y Wolf picked
up her ears at the tumult of the little torrent. Since the day of the
Fire, when Kazan and she had saved themselves on the sand-bar, she had
ceased to have the inherent wolf horror of water. She followed
fearlessly, even eagerly, behind Kazan as he sought a place where they
could ford the rushing little stream. On the other side Kazan could see
the big windfall. Gray Wolf could _smell_ it and she whined joyously,
with her blind face turned toward it. A hundred yards up the stream a
big cedar had fallen over it and Kazan began to cross. For a moment Gray
Wolf hesitated, and then followed. Side by side they trotted to the
windfall. With their heads and shoulders in the dark opening to their
nest they scented the air long and cautiously. Then they entered. Kazan
heard Gray Wolf as she flung herself down on the dry floor of the snug
cavern. She was panting, not from exhaustion, but because she was filled
with a sensation of contentment and happiness. In the darkness Kazan's
own jaws fell apart. He, too, was glad to get back to their old home. He
went to Gray Wolf and, panting still harder, she licked his face. It had
but one meaning. And Kazan understood.

For a moment he lay down beside her, listening, and eyeing the opening
to their nest. Then he began to sniff about the log walls. He was close
to the opening when a sudden fresh scent came to him, and he grew rigid,
and his bristles stood up. The scent was followed by a whimpering,
babyish chatter. A porcupine entered the opening and proceeded to
advance in its foolish fashion, still chattering in that babyish way
that has made its life inviolable at the hands of man. Kazan had heard
that sound before, and like all other beasts had learned to ignore the
presence of the innocuous creature that made it. But just now he did not
stop to consider that what he saw was a porcupine and that at his first
snarl the good-humored little creature would waddle away as fast as it
could, still chattering baby talk to itself. His first reasoning was
that it was a live thing invading the home to which Gray Wolf and he had
just returned. A day later, or perhaps an hour later, he would have
driven it back with a growl. Now he leaped upon it.

A wild chattering, intermingled with pig-like squeaks, and then a rising
staccato of howls followed the attack. Gray Wolf sprang to the opening.
The porcupine was rolled up in a thousand-spiked ball a dozen feet away,
and she could hear K