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Updated: May 6, 2025
Suddenly Rod asked: "Where is Wolf?" Wabi laughed, softly, exultantly. "Gone back to his people, Rod. He will be crying in the wild hunt-pack to-night. Good old Wolf!" The laugh left his lips and there was a tremble of regret in his voice. "The Woongas came from the back of the cabin took me by surprise and we had it hot and heavy for a few minutes.
"Have you ever seen a fire run through a pitch-dry forest?" he asked. "That is the way word that Josephine wanted friends would sweep through a thousand square miles of this Northland. And the answer to it would be like the answer of stray wolves to the cry of the hunt-pack!" All over Philip there surged a warm glow. "You could not have friends like that down there, in the cities," he said.
Wolf had been their comrade of a few months before; fearless, faithful, until at last, escaping from the final murderous assault of the Woongas, he had fled into the forests, while his human friends fought their way back to civilization. Where was Wolf now? Unconsciously Rod questioned himself aloud, and from close behind him Wabi answered. "With the hunt-pack, Rod.
At the increasing responses of his brethren Wolf became more frantic in his efforts. The scent of fresh blood and of wounded game was becoming maddening to the captive. But his frenzy no longer betrayed itself in futile efforts to escape from the babeesh thong. Wolf knew that his cries were assembling the hunt-pack.
For an instant, as the two beasts of prey met, there fell a silence; then both animals joined in the wailing hunt-pack cry, and the wolf that was free came to the edge of the great rock and stood with his fore feet on its side, and his cry changed from that of the chase to the still more thrilling signal that told the gathering pack of game at bay. Swiftly the wolves closed in.
Now that he had all these he missed the muster cry of the pack, hungered to hear the aching wails coming from far across the timbered hills, penetrating to the farthest retreats of the antlered tribes and sounding a warning to all living things that the hunt-pack was about to take the meat trail.
He rose up on his feet and stood stiff and tense, unconscious of all things but that thrilling tongue of the hunt-pack. Wind-broken, his strength failing him, and his eyes wildly searching the night ahead for the gleam of water that might save him, Ahtik, the young caribou bull, raced for his life a hundred yards ahead of the wolves.
From the edge of the spruce forest a young Indian now ran out upon the surface of the lake. His breath was coming quickly, but with excitement rather than fatigue. Behind him, less than half a mile away, he could hear the rapidly approaching cry of the hunt-pack, and for an instant he bent his lithe form close to the snow, measuring with the acuteness of his race the distance of the pursuers.
For some reason that Wabi could not explain the hunt-pack had ceased to give tongue. Not only the allotted two minutes, but five of them, passed without the appearance of the animals on the lake. Was it possible that they! had lost the trail?
He could not smell danger, but Gray Wolf told him that it might be there. She told him many other things in the days and nights that followed. The third night Kazan himself gathered the hunt-pack and led in the chase. Three times that month, before the moon left the skies, he led the chase, and each time there was a kill.
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