nt way, they remain in the minds of beasts. It takes
neither brain nor reason to measure the depths of sorrow or of
happiness. And Kazan in his unreasoning way knew that contentment and
peace, a full stomach, and caresses and kind words instead of blows had
come to him through Woman, and that comradeship in the wilderness--faith,
loyalty and devotion--were a part of Gray Wolf. The third unforgetable
thing was about to occur in the home they had found for themselves under
the swamp windfall during the days of cold and famine.

They had left the swamp over a month before when it was smothered deep
in snow. On the day they returned to it the sun was shining warmly in
the first glorious days of spring warmth. Everywhere, big and small,
there were the rushing torrents of melting snows and the crackle of
crumbling ice, the dying cries of thawing rock and earth and tree, and
each night for many nights past the cold pale glow of the aurora
borealis had crept farther and farther toward the Pole in fading glory.
So early as this the poplar buds had begun to swell and the air was
filled with the sweet odor of balsam, spruce and cedar. Where there had
been famine and death and stillness six weeks before, Kazan and Gray
Wolf now stood at the edge of the swamp and breathed the earthy smells
of spring, and listened to the sounds of life. Over their heads a pair
of newly-mated moose-birds fluttered and scolded at them. A big jay sat
pluming himself in the sunshine. Farther in they heard the crack of a
stick broken under a heavy hoof. From the ridge behind them they caught
the raw scent of a mother bear, busy pulling down the tender poplar buds
for her six-weeks-old cubs, born while she was still deep in her winter
sleep.

In the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of the air there breathed to
Gray Wolf the mystery of matehood and of motherhood. She whined softly
and rubbed her blind face against Kazan. For days, in her way, she tried
to tell him. More than ever she wanted to curl herself up in that warm
dry nest under the windfall. She had no desire to hunt. The crack of
the dry stick under a cloven hoof and the warm scent of the she-bear and
her cubs roused none of the old instincts in her. She wanted to curl
herself up in the old windfall--and wait. And she tried hard to make
Kazan understand her desire.

Now that the snow was gone they found that a narrow creek lay between
them and the knoll on which the windfall was situated. Gra