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Updated: May 10, 2025
And now, with that soft little handful of life snuggling close up against her, Gray Wolf saw through her blind eyes the tragic picture of that night more vividly than ever and she quivered at every sound, ready to leap in the face of an unseen foe, to rend all flesh that was not the flesh of Kazan. And ceaselessly, the slightest sound bringing him to his feet, Kazan watched and guarded.
Night after night it robbed her of her mate, and left her to wander alone under the stars and the moon, keeping faithfully to her loneliness, and never once responding with her own tongue to the hunt-calls of her wild brothers and sisters in the forests and out on the plains. Usually she would snarl at the Voice, and sometimes nip Kazan lightly to show her displeasure.
Thus the bear was more terrible than Kazan, and the moose was more terrible than the bear. It was quite fortunate for Baree that this instinct did not go to the limit in the beginning and make him understand that his own breed the wolf was most feared of all the creatures, claw, hoof, and wing, of the forests.
A few days after her arrival in Kazan, Sasha became the mistress of a certain vodka-distiller's son, who was carousing together with Foma. Going away with her new master to some place on the Kama, she said to Foma: "Goodbye, dear man! Perhaps we may meet again. We're both going the same way! But I advise you not to give your heart free rein. Enjoy yourself without looking back at anything.
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Farther out on the plain she went and then stopped, with the golden glow of the autumn moon and the stars shimmering in her hair and eyes. It was many minutes before the cry came again, and then it was so near that Joan put her hands to her mouth, and her cry rang out over the plain as in the days of old. "Kazan! Kazan! Kazan!"
Early in the afternoon she wandered back on the plain. It was different. It frightened her, and soon she returned to the beach, and snuggled down under the tree where Kazan had lain. She was not so frightened here. The smell of Kazan was strong about her. For an hour she lay motionless, with her head resting on the club clotted with his hair and blood. Night found her still there.
She understood, and had faith in him. In the days of the last snow Kazan had proved himself. A neighboring trapper had run over with his team, and the baby Joan had toddled up to one of the big huskies. There was a fierce snap of jaws, a scream of horror from Joan, a shout from the men as they leaped toward the pack. But Kazan was ahead of them all.
To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the low wailing of a dog out in the night. "They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had not read the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!" The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazan went back to them.
And above that sound there rose the voice of Sandy McTrigger in a weird and terrible cry. Mile after mile Kazan went on.
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