ye wake up,
Rod, some fine morning and find yourself
eaten up, don’t say I dinna tell you, that’s
all, mon.”

But the dog nature, which was as much
a part of Hairface as was his long gray coat
and his whip-cord sinews, even now had
asserted itself more than Roderick dreamed.
In the dark corner of his box-stall the seed
had germinated as Hairface watched this
man creature coming and going.

Surely he was the same in kind as that
wood-cutter, whom the whelps and the old
wolf had shadowed for nearly a week the
fall before, and of whom the old wolf had
tried to make them so afraid. Yet this
man creature seemed full of kindness.
His voice, when he talked to Hairface, did
not convey any menace. On the other
hand, it was low and pleasant and re-
assuring. Could it be that his sire, the

188 A Wilderness Dog

old wolf who knew the wilderness so well,

and whose knowledge of men so far sur-
passed his own, had been mistaken, or was
there a difference in these men creatures
just as there was in wolves? Hairface him-
self was not like the Mongrel, so perhaps
this man creature was not like that other
whom they had watched in the woods.

Instinctively, Hairface felt that the
villagers, whom they met upon their walks
when his master led him about the town,
feared him, and this pleased the wolf-dog.
The Mongrel had feared him. Perhaps
all the men creatures with the exception
of his master were like the Mongrel. That
was the way in which MHairface finally
classified the world of men. Those who
did not fear him were strong like his
master and to be respected ; those who did,
were mongrels to be despised.

When Hairface had first been tied in
the stall, with his jaws locked tightly

Back to His First Love 189

together, he had been all hate. There was
not a hair upon his back and neck that
did not bristle whenever any one came
near him. He was fairly bursting with
rage. They had undone him, taken away
his freedom. If he ever got loose, he would
kill them all.

After a week or two, however, a new
feeling, that was foreign to him, stole softly
into his nature. He began to watch for the
coming and going of this man creature who
had such strange power over him.

At first, when Roderick talked to him,
it would put him into a rage,—the man
creature was taunting him; but gradually
he came to love the tones of his voice, and
to miss them when he did not talk.

Slowly the feeling inside him, which
was so different from the wolf hate, began
to assert itself more and more. He did not
wag his tail or laugh at his master’s com-
ing, as a dog will often do, but his all-

190 A Wilderness Dog

seeing yellow eyes followed his every mo-

tion, and this was the first sign that he
gave of love.

Never in his life, even when he grew to
love his master as devotedly as any dog,
was he demonstrative. His love was always
silent, a smooth current that ran deep.
He had lived too much in the woods, in
the vast silences which subdue the lives of
those who dwell in the echoless depths, to
be a creature of enthusiasm or noise.

So, although Hairface trotted as obedi-
ently at heel as any dog and was quick to
mind his master, the villagers distrusted
him. He was no dog, and no part of him
was dog. He did not love Roderick or he
would wag his tail or show some other sign
of affection. He was a wolf, grim and ter-
rible, silent and unloving. This was the
general verdict ; although the young Scotch-
man argued and expostulated, he could not
change it.

Back to His First Love 191

‘¢ A wolf he was born, mon, an’ a wolf he
will die. You canna get figs from thistles,
an’ no good will come on’t.” This was the
way in which Bobbie McGinnis regarded
the wolf, as the inhabitants of St. Boniface
persisted in calling him, to Roderick’s great
disgust.

All the dogs in the village, too, consid-
ered Hairface an outcast. They recognized
only the wolf in his nature, as did the men.
Most of them put their tails between their
legs and slunk away whenever Hairface
came in sight. So he at once classed them
as mongrels. They had not courage like
himself, and Hairface accordingly despised
them.

There were two or three, however, of
better stuff than their fellows, who were not
afraid of anything, having bulldog blood in
them. One evening these fell upon Hair-
face, when he had loitered for a moment
behind his master, and there was straight-

192 A Wilderness Dog

way such a fight as had not been seen in

the village in many a day. It was three to

one, but that made no difference, for this

one wasa born fighter. He had been trained
to fight from the moment that he could
stagger about.

His motions were like lightning, and his
powerful jaws worked with deadly effect.
He did not clinch, as the bulldog likes to do,
but sprang and snapped and then sprang
again, and each time he punished his ad-
versary as only a wolf can.

In less than a minute, one of the dogs
was lying upon the ground weltering in his
own blood, gasping out his life; and a
second had turned tail and run. The
third still faced the wolf, but only the in-
tervention of men saved his life, for Hair-
face was leaving deep gaping gashes each
time he struck. )

This dog fight, although the dogs had
been the aggressors, also helped to put

Back to His First Love 193

Hairface in disfavor, and there was again a
clamor for his hfe; but Roderick laughed
such entreaties to scorn.

“He can lick all the dogs in town ina
bunch,” he would say. “If you don’t be-
lieve it, just bring them on.”

About this time, Roderick again resumed
the driving of the tote-team to the lumber-
camps far in the heavily-timbered wilder-
ness, and took his wolf-dog with him; so
the villagers had nothing further to com-
plain of for that winter.

It was surprising with what whole-hearted-
ness Hairface gave himself to his master,
once his wolf nature had been displaced by
the dog nature in him ; although, as he was
undemonstrative and silent, no one ever
knew the depth of his affection but Roder-
ick, who had understood him all along.

Following the tote-team through the
snow-laden woods was much more to the
wolf-dog’s liking than staying in a village.

194 A Wilderness Dog

Here was in part the old free hfe which he
had lived in the wilderness, and at the

same time here was his master, who was
his new-found love.

He usually ran in the trail behind the
sled, but often ranged in wide circles across
the road looking for rabbit or partridge
signs, and at the same time keeping an eye
upon the team.

In the lumber-camp the wolf, as they
called him, was not much more of a favorite
than he had been in the village, for even
here the rough lumbermen, inured to all
kinds of danger, were afraid of Hairface.
He was so silent and unapproachable that
they could not believe him to be anything
but a full-blooded wolf.

Hairface was always on his dignity with
the lumbermen and did not allow any of
them so much as to put a hand upon him.
In fact, Roderick was the only person who
ever dared touch him.

— aaeanEEnetineeeieneenenemnseemennenemeaneanen snes
.

Back to His First Love 195

“Can’t make me believe that there is any
dog about that critter, Rod,” growled an old
lumberman one day. “He is wolf, and
nothing but wolf, and he doesn’t care any
more about you than he does about a stick.
He can’t care; it ain’t in his nater. He is
a wolf, all fight and hate.”

“He'd go through fire forme; I know
it,” replied the boy stoutly.

All through the winter, Hairface and the
tote-team came and went in the silent
forest ; but in the spring something hap-
pened that amply bore out Roderick’s as-
sertions as to the loyalty and affection of his
wolf-dog, forever silencing his critics in the
lumber-camp at least.

This year the camp was in a new region
and a part of the lumber was cut near a
deep gulch, which led down to a branch of
the Ottawa. To save drawing the lumber
to this river, the lumbermen dumped it all
into the bottom of the gulch and built a

196 A Wilderness Dog

dam across it below the logs. They knew
that in the spring, when the heavy rains
came, the gulch would fill; and when this
occurred, they planned to dynamite the
dam and let the water, lumber and all, go
down to the river inamadrush. This is
a common practice among lumbermen, who
will resort to almost any expediency to get
rid of hauling the logs.

In the spring the rains came just as they
had expected, and the valley was filled with
water until even with the top of the dam.
By this time the trips of the tote-team had
been given up and Roderick was tempora-
rily helping the rivermen get the drive
started. On the day that they were to
dynamite the dam, there was great excite-
ment, for it was an awful yet inspiring sight
to see this mountain of water sweep millions
of feet of timber down the gulch to the
river. If all went well, when the last
small stream had run out, the logs would be

Back to His First Love 197

down in the river; but it sometimes hap-
pened that the logs jammed midway in
their course, allowing the water to run out,
but leaving a part of the timber in the mid-
dle of the gulch.

While the rivermen were making ready
for the blasts that should unloose the turbu- |
lence of the waters and set. the lumber in |
motion, Hairface sat gravely upon the bank, |
his eyes riveted upon Roderick as he walked
from point to point upon the logs, freeing
one here and there with his spike-pole and
making sure, so far as possible, that all |
would move out smoothly when the time
came.

Finally all was ready, and the charges of
dynamite were set off. Tons of water and
mud were thrown up by the explosion and |
the timbers of the dam were tumbled in all
directions. Then what a turmoil filled the
valley, where but a moment before all had
been quiet andcalm! Witha roar like con-

198 A Wilderness Dog

tinuous thunder, foaming, lashing, and

tumbling, the waters poured through the
broken dam, and the mighty mass of
lumber started on its way tothe river. The
logs that a moment ago had seemed inani-
mate suddenly took to themselves life and
motion. They butted and fought like
mighty battering-rams. They rolled and
twisted, groaned and scraped, each doing its
best to shoulder its neighbor out of place,
and all fighting for the right of way.

Once the mass had fairly started, the
courageous rivermen were upon it with
their spike-poles and Peavy sticks, pushing
and prying, exerting themselves to the ut-
most to see that the drive went down to the
river without a hitch. As Roderick was
borne farther and farther down-stream by
the moving logs, Hairface followed upon the
shore, watching his master’s every motion.

But this short drive was doomed to mis-
erable failure, for it had not gone over a

\

\

Back to His First Love 199

quarter of the distance to the river when
the logs began to jam, and where there had
been confusion before, there was now pande-
monium. Fiercer and fiercer grew the
struggle of the fighting logs to get over the
jam. They butted and pushed and every
moment the current behind them piled
them up higher, until in places they were
mountain-high ; all seething and tumbling,
crashing and grinding. It was in sucha
death-trap that Roderick suddenly found
himself, several rods from shore.

The logs danced and leaped so that he
could hardly keep his footing. Great
chasms suddenly yawned at his feet, en-
deavoring to engulf him, and then, with a
sound like thunder, closed. He sprang
from point to point, avoiding death at
every leap by a hair’s breadth.

In this frightful scene, all had forgotten
the wolf-dog; but presently, above the
thunder of these millions of feet of fighting

ae

200 A Wilderness Dog

logs and the roar of the mad waters, was
heard a long pathetic howl, cutting the
great volume of sound like a knife, and
Hairface sprang from the bank upon the
jam.

Dog though he was, without retractile
claws to keep his footing as he sprang, he
jumped from log to log with the precision
and dexterity of a great cat. He cleared
eight and ten feet at a bound and his paws_
barely touched the logs, as he sped to his
imperiled master. Hairface had nearly
reached Roderick’s side, when the log upon
which the boy stood suddenly shot up at
one end and the young Scotchman was
thrown heavily, the end of the beam
barely missing his skull as it fell. Witha
single bound Hairface was at the side of the
prostrate figure. Instantly, another gap
yawned before them; closing his teeth
upon his master’s coat collar, the wolf-dog
dragged him back several feet to safety.

HarrFAce Spep To His IMPERILLED MASTER

)

Back to His First Love 201

Death was all about them, and the most
that Hairface could do was to haul his
master this way and that and keep him
from rolling between the logs. But this
temporary aid was just what stood between
Roderick and a terrible death, for his com-
panions were coming to his rescue, leaping
from log to log. —

The jam was so thoroughly packed that
its pounding and pushing each second
lessened. The rivermen, who were now at
Roderick’s side, hfted him in their strong
arms and bore him over the jam to the shore.

When they laid him on the solid earth,
Hairface snuggled up as close to his mas-
ter as he could get, licking the blood from
his face and washing the dirt from his
hands with his soft, long tongue. He was
nearly frantic with the deathlike stillness
of his master, and when Roderick at last
opened his eyes and stroked his head, he
barked again and again with delight.

202 A Wilderness Dog

‘“ Just that moment’s help, when Hairface

pulled me out of the way of that log and
then kept me from falling in between two
others, was what saved me,” he said as soon
as he could speak. ‘I saw the danger my-
self but was too faint to move. What do
you boys think of my wolf now?” Roder-
ick continued triumphantly. “I guess he
is about worth his weight in gold.”

CHAPTER VIII

FAITHFUL AS A DOG

CHAPTER VIII

FAITHFUL AS A DOG

On the last trip of the tote-team out of
camp and back to the settlement, still
another incident occurred that showed
Hairface’s fidelity to his master. |

When about half-way back to McGregor’s
Point, Roderick missed his wolf-dog. This
did not disturb him at first, as Hairface
often ranged wide along the trail, looking
for rabbits or other game; but, when an
hour passed and he did not appear, Roder-
ick thought it strange and whistled from
time to time. All in vain, for Hairface had
not rejoined the team when the Point was
reached.

“He's left you, mou,’ chuekled old
McCormick. ‘‘Gone back to the wolves
just as the deerhound did.”

206 A Wilderness Dog

Roderick stoutly denied this, although
he was sorely troubled by the inci-
dent.

When, the following morning, Hairface

had not returned, the boy went along the
trail to look for him, going horseback and
taking his dinner.

Nothing was seen of the missing wolf-dog
until he rounded a sharp twist in the trail,
at about the spot where Roderick had first
missed him; there he came upon him,
lying in the rough road, close by an old
coat of his master’s which had accidentally
fallen off the load.

When he saw Roderick, he leaped about
with great glee and continually ran back
and nosed the garment, as much as to say,
‘Here it is, master. I have been guarding
it until your return.”

A dog might have picked up the coat and
followed with it, but not so the wolf. His
kind had not acquired the habit of retriev-

Faithful as a Dog 207

ing, so he stayed faithfully by his master’s
property.

It was a very slight incident, yet it
brought a great lump into Roderick’s throat,
coming as it did so closely upon the scene
at the log jam. The young Scotchman
dismounted and sat upon the ground, hug-
ging his great wolf, while Hairface licked
his face and hands, feeling well pleased with
his day’s vigil.

Once back in the parish of St. Boniface,
Roderick and Hairface took up their old
duties of farmers, which had been tempo-
rarily interrupted by the winter’s work with
the tote-team. The wolf-dog’s rescue of his
master from the jam gained him a few
friends among the villagers, although he
was still viewed with disfavor by most of
them.

This summer Roderick determined to
make a sheep and cattle dog of Hairface
and began training him as soon as they

PNG
cee ed

208 A Wilderness Dog

were back upon the little farm. He took

great pride in developing his wolf, so that,
before the summer was over, Hairface was
one of the best sheep and cattle herders
in the valley of the upper Ottawa.

It is doubtful if it would have made any
difference in the young Scotchman’s resolve,
had he known in how many bloody forays
upon sheep Hairface had participated. The
great gray wolf often recalled times in the
past, when he and his sire and the Mongrel
had scattered these flocks of stupid creatures
to the wind, and then killed them right
and left.

It was a striking picture to see the tall
wolf guarding the white innocent sheep;
his hungry yellow eyes watching warily to
see that harm did not come to them. His
kind had been their sworn enemy for all
time, but now the “ lion and the lamb” were
lying down together.

About the first of October something

Faithful as a Dog 209

happened in connection with the sheep-
herding that tested the sheep-dog as no
other event could have done, and showed
how utterly he had become dog, the sworn
ally of man.

It was about the middle of October, Indian
summer in this cold northland. A dreamy
blue haze was spread like a pale, transparent
veil over all things. The sun’s rays were
mellow, like the soft smile of the dying
year, and the air was clear and cool.

Hairface and his flock were upon a side-
hill, close to an evergreen wood of spruce
and hemlock. The sheep were feeding
and the wolf sat upon his haunches, his
restless yellow eyes roving this way and
that. .

Presently, two tall gaunt figures, as mighty
as the sheep-dog, slunk through the cover
toward the open pasture-land, and stood in
the thicket peering out at the sheep and
their guardian. It was the old wolf, the

210 A Wilderness Dog

sire of Hairface, and also his litter brother,

the Mongrel.

They remained still for a few minutes
testing the air, until they had analyzed
both the scent of the flock of sheep and that
of the sheep-dog. They knew at once that
it was their comrade of many a sheep-kill-
ing, for a wolf’s nose never forgets. They
also understood intuitively, by his attitude
of watchfulness over the sheep, that he
had turned dog and gone over to their
enemy, man.

With manes up and their fangs bared,
of one impulse they started forward to kill
this wolf who had turned dog and now
guarded the sheep of their enemy, man,
the sheep who were legitimate food for
wolves.

Hairface saw his sire and the Mongrel
almost as soon as they did him. Here were
two wolves, the enemy of his friend man,
who had come to destroy the sheep that

Faithful as a Dog 211

belonged to his master, and he sprang for-
ward with bristling mane, raised hackles
and gleaming fangs to kill these sheep
destroyers. Dearer to him than life was
his master; so what mattered wounds or
even death if he might die fighting for the
‘man creature who was his god?

The old wolf and the Mongrel came on
furiously, without fear; but Hairface was
wary. He had developed his dog traits,
and they had not. He knew full well that,
if he were to win this fight, he would need
all the cunning of the dog as well as the
fierceness of the wolf.

He backed up against a juniper bush,
that his flank might be partially protected,
and prepared for the attack. He did not
have long to wait; for, without any parley
or sparring, the old wolf and the Mongrel
were upon him.

They sprang in together lke trained
fighters, and Hairface had to take the pun-

212 A Wilderness Dog

ishment of one while he punished the
other ; but his coat was much thicker than
that of either of his antagonists and this
stood him in good stead.

There was no barking, but desperate
fighting. They sprang like flashing gray
streaks, and their long jaws worked lke
machines. Fang struck shoulder and
shoulder met fang, and the blood flowed
in small trickling streams down their sides.

Soon both of Hairface’s ears were in rib-
bons and still he fought on. His sire, the
old wolf, had the skin at his throat ripped
open so that it hung in a loose flap, but he
did not mind a little thing like that.

Hairface’s own fangs then met in the
Mongrel’s shoulder and he fought on three
legs. The old wolf punished his traitorous
whelp with a great gaping wound in the
throat, but he was nothing daunted. They
should not kill his master’s sheep until
they had killed him.

Faithful as a Dog 213

Again they both sprang together and all
but knocked him off his feet. Had this
happened, his hour would have come, but
he was up like lightning and gripped the
Mongrel by the throat. He sank his teeth
deeply and then sprang back, taking a part
of his hold with him.

This stroke probably saved Hairface’s
life, for the Mongrel’s jugular vein was
torn open, and witha gasp he sank to earth
and did not rise again. He kicked feebly
and soon lay motionless. His part in the
fight was over.

Still the old wolf kept up the struggle.
Clearly, however, he was no match for
Hairface, who was fighting for his master’s
sheep, while the old wolf was merely fight-
ing for victory. Steadily the wolf-dog bore
his sire back toward the woods, until at
last, still putting up a running fight, he
disappeared in the thicket.

Hairface soon returned. Sitting down

214 A Wilderness Dog

on the hillside near to his sheep, he began
to lick his wounds. He was so spent with
fighting and loss of blood that he could
hardly stand, but this was nothing, as long
as his master’s property was safe.

That night, when Roderick came out to
salt the flock, he found his wolf-dog still
guarding them, but so stiff that he could
scarcely move. Upon interrogating him,
Hairface proudly led the way to where the
Mongrel lay dead, and, after looking over
the ground carefully, the young Scotchman
understood. So once more he sat down
upon the ground and put his arms around
the neck of his faithful friend.

A week or two after the encounter
between Hairface and his kin, Roderick
decided that it was just as well to bring the
sheep home. It was growing cold rapidly
and feed was short and dry. There had
been no losses whatever during the year,
under the watchful care of Hairface, and

Faithful as a Dog 215

he did not want anything to happen now
to break this fine record.

So the sheep were driven home, the corn
was husked, and the farm buildings were
made snug for winter.

The snows fell early and by the middle
of November there were six inches on the
ground, while the skies were a dull leaden
gray which promised more.

This was good news for Roderick and
Hairface, for it meant that they would soon
go back to the tote-team, and both liked
the wilderness better than they did the
primitive village life.

To Roderick, as to his wolf-dog, the smell
of spruce and hemlock and the gray vistas
of the forest were satisfying as only un-
trammeled nature can be. They were
never lonely in the woods, which teemed
with life and were full of low, sweet voices.
If one listened long and intently, he could
even hear the breathing of the forest, a

216 A Wilderness Dog

deep rhythmic soughing, coming at regular

intervals, like the low gasps of a mighty
bellows.

About the middle of December, Bill Hol-
land, the chaney man whose duties were
timekeeper and paymaster of the camp, was
taken sick, and Roderick was put in his
place for the time being. The young
Scotchman was a good mathematician and
capable of better things than driving the
tote-team, which he had been doing partly
for fun; so he kept the job even after Hol-
land had partially recovered and gone back
to civilization.

This camp was a small one, and the
chaney man was also the scaler, meas-
uring all the logs as they were cut and
piled.

Roderick’s new duties kept him busy
from morning till night, and also brought
him into very intimate relations with the
men. ‘The timekeeper and scaler who had

Faithful as a Dog 217

preceded him had been very slack in his
duties, and had always played into the
hands of the men in the matter of keeping
their time. He also was not particular
about the way in which they cut the logs.
This was done to curry favor with the camp.
But Roderick’s Scotch conscience would
not let him continue any of this favoritism,
which was really sharp practice. So he
docked the men whenever for any reason
they did not give in their correct time. He
also made them butt their logs carefully
and saw them close to the ground.

For this he at once became unpopular.
Besides, he was young, and had jumped
into his position over the heads of some
of the rest of the help, which also made
jealousy.

With every day that went by the feeling
grew, until, at the end of a month, Roderick
and Hairface were almost outcasts in the
camp. None of the men spoke to Roderick

Et

218 A Wilderness Dog

unless they were obliged to, and Hairface

was hated even more than he had been the
year before.

Such a thing might not have happened
in an intelligent community, but this was
one of the roughest camps upon the upper
Ottawa. Its members were gathered from
all quarters of Canada, although most were
either French, Canuck, Scotch, or Scotch-
Irish.

The trouble between Roderick and the
men probably never would have been very
serious had not Whiskey Jake, a rumseller
from McGregor’s Point, smuggled liquor
into the camp. As it was against the regu-
lations to have liquor, he came in the even-
ing, bringing his goods in a sleigh, and
departed before daylight ; but he left behind
him several large demijohns, and the effect
of his visit was at once apparent in the
demeanor of the men. The boss was also
away for a few days at this critical time,

Faithful as a Dog 219

which made them under less restraint than
they would otherwise have been.

They had treated Roderick with silent
disdain before, but now they openly jeered
and leeredathim. This attitude of the men
grew worse and worse as the days wore on,
and Roderick hoped and prayed that the
boss might return or that the bad whiskey
might give out.

At last the trouble reached a crisis when
the young Scotchman refused to scale a log
unless it was rebutted, saying that it could
not be sawed as it was, and that it would
have to be done at the mills if it were not
done now.

Instantly, there was a storm among the
men, and an excited crowd gathered around
the scaler. Oneofthe men, Mike Mahoney,
the bully of the camp, and head chopper,
swore that Roderick would scale the log or
he would kill him.

But Roderick came of a race that had

220 A Wilderness Dog

died for their faith, and the threat of the
bully had no terror for him, although he

was backed by a dozen ruffians, who were
half drunk, and all anxious to help pound
him.

Mahoney laid a heavy hand upon the
young man’s shoulder and glowered upon
him, but Roderick looked straight in his
bleared eyes, his own clear blue eyes glint-
ing like steel.

‘Whatever you fellows see fit to do, I
shall not scale that log until it is squared
up at the butt,” he declared, in a quiet,
ringing voice, in which was not a tremor.

This declaration was the signal for a roar
of anger from the men and a combined at-
tack, which, in a second, attained the
fury of a football rush. Mike’s heavy fist
was aimed at Roderick’s head, but he warded
off the blow by a hair’s breadth and re-
turned the bully one in the face.

It was a hopeless fight, however, for in

Faithful as a Dog 221

five seconds the brave young fellow was
down and a dozen reckless men, so crazed
with whiskey that they hardly knew what
they did, were kicking the life out of their —
victim with their heavy boots.

“Stop, we'll kill him,” warned one of the
gang, who was a little less intoxicated than
his fellows. :

“That’s what we intend to do,” growled
Mike. “ Boot him, boys, boot him.”

Just at that second there was a change in
the program, which could not have been
more sudden if a ten-inch shell had been
thrown in their midst and burst at the very
heart of the fight. A tall, gaunt, gray figure,
making fifteen feet at a bound, came out of
the woods like a cyclone and landed with a -
last mighty leap full upon the top of the
struggling mass.

It was Hairface and his fury was terrible
to see. His mane and hackles were up, and
his cavernous mouth was open, ready for

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222 A Wilderness Dog
the death-dealing snap. Every inch of his

one hundred and twenty-five pounds of
whip-cord sinews and his rawhide muscles
seemed bursting with rage. The horrible
sound, half snarl and half roar, that came
from his throat as he sprang, was enough to
freeze the blood in the veins of the terrified
lumbermen.

Right and left he ripped and slashed with
his mighty jaws. Here he tore open an arm,
there he laid a thigh-bone bare and white;
but by good fortune he happened not to
strike at any man’s throat.

Roderick, at the bottom of the heap,
heard the snarl, and knew well what it
meant. Although he instantly understood
that his wolf-dog had come in just the right
moment to save his life, a great fear seized
him. Unless he could free himself and
stop the enraged brute, he would kill half
of them. No one knew how Hairface loved
his master. His fury was terrible.

Faithful as a Dog 223

‘“ Hairface, back,” he called through the
struggling mass. ‘“ Back, I say, Hairface ;
back.”’

With lightning-like haste those who
could struggled out of the mass, and fled in

every direction, each for himself. They
were almost as white with fear as was the
snow upon the ground; their eyes bulged
out from their heads, and their teeth chat-
tered.

At the sound of his master’s voice, Hair-
face paused for a second in his deadly work.
In that second Roderick reached up his
hand and catching hold of the long coarse
hair upon his neck, spoke gently to him.
The wolf-dog still continued to growl like
a demon, but he stopped long enough to
lick his master’s hand.

“Now, men,” called Roderick, “ pile off
as carefully as you can and I will hold
him.”

As fearfully as though they were working

Se

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224 A Wilderness Dog

with dynamite, the men untangled them-
selves and stood erect, as astonished and ter-
rified a set of lumbermen as the Canadian
woods had ever seen.

Roderick was covered with bruises and
blood flowed freely from a cut upon his
head, but otherwise he was not injured.

Hairface stood by his side, still raging,
all eagerness to get at his master’s enemies.

‘“ Boys,” said Roderick, as soon as he got
his breath, “ you might have killed me had
it not been for Hairface, and I feel he has
saved you as horrible a fate as he has me.
But I know that you are full of whiskey,
and not more than half responsible, so | am
going to overlook it this time, with one ex-
ception. I feel that you have been the
tools of an unscrupulous man, whom we
will be well rid of.”

Then, turning to the bully who had led
the attack, he said: ‘Mike, you git. Il
will give you just two minutes to do it.

Faithful as a Dog pos

When that time is up, I will let Hairface at
your throat.”

One glance at the wolf-dog was enough
for Mike. He turned without a word and,
not even stopping for his cap, which had
been knocked off in the scrimmage, took
the trail for McGregor’s Point, at the best
pace of which he was capable. Hairface
followed him with his blazing yellow eyes
until the blue-green plumes of the forest
hid him from sight.

CHAPTER IX

HEARD IN THE SILENCE

SS

CHAPTER IX

HEARD IN THE SILENCE

In the latter part of February of the
same season when Hairface had rescued
Roderick from the fury of the lumbermen,
the young Scotchman was sent across
country to a neighboring lumber-camp.
Here for a day or two he was to help with
the scaling of the logs, the local scaler hav-
ing been taken sick, which had caused the
work to get behind.

There had been a glare crust for several
days, and Hairface, who had been hunting
assiduously, had cut his feet so badly on
the crust that he could hardly stand ; for
the first time in two years, therefore, he was
left behind. His master tied him in the
stable and explained to him, as well as he

230 A Wilderness Dog

was able, that he could not accompany him,
and was not to make a fuss. At first the
wolf-dog was nearly heart-broken, but Billy,
the stable-boy, was very good to him, and
he finally decided to make the best of a
bad matter.

The second day after Roderick’s depar-
ture, it began to snow, and all day and all
night long it came down steadily. Toward
the following noon, the storm ceased ; and
men and teams were soon busy breaking
out the camp and the log-roads, which had
become badly blocked.

About five o’clock Billy, who was bed-
ding down the horses and making them
snug for the night, noticed that Hairface
was whining as he lay asleep in his
corner.

Thinking that the dog was the victim of
a bad dream, Billy went over and spoke
to him; to his great astonishment the wolf-
dog leaped up with bared fangs and glaring

Heard in the Silence 231

eyes. His mane was erect, every hair upon
his back bristled, and every muscle seemed
quivering with rage.

Billy beat a hasty retreat into a distant
corner, while Hairface still stood glaring
about, winking and blinking, not yet quite
sure of himself, or where he was.

Then his eyes lost the look of uncer-
tainty, and their light was lke two glowing
coals in a camp-fire. With a sound, half
roar, half howl, he sprang against his strong
chain. Once, twice, he sprang; the second
time the snap straightened and he was free.
Straight towards the door he rushed, but it
was shut, so he turned to the window.
With a mighty bound he went crashing
through it, carrying glass, sash, and all,
before him.

Billy followed to the opening and peered
after him, his eyes bulging with fright.
The wolf-dog was running like the wind,
belly to earth, making a bee-line through

232 A Wilderness Dog

the woods, to what Billy could not for the

life of him imagine.

Five minutes later a belated teamster
came in, declaring that the wolf-dog had
gone mad.

“Faith, an’ he wuz runnin’ like the
divil was arter him. No dog in his right
mind cuts up such didoes. I tell you, he
is mad.”

Meanwhile, Roderick had made a suc-
cessful trip to the neighboring camp, and
had completed his work of scaling. The
second afternoon, when the storm had
ceased, he had started for home, in spite
of the remonstrances of the lumbermen,
who knew better than he how deep and
heavy the snow was and how it would
weigh him down.

When he had covered about half of the
distance back to the home camp, one of
his snow-shoes broke, and it took quite a
while to mend it. Not only did this con-

Heard in the Stlence 233

sume time, but the shoe now gave out at the
break every mile or so, and he was obliged
to stop to repair it. This, together with
the very hard traveling, so delayed him
that when night fell he had covered barely
half the distance back to camp. At first,
his plight seemed more uncomfortable than
alarming, for the weather was not so very
cold; he would not freeze. To think of
making a camp was out of the question, as
he had no matches with him. The snow
was ‘very deep, but that was not an insur-
mountable obstacle.

He could not find his way by the stars,
as it was cloudy, and there was not light
enough for him to travel by the lean of the
timber. There was little else for him to

do, therefore, but to keep walking so as
not to get cold, and wait as patiently as he
might for the coming of morning.

About six o’clock, when he had been
tramping to and fro in this hopeless man-

234 A Wilderness Dog

ner for perhaps an hour, a long, high-
keyed, desolate howl floated down the
aisles of the snow-laden spruces to his ears.

He had heard this cry too often to be un-

certain as to what it was. He knew it at
once to be the hunting cry of the gray
wolf.

Then he remembered with some alarm
that it had been a very hard winter for all
the carnivorous wood folk, a lean year, as
lumbermen say. These great brutes must
be hungry, and he was unarmed, having
gone light in order that he might make a
quick trip.

At this point in his thoughts, he detected
a slumping sound in the snow near at hand,
and, whirling about, saw a wolf, a giant of
his kind, standing not thirty paces away,
eyeing him hungrily.

In another moment, he heard a similar
sound in an opposite direction, and, turning
about, beheld another wolf. Presently these

Heard in the Silence 235

were joined by two more, who paused at
about the same distance away and stood
watching him intently.

The sudden appearance of this wolf pack
at such close quarters so amazed Roderick,
—for he had seen no signs that he was be-
ing followed,—that for a moment his mind,
usually so alert in a crisis, refused to for-
mulate any plan, and in this moment of
hesitation he lost very valuable time.

Being unarmed, his best course was to
climb a tree, but he stood with his back
against a little poplar until the pack had
drawn in so close that for him to select a
better refuge than this offered was out of
the question.

When this alternative did occur to him,
he shinned up the tree for six or eight feet,
getting up just high enough to be out of the
way of the wolves when they should spring
for him; but his position was a most un-
certain one. The tree, which barely bore

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236 A Wilderness Dog

his weight, swayed and bent considerably,
and the limb upon which his feet rested
seemed weak.

In his flight up to this doubtful perch,
he had taken one of the snow-shoes with
him; but it was a very poor substitute for
a club. Besides, he did not dare move
about enough to use it, for fear that any
movement might either break the limb upon
which he stood, or cause the tree itself to
bend down so close to the ground that the
wolves might spring up and reach him. It
was a position that could not be maintained -
for a very long time, and the question was
from what source could any possible help
come.

For fifteen or twenty minutes the poor
fugitive clung desperately, while the hungry
pack beneath tried their best to get at him.
At first they came and sat in an expectant
circle about the tree, looking up with their
yellow phosphorous eyes, their lips wrinkled

Heard in the Silence 237

and their fangs bared. Then they tried
springing at their prey and at each spring
their cavernous mouths opened and occa-
sionally their white teeth clicked, although
they could not reach the man within a foot
or two.

Then their leader, a taller and more pow-
erful wolf than the rest of the pack, stood
upon his hind legs, and put his paws as far
up the trunk of the tree as possible, stretch-
ing up his sharp nose hungrily.

Roderick thought that the wolf got much
too close for comfort, so he reached down
with the snow-shoe and aimed a smart blow
at the nose. His movements were not as
quick as those of the wolf, whose nose was
jerked back just far enough to escape the
blow, but whose powerful jaws closed upon
the snow-shoe; at the same time he leaped
to all fours, giving a strong pull upon the
weapon.

At first, Roderick thought to keep hold

238 A Wilderness Dog

of the snow-shoe, but the wolf pulled so hard
and quick, and the tree bent so violently,
that he let go to save himself. This action
was too late, however, for the centre of
gravity had been moved so far from imme-
diately over the butt of the tree that, when
Roderick released his hold upon the snow-
shoe, the sapling did not recoil as he had
expected, but slowly bent lower and lower,
each second bringing him a few inches
nearer the upstretched jaws waiting to re-
ceive him.

In moments of supreme peril like this in
which the young Scotchman now found him-
self, the mind takes no account of time, but
tells off days, months or years, with light-
ning-like rapidity. It can, when forced to
do so, make a marvelous kinetoscope of
memory and put years into seconds.

So Roderick, suspended in mid-air, with
the yawning jaws of the pack beneath him,
recalled many stirring scenes in his life,

Heard in the Silence 239

and particularly the struggles of two
wolves that he had trapped several years
before. Then he had been the victor, but
now it was their turn. The wheel of for-
tune had revolved and he was on the under
side.

In imagination he saw his limbs being
torn, and the red blood spurting from the
wounds. He even saw his bones white and
fleshless, as they would doubtless be in
another hour. All these and other horrors
raced madly through his mind, and cold
sweat stood upon his forehead in great drops.

Then the grim, gaunt old wolf, leader of
the pack, made a mighty leap and caught
the young man by the toe of the boot, hold-
ing on just long enough to give a strong
tug upon it. This added weight was too
much for the brittle poplar, which snapped
with a report like the crack of a pistol,
bringing man, tree-top, and all, down into
the springing, snapping, eager wolf pack.

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240 A Wilderness Dog

The accident was so sudden, and the tree-

top made such a swishing sound as it fell,
that for one moment the wolves sprang
back; but, as they saw the man struggle
to his feet, they were upon him.

As a dying man clutches at a straw,
Roderick reached for the snow-shoe, and,
with this poor weapon clenched fiercely in
his hand, he made his last stand. He
swung it about his head like one mad,
striking in all directions at once, and all
the time keeping up a hideous yelling,
hoping by mere noise to hold them at a
distance.

For a few seconds these tactics worked,
but the wolves soon discovered that noise
did them no harm and came at him with
deadly intent. Again and again he struck
them off, but the snow-shoe had no sharp
corner. Its ends were nicely rounded, and
struck merely a glancing blow. Twice
he stunned members of the pack, but in a

Heard in the Silence 241

second or two they were up and at him
again.

Soon their long jaws began to rip his
clothing. First his coat-sleeve went, and
then a wolf laid his trousers-leg open for
the entire length. His superhuman efforts
made his breath come in short gasps. Al-
ready the force of his blows was diminish-
ing. A few more seconds and all would be
over.

In the very thick of the fight, when the
four wolves had sprung at once, and had
all but borne him to earth, a fifth wolf,
much larger than any of the pack, cleared
the near-by thicket at a bound, and with
two more great jumps landed fairly in the
tree-top at Roderick’s side. The struggling
man saw him coming, but was too spent to
ward him off. Besides, he could not see
plainly, for his eyes were dim with the
exertion he was making.

Instinctively his hand went down to .

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242 A Wilderness Dog
clutch the newcomer by the throat, to dis-

lodge him, if possible; but his grip relaxed
almost as it touched the wolf’s coat, for it
fell upon a stout leather collar, thickly
studded with tacks. Frantically he clutched
again at the wolf. He trembled so that he
could scarcely control his hand. Then a
cry of joy broke from his lps. It was
Hairface.

Hope, like a bright flame, leaped up in the
boy’s heart, new strength flowed freely into
his exhausted muscles, and he gripped the
snow-shoe, crying: ‘“ At ’em, Hairface.
Give ’em fits. We'll lick ’em yet.”

The great dog-wolf, whose heart was fairly
bursting with love for his master and with
hate for his assailants, needed no urging.
Like an avenging fury he fell upon the
pack. At the first rush, he caught one of
the young wolves in the side of the throat,
ripping open his jugular vein, and put him
at once out of the combat.

Heard in the Silence 243

But in another second the grizzled old
wolf, the leader of the pack, was upon
Hairface, and the two trained fighters
struggled like giants in this death game.
They sprang like lightning, and their great
jaws met in each other’s shoulders and
faces. Blood flowed in tiny rivulets. One
of the young wolves wounded Hairface
badly in the flank, but still he fought on,
while Roderick used his snow-shoe with
might and main upon the two remaining
wolves.

At last Hairface caught the old wolf in
the throat grip, and, following his dog in-
stinct, held on. Deeper and deeper he
sank his fangs into the old fighter’s throat,
each second shutting off his wind more
effectively. Theleader struggled frantically
to free himself, but it was useless. Hair-
face held him with a grip like steel. Pres-
ently he found the jugular vein in the old
wolf’s throat, and his blood flowed freely.

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244 A Wilderness Dog

This was the beginning of the end, for
the old warrior’s strength was going ; pres-
ently he sank down in the snow gasping
out his life, and the two remaining wolves
fled in panie.

Soon Hairface released his hold upon the
old wolf, and stood over him, watching his
life ebb. He no longer growled or roared,
and Roderick thought the look of rage in
his face was replaced by an almost wistful
expression. The breathing of the dying
wolf grew feebler and feebler. Hairface
still stood above him watching, but he did
not see the snow-bound forest, or the
dying wolf before him.

He saw a moonlit meadow where a pa-
tient old wolf taught three eager wolf-dogs
to catch mice, and he remembered with
pride that the teacher always favored him.
He saw the den by the rocks, and the old
wolf bringing home a rabbit for his three
hungry whelps, while he himself went

Heard in the Silence 245

supperless to bed. He saw the pitiless
snow-bound forest and the bull moose at
bay, while his sire again and again risked
his life that he might win meat for his
offspring.

Then, as the old wolf gave his last gasp,
kicked, and lay still in death, Hairface
tenderly licked his face, softly caressing the
ugly visage. It was his dog heart that had
spoken, for the dead wolf was his sire.

Roderick looked on in amazement until
he remembered that Hairface himself had
once been a wolf, and then he thought he
understood. ‘“ Never mind, old fellow,” he
said cheerily. ‘It is all in the day’s work.
He would have done it to you if he
could.”

The man’s voice aroused Hairface from
his dreams of the wolf life. He came and
licked his master’s hands again and again,
snuggled in under his arm and got as
close to him as possible, telling him in the

tn i A A

246 A Wilderness Dog

plainest dog language that his surrender
was complete, and that every drop of blood
in his body and every ounce of strength in
his frame was his master’s for all time.

CHAPTER X

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CHAPTER X
THE RED RAGE

Wuat a thing of beauty and grace is
the luxuriant primeval forest in summer-
time; the forest where the profane ring of
the axe has never been heard, and where
the breast of Mother Earth is still un-
scarred by the hand of man. What a
wealth of life, of growth, of fragrance, and
what a quiet spell it casts over one, invit-
ing tired man to lay his troubles at the
feet of Nature and bea care-free child again.

The light in the deep forest is a half
twilight, like that in some mighty cathedral
filtered through green stained-glass win-
dows; only the light of the forest is purer
than that of the temple.

Its carpets are as soft and luxuriant as
those in the church. The foot sinks as

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250 A Wilderness Dog

noiselessly in the moss as in the most costly
Persian rug. Its pattern, too, is infinitely
more pleasing than that of the rug, for
nature never repeats. You cannot find, no
matter how long you search, one blade of
grass that is quite like another. There is
no fern frond but has some peculiarity all
its own. God was not so busy when He
fashioned the universe, that He could not
find time to make a new pattern for each
of His creations, no matter how tiny. Of
all the countless number of snowflakes
that have fallen to earth, the microscope
has yet to discover two alike.

The incense in the woods is sweeter and
more alluring than that of the church, for
it teems with life. Each fragrance, each
aroma, tells a story all its own; a story of
life that throbs and yearns toward the
light, that expands and fulfils its destiny.

The choristry in the woods is sweeter,
more melodious than that in the church,

The Red Rage 251

for what human vocalist can chant like the
hermit thrush? Not only do the birds sing,
but a hundred little crawling, creeping
things all have voices of their own; sweet
little undertones and overtones in the great
Te Deum.

Into this sanctuary of the Most High
come the lumbermen in obedience to the
call of commerce. From morn till night
the ring of the axe resounds in the cathedral
aisles of the woods. Huge sentinel pines
and spruces, that have seen half a dozen
generations of men come and go, totter
upon their broad stumps and fall to earth,
and “ great is the fall thereof.”

The ferns, the mosses, the creeping vines
are ruthlessly crushed and killed. For
green freshness and growth, there are left
sawdust and chips, bleeding tree-stumps
and death—death, dearth and desolation.

Go through the green woods in the
summer before it has been despoiled, and

252 A Wilderness Dog

then again the following spring in the wake
of the lumbermen, and you will not recog-
nize it as the same place. The tops of the
fallen giants, which in their haste and
greed the spoilers of the forest did not even
limb out, are piled mountain high; while
in every direction there is a tangle of dead
limbs, chips, chip dirt, sawdust and tree-
stumps.

Such were the conditions along the ten
miles of trail that Roderick traversed every
other day with the tote-team, the fourth
autumn of his connection with the Ottawa
Lumber Company. The trail led through
two years’ cuttings, farther on into the
wilderness. But this autumn was quite
different from anything that the young
Scotchman had ever known, as far as
nature and the woods and fields were con-
cerned.

Usually there had been six inches or a
foot of snow when he began his trips, but

The Red Rage 253

this year there was barely enough to make
the ground white, and so Roderick had to
use an old wood-shod sled, which would
run smoothly where an iron-shod sled
would scratch. Even this little snow dis-
appeared the first warm day after its fall,
and the ground was as dry and as crisp as
it had been before. :

No rain had fallen since the middle of
August, and the country was in the clutches
of the worst drought old lumbermen re-
membered ever experiencing.

In midsummer even the leaves had
turned a sickly yellow, beginning with the
trees upon the uplands, which usually turn
latest. The ferns had also curled up their
long graceful fronds into fantastic shapes,
as though they had writhed and twisted in
agony from the great thirst that was over
all the land. Springs had gone dry that
had never before failed in the memory of
man. The smaller streams either had en-

254 A Wilderness Dog

tirely dried up or had been reduced toa
mere succession of pools, with rocks and
sand between. The grass had withered to
a brown crisp. It was so dry that the
sheep had partially given up grazing, and
had nibbled the leaves from bushes, which
were slightly greener.

Dust was everywhere. It lay thick upon
the dried grass and leaves. The walls and
fences were covered with it. It was in the
very air one breathed. The sun rose ina
yellow haze and set in a blood-red sea of
fire.

The birds and all the four-footed den-
izens of the fields were ill at ease. Mother
Nature was sick, and all partook of her
malady. The crow clan often flew home to
roost in the spruces when the sun was still
three hours high. The eagle wheeled cease-
lessly in the troubled sky, and screamed
when there was apparently nothing to cause
alarm. One day a muskrat left his native

The Red Rage 2E¢

stream, which had gone dry, and actually
came into the village, where he ferociously
attacked a peaceful pedestrian and would
not desist until knocked senseless with a
club. ‘“‘He was mad,” an old woodsman
said. And who can wonder? When Na-
ture herself has gone mad, what is left for
her little furry children who are so depend-
ent upon her caprices?

In the deep woods, or what had been the
deep woods before the lumberman’s axe
swept it, the drought was still more appar-
ent.

All summer long the gum and the tur-
pentine had been oozing from stumps and
the ragged ends of limbs; the chips and the
chip dirt had been drying and_ baking.
The myriad needles upon the dead tree-tops,
no longer supplied with the life-giving sap,
had turned sear and dry.

By November all the vast forest waste,
that the lumbermen had left in their wake,

256 A Wilderness Dog

was tinder. The dead leaves, the wrinkled
fronds, the brittle, lifeless limbs, the pitch-

covered stumps, the dry chip dirt,—all were

like a powder mill; impotent in themselves,
yet holding in their impassive grains and
fibres the power of a terrible holocaust.

Old lumbermen shook their heads and
looked anxiously each day toward the
cloudless sky. Both the sky and the earth
had a ghastly appearance, that made even
the most familiar places seem new and
strange.

One morning when Roderick started on
his trip to the Point, there was a strong
gale blowing from the northeast, and this
made the lumbermen more anxious than
ever. Hairface was not in camp when the
team left, and Roderick did not wait for
him, knowing well that he would soon dis-
cover that he had gone, and would follow.

About half an hour afterward, the Cookee
ran screaming and gesticulating from the

The Red Rage 257

mess-room. He was a little Frenchman
and very excitable ordinarily, but now he
seemed fairly beside himself. He waved
his arms about his head shouting, “ Py Gar,
Francois done one pig fool ting. We all
burn up for suah, now. Christus, Holy
Mother, save us.” }

Even as he spoke a great cloud of smoke
came pouring through the roof, almost im-
mediately followed by a tiny flame, the red
tongue of evil.

The Cookee had been frying doughnuts
and the fat had caught fire. He had lost
his head and pitched the kettle into the
corner of the room which had been in flames
almost before he could turn around.

For one second the tiny flame on the
roof flickered and quivered, uncertain of its
power, and then it felt the strong wind and
knew that its hour had come.

Like a demon, a thing of life, it leaped ten
feet into the air, sucking up a small whirl-

258 A Wilderness Dog

pool of dust and powdered chips from the
roof of the building ; dust and chips which
had been drying and baking all summer
long in the scorching sun, and which already
trembled and vibrated with warmth.

As the bright pillar of fire swept this
cloud of dust into its great red mouth, it
roared with triumph; it leaped and danced
with glee; it hissed like some great serpen-
tine fury that gloated over its prey so near
at hand.

Again the monster leaped and this time
an old weather-scarred pine above the mess-
house caught. For five seconds the flames
traveled uncertainly in the lower branches,
and then, with a rush and an exultant
whoop, sprang to the top of the tall tree,
at once gaining the advantage of a crown
fire. For a moment it burned bright in the
tree-top, as though waiting for new strength
after its climb; then, as a strong gust of
wind struck it, leaped twenty-five feet into

The Red Rage 259

the air, roaring like an insensate thing.
Like a red devil it towered above the sur-
rounding tree-tops, hissing and spurting out
greedy branch tongues of flame in every
direction.

Lashing itself into double fury, this red
rage of nature burned on, the life and the
warmth of the world gone mad; the most
terrible force in nature, before which men
are as flies, once it sets its red seal of de-
struction upon the landscape.

At this point a dozen lumbermen came
running breathless into camp. Their
swarthy faces were white with fear. Their
voices were hoarse with excitement and
anger. They pointed, they gesticulated,
yet were as helpless as the forest itself,
while the great demon in the tree-tops
leaped from sentinel pine to noble spruce,
impartial in his fury, opening his great
jaws of fire and engulfing an entire tree at
a mouthful.

260 A Wilderness Dog

There was not much immediate danger

for the men. A strong gale was blowing,
and they could go to the leeward of the
fire; but the camp was doomed, and the
cuttings of the two previous years would be
swept clean,—God only knew how much
more. It might sweep all the way to the
Ottawa River with this gale behind it.

Just at this point in the development of
this holocaust of nature, the tall gaunt form
of Hairface came racing excitedly into
camp. He ran first to the stable, and then
to the trail leading to McGregor’s Point.
One sniff at the dry earth told him all that
he wanted to know. Anxiously his wrin-
kled, hairy face was lifted to the lurid tree-
tops, where the great pillars of fire leaped
like red devils; they had felt the strong
gale at their backs and had begun a mad
race toward the Ottawa. From tree-top
to tree-top they leaped, taking fifty feet at a
jump, running like the wind behind them.

The Red Rage 261

In a swift second Hairface observed all

these things. Then the tough sinews in
his mighty frame became pliable, his whip-
cord muscles loosened, as he stretched his
long racing length to. mother earth and
covered the trail toward McGregor’s Point
as only a mighty wolf could.
In the tree-tops above him the flames
roared and hissed. Bits of burning twigs
fell about him. The air grew unbearably
hot. A thick smoke, like a sea of fog,
rolled ahead of this sea of fire. It was
verily the crack of doom. Nature was
avenging herself upon impotent man for
all his desecration of the ancient woods.

Meanwhile Roderick, all unconscious of
the scourge that was galloping through the
tree-tops behind him, was jogging slowly on
his way to McGregor’s Point. The first in-
timation that he had of danger behind was
received when he mounted a rise in the
trail which at this point passed over a

262 A Wilderness Dog

ridge. As he came out upon the crest of
the hill, he noticed a flock of crows flying
over with great haste. The crow is usually
a leisurely flyer, but these seemed in a
great hurry; besides they were squalling
excitedly. When they had passed, Roder-
ick turned his head, and looked back along
the way he had come.

To his amazement the entire horizon line
in his rear was ablaze. The sheet of fire
seemed fully a mile wide, and it was com-
ing toward him at a pace that made his
cheek pale as he gazed. Here and there
tall pillars of fire told where a giant tree
was being wrapped in its winding-sheet.
These tall pyramids of fire leaped con-
stantly from point to point, but always
toward him. The smoke from the holo-
caust was barely half a mile away, and Rod-
erick fancied that he could hear the roaring
of the monster as it approached.

This fire must be running thirty miles an

The Red Rage 263

hour, he thought. With the wood-shod sled
and the horse he could not make ten, but
perhaps he might keep ahead of it on
horseback. In less time than it takes to
tell it, he had unhitched the animal and
was upon his back, racing for dear life.
He had picked up a stick as he sprang upon
the horse and he now plied it with all
his might, for it was a case of spare the rod
and lose not only his life, but also that of
the good steed.

The trail was very rough. The horse
slipped and occasionally nearly floundered
upon the treacherous leaves and the yield-
ing moss. The harness, which he had not
had time to make secure, flopped about
ceaselessly. It was a mad race for life, with

danger at every point. A misstep and a
fall for horse and rider would be fatal.
Still another disadvantage was found in
the fact that the trail was crooked. It
did not always proceed directly away from

264 A Wilderness Dog

the fire, but wound in and out through the
most favorable ground. Yet the unblazed

trail was so uncertain that Roderick dared
not leave the beaten track to cut across
country.

For ten minutes they spedon. Although
he lashed the horse frantically, the fire
gained steadily on them. The thick clouds
of smoke that rolled for half a mile ahead
of the whirlwind of flame were already
about them. Now, he could hear the roar
of the pursuing monster, and it was like
that of a mighty cataract.

Occasionally a burning twig would fall
across their path, catching the leaves upon
the ground almost immediately, and these
little outspurts of flame enabled the whirl-
wind to travel more rapidly.

The horse was now as much terrified as
Roderick and needed no whip, but strained
its every muscle. Each time the trail made
a sharp turn or doubled back upon itself,

The Red Rage 265

Roderick groaned. Their lives might hang
upon only a minute; for he felt sure that,
once out of the cuttings of the past two
years, the fire could not run so rapidly, and
perhaps he could distance it if he could
keep up this pace for four or five miles more.

But the roar of the flames behind grew
louder all the time, the smoke in the air
grew thicker, and the falling of sparks and
bits of burning bark about them became
more and more frequent. The cloud of
smoke was now dense about them, and the
great leaping pyramids of fire were barely
half a mile behind.

Anxiously Roderick turned his head to
get one more look at the advancing sea of
fire, and to estimate his chances for life ;
and in that second of inattention to the
trail and his flying steed, something hap-
pened that took away the slight fighting
chance that he had possessed the moment
before.

266 A Wilderness Dog

At the instant that he turned his head, a
low limb from a tree beside the trail, a
limb such as he had been dodging all the
way, caught him under the chin, and, as
he was unprepared for it, the obstacle
brushed him from the horse’s back like a
fly. The steed galloped frantically on,
leaving him sprawling by the trail, dazed
and uncertain. The horror of his situation
soon aroused him, and in a moment he was
up and after the flying horse. There was
no hope of overtaking him; it was now a
race on foot, but he must make the best
fight that he could. So he set his teeth
hard, leaned far forward, and ran as he had
never run before.

Even at his utmost pace, which he could
maintain for not over half a mile, the fire
bore down upon him with alarming swift-
ness. The smoke grew more dense, sparks
fell constantly, and the air thickened as
though with the blackness of his doom.

The Red Rage 267

Deer, running with the speed of the wind,
raced frantically by him. Foxes, belly to
earth, stretched their supple limbs and sped
by like red streaks. Large birds flew
screaming overhead. The rabbit, terror
lending wings to its usually fleet limbs,
flashed by. Everything in earth and air
seemed to be outstripping the poor man in
his race for life.

Cold sweat stood upon his brow, and his
breath came in quick gasps. Five minutes,
yes, three minutes more and the flames
would engulf him. Even now the smoke
was so thick that he could hardly breathe
or see, or was it partly the exertion he was
making that dimmed his sight? Despair
clutched the young man. It was awful to
die like this; a rat in atrap. To be burned
to a crisp, like a brush heap, without being
able to do a thing to save one’s self was horri-
ble. Was there no help in earth or heaven ?

Then his toe caught under a projecting

268 A Wilderness Dog

root, and he fell heavily. For a second he
did not rise. What was the use anyhow?
It was all over.

In this moment of uncertainty, when
hope flickered and almost went out, a great
gray shape sprang through the gloom and
a cavernous mouth was closed upon his
arm. The teeth did not sink in his flesh,
but tugged frantically at his clothes, and a
flash of intelligence like a bright flame
illumined his brain. It was Hairface.

With a glad cry, Roderick sprang to his
feet, and hope again leaped in his heart.
He had a strange intuition that his good
old friend had come in some miraculous
way to save him. Else, why had God sent
him in this hour of peril? But how the
miracle was to be wrought he did not know.

He turned to flee along the trail and away
from the fire, calling to Hairface to follow ;
but the wolf-dog caught him by the sleeve
and pulled him to one side, indicating

FRANTICALLY THEY RACED THROUGH THE SCORCHING Woops

The Red Rage 269

plainly that they should travel directly
across the path of this whirlwind of flame.
Roderick hesitated, as the meaning of

the dog’s action dawned upon him. It was
utter madness. They could not make half
the fight in that direction that they could
running straight ahead. Again he started
along the trail, but this time Hairface in
his insistence tore the sleeve from his coat.
So the young man yielded to the dog’s en-
treaties and took the direction indicated.
Frantically they raced through the scorch-
ing woods, the burning twigs falling all
about them, and the main army of flames
only a furlong away.

Presently Roderick noticed that his feet
sank deep in soft moss, and then, with a
glad bark, Hairface, who was one jump
ahead of his master, plunged into a small
swamp pool, not over thirty or forty feet in
length, and perhaps twenty wide. Roder-
ick followed and hope, which dies hard in

270 A Wilderness Dog

the young, again burned high, and the
wonderful instinct of his wolf-dog was at
once apparent to him.

Wilderness creatures from the beginning
of time have taken refuge from forest fires
in lakes and streams, and this was the best
substitute for it that there was at hand.

To prove that it had been Hairface’s wild
instinct which had guided them hither,
there was in the pool near by them another
wolf, as well as a bear, a buck and two does,
and half a dozen small creatures bobbing
about uncertainly upon the water. It was
surely a queer company that took refuge in
this pool in the morass: the buck and his
slayer, the gray wolf; the bear and his
slayer, man, who is always looking for his
coat. Truly the “lion and the lamb” were
to “lie down together” upon this terrible
day. |

While Roderick looked, trying to make
out in the darkness who were his strange

The Red Rage 271

companions, the smoke settled lke a thick
pall over everything and the heat grew al-
most unbearable. Sparks came down upon
them in showers, and occasionally burning
brands fell hissing in the pool.

Hairface was lying with his entire body
submerged and only the tip of his nose
showing, and his master followed his ex-
ample. Surely his wild instinct was the
best guide in such an extremity.

When the heat became so fierce that he
could no longer stand it at the surface,
Roderick would plunge his face under
water, and when he could no longer
breathe, he would come to the surface again
for fresh air. But at such times the heat
quickly drove him under. Finally he hit
upon the expediency of covering his face
with his cap, which had been drenched with
water, and this partly protected him and at
the same time gave him achance to breathe.

At best it was a frightful ordeal. The

272 A Wilderness Dog

buck plunged frantically from time to time,
as though about to break away and flee into
the fire. The bear also was most uneasy,
and waded from side to side of the pool,
trying vainly to find a cool spot. Only the
man, the wolf-dog, and the real wolf seemed
to have intelligence enough to appreciate all
the facts in the case.

For half an hour, and it seemed to Roder-
ick like an eternity, they sweltered and
choked, alternately ducking their heads
under the water to escape the terrific heat,
and then coming to the surface to inhale
some of the smoke-thick air.

Hairface and Roderick kept side by side,
and the wolf-dog occasionally snuggled up
to his master as though to tell him that it
was all right.

Finally the heat abated a little, although
the smoke was still thick as night, and they
could at last keep their heads above the
water all the time. When they had lain

The Red Rage 273

for another hour in the seething pool, they
came forth, covered with mud and grime,
but safe.

Slowly they picked their way through

the still smouldering forest, where the red
rage had set its black seal upon every-
thing. It was a desolate scene. Dearth
was everywhere, but what did it matter as
long as their lives had been spared ?

CHAPTER XI-

“THE WILDERNESS CALL

CHAPTER XxI
THE WILDERNESS CALL

Axout the first of February, when the
wilderness was in the Titanic grip of old
winter, when spruce and hemlock and
laurel were snow-laden, when the throbbing
of the very heart of nature had almost ceased
because of the intense cold, Roderick and
Hairface made their last trip together with
the tote-team, although neither appreciated
this fact as they wound in and out of the
ghostly aisles of the forest.

There seemed to. be some instinctive
knowledge of coming separation in the
mind of the wolf-dog, for he several times
jumped upon the load and wriggled up as
closely as he could to his master, as though

he would fain express the great dog love

278 A Wilderness Dog

that welled up in him, to the obliteration
of all other feeling.

That night, when Roderick arrived home,
he made the horse snug for the night as
usual, and then reached under the seat of
the pung for the little rifle which he always
carried upon these trips and which had
brought him many a partridge or rabbit as
he threaded the forest aisles. The gun
seemed to be caught in the horse-blanket,
and the young man, holding the muzzle,
pulled to free it. There was a sharp report
and, without even a groan, Roderick fell
forward upon the barn floor with a bullet
in his heart.

With a spring Hairface was by his side,
and his frantic howling and barking soon
brought the boy’s father to the scene.
Help was at once summoned, and strong
arms lifted Roderick and bore him into
the house, where they laid him upon a bed.
Hairface crowded as close as he could to

The Wilderness Call 279

the legs of the men as they carried his
master, a look of unutterable anguish on
his wrinkled, hairy face.

The doctor was brought immediately, but
he needed only to place his hand upon the
boy’s wrist to read its pulseless story.
Roderick was dead.

When the physician had gone, heart-
broken Hairface took up his position by
the bedside, and would not leave it except
to allow some of the necessary things to be
done for his dead master. He did not offer
to lick his friend’s hands or face, as he
would have done, had the boy been alive;
but simply rested his muzzle upon the
pillow near his master’s head. There he
stood like a statue for hours, keeping a last
death-watch by the one human being in all
the world who had been kind to him, doing
this reverence and love for his dead god,
for Roderick had been as a god to him, all-,

powerful, all-wise, all-beneficent.

280 A Wilderness Dog

Toward morning the wolf-dog deserted

his post for a few minutes and went out
into the open, just as a man often does with
his grief. A few seconds later a high-keyed,
desolate how], mournful as the moaning of
the wind or the cries of the screech-owl,
floated back into the room where the dead
boy lay.

Roderick’s old mother went to the window
and saw poor Hairface, his long nose lifted
toward the star-gemmed heavens, pouring
out his grief to the pitiless night. His out-
cries were not full-throated, but half-stifled,
and rose and fell like the sobbing of the
night wind. Soon he returned and again
took up his position at the side of his
master.

The following day it was a sorry little
procession that bore the body to the burying-
ground, where it was laid to rest. The sky
was overcast and leaden, as though the very
heart of Mother Nature ached, and as the

The Wilderness Call 281

funeral party wound their way up the hill
to the churchyard, it began to snow.

When the minister had said, “ Dust to
dust, ashes to ashes,’ and the company
were about to leave, Hairface sprang into
the grave, as though he too would fain be
covered up with his master. No amount
of coaxing or threatening would make him
come out. Some of the villagers wanted to
shoot him, but Roderick’s father would not
hear of it.

“ Let him alone,” he said. “I know just
how he feels. He will soon understand that
it is of no use.”

So they went away and left Hairface
snuggling down as flat as he could upon
the pine box that he knew contained his
master. He knew, too, that his master was
dead; he had seen death too many times
not to understand. The spirit of darkness
and of cold, that which numbs the earth
and all its glad life, had taken him. But

282 A Wilderness Dog

he was waiting a while, as the old Scotch-
man had said, until it should be quite plain

to him.

About two o’clock in the morning, the
villagers were awakened by long and heart-
rending howls from the hillside. Roder-
ick’s father went to the door and looked up
at the little meeting-house, toward which
his heart now yearned anew. The moon
was at its full, and it was as light as day.

There upon a great black rock, which the
wind had swept clear of snow, sat Hairface,
his gray coat clearly outlined against the
sky. His nose was pointed toward the
moon, which was just setting, and the
howls that floated down across the valley
made the tears course afresh down the
wrinkled cheeks of the old man.

The night before, when he had howled
because of the death of his master, the
cries had been partly smothered, as though
he feared to disturb the rest of the mourn-

The Wilderness Call 283

ers with his grief; but now it was different.
Out in the open, where there was no one
to hear but the moon and the stars, he
could pour out the full measure of his
anguish in mighty howls that rent the
stillness of the night. Sometimes these
cries would rise to a high-keyed note, a
mere thread of sound, and then would
swell in volume, becoming deeper in tone,
until they were a perfect roar of rage.

Others there were in the valley who heard
the wolf-dog grieving for his master, and
even those who had been most skeptical of
Hairface now knew that he loved the man
as truly as could have any dog.

While the great wolf-dog sat upon the
boulder pouring out his anguish to the
night, a subtle and mysterious change was
going on inside of him. Fibre by fibre his
dog heart was breaking. Drop by drop his

dog blood was turning to wolf. Slowly the
love light in his eyes, his dog heritage,

284 A Wilderness Dog

faded, and the yellow gleam of the wolf
took its place. The only man creature who
had ever loved him was dead. The only
link that bound him to civilization was
broken, so why should he remain civilized ?
The houses of the man-creatures in the
valley changed from the interesting abodes
of those whom he loved to the hostile
fortresses of those who hated him, and
consequently whom he hated.

Gradually the note of lamentation in his
howling changed to rage, rage at the fate
which had given and taken away his god.

At last the giant wolf stretched his
mighty form and stood upon all fours. He
glowered down at the houses of men in the
valley, and a deep growl rumbled in his
throat. Henceforth these men creatures
would shoot him at sight. Well, he would
take care that they did not see him.

The keen winter wind blew sharply in
his wrinkled face, but to him it was a tonic.

He GLOWERED Down AT THE Houses oF MEN IN THE VALLEY

The Wilderness Call 285

He drew long whiffs into his lungs, ex-
panding his deep chest to its full dimen-
sions. The wind tasted of spruce and of
pine, of the laurel swamp where there was
good rabbit hunting, and of the deep cover
where the partridges were hiding this
night.

In imagination the wolf saw the snow-
laden woods, with its moose and deer-yards,
and its wild freedom. All were calling to
him now. He had been a dog too long.
Too long he had been upon the leash. He
east one last look at the sleeping valley
and the haunts of man, and then sprang
from the rock. Over the glittering crust
he galloped, and, with each mile left be-
hind, the blood quickened in his veins.
It wasa mad joy to feel the rush of the
wind, the lash of the underbrush in his
face, and the exhilaration of free flight.
Little showers of ice went sliding in every
direction as he ran, and the shy little wood-

286 A Wilderness Dog

folk saw him pass with fear in their
hearts.

He was galloping back to the old hunt-
ing-grounds of his sire, where he had first
learned to catch mice, and where he had
broken the back of his first fox. The
bushes, the trees, the stumps, and even the
rocks were calling to him.

Just at sunrise he came out upon the top
of a high bluff, and against a background
of evergreen saw a tall wolf waiting for
him. His first impulse was to rush at
the stranger and give battle, but he at once
remembered. This was a wolf hke him-
self; they were brothers in the wilderness.
But were they brothers? He thought his
nose said something different, so he ap-
proached the stranger warily.

The she-wolf waited his coming with
apparent indifference, although the mating
call was probably singing in her blood.
Hairface went up and sniffed noses with

The Wilderness Call 287

her, and then he knew that it was she who
had called him as he sat alone with his grief

upon the rock above the valley where the
men creatures lived. Once more the two
sniffed noses, and the wolf-dog was certain
that he would never again be a dog.

Then the twain turned and trotted off
into the deep woods, going side by side.
The wilderness dog had obeyed the call of
his kind. A wolf he was born, and a wolf
he must die. Henceforth his allegiance
would be to his mate, his offspring, and also
to the gray pack that hunted in the blue-
green depths of the ancient forest.

The wilderness at last had claimed its
own.

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