wed, peeping over the divide as the herd turned down the pathway
leading to the corral. Fuel had been sledded up, and after attending to
the details of water and fire, the boys hurried home.

The weather was a constant topic. It became the first concern of the
morning and the last observation of the night. The slightest change was
noticeable and its portent dreaded. Following the blizzard, every
moderation of the temperature brought more snow or sleet. Unless a
general thaw came to the relief of the cattle, any change in the weather
was undesirable.

A sleepless night followed. It was later than usual when the boys
replenished the fire and left the corral. Dell's imagination covered the
limits of all possibilities. He counted the victims of the poison for
the night, estimated the number of wolves tributary to the Beaver,
counted his bales of peltry, and awoke with a start. Day was breaking,
the horses were already fed, and he was impatient for saddles and away.

"How many do you say?" insisted Dell, as they left the stable.

"One," answered Joel.

"Oh, we surely got seven out of those eight."

"There were only six baits. You had better scale down your estimate.
Leave a few for luck."

Nothing but the cold facts could shake Dell's count of the chickens.
Joel intentionally delayed the start, loitering between house and
corral, and when no longer able to restrain his impulsive brother,
together they reached the scene. Dell's heart failed him--not a dead
wolf lay in sight. Every bait had been disturbed. Some of the troughs
had been gnawed to splinters, every trace of the poisoned suet had been
licked out of the auger holes, while the snow was littered with
wolf tracks.

"Our cunning must be at fault," remarked Joel, as he surveyed the scene
and empty basins.

Dell looked beaten. "My idea is that we had too few baits for the number
of visitors. See the fur, where they fought over the tallow. That's it;
there wasn't enough suet to leave a good taste in each one's mouth. From
the looks of the ground, there might have been fifty wolves."

The boy reasoned well. Experience is a great school. The brothers awoke
to the fact that in the best laid plans of mice and men the unforeseen
is ever present. Their sponsors could only lay down the general rule,
and the exceptions threw no foreshadows. No one could foresee that the
grip of winter would concentrate and bring down on the little herd the
hungry, roving wolf packs.