m a very light sleeper," he said. "A footstep at night rouses me.
Even a man's breathing awakes me, when I make up my mind that I must be
on my guard. And, besides"--he drew from his pocket a blue-steeled
Savage automatic--"I know how to use _this_." He pointed to a knot in
the wall of the cabin. "Observe," he said. Five times he fired at twenty
paces, and when Sandy went up to look at the knot he gave a gasp. There
was one jagged hole where the knot had been.

"Pretty good," he grinned. "Most men couldn't do better'n that with a
rifle."

When Sandy left, McGill followed him with a suspicious gleam in his
eyes, and a curious smile on his lips. Then he turned to Kazan.

"Guess you've got him figgered out about right, old man," he laughed
softly. "I don't blame you very much for wanting to get him by the
throat. Perhaps--"

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and went into the cabin. Kazan
dropped his head between his forepaws, and lay still, with wide-open
eyes. It was late afternoon, early in September, and each night brought
now the first chill breaths of autumn. Kazan watched the last glow of
the sun as it faded out of the southern skies. Darkness always followed
swiftly after that, and with darkness came more fiercely his wild
longing for freedom. Night after night he had gnawed at his steel chain.
Night after night he had watched the stars, and the moon, and had
listened for Gray Wolf's call, while the big Dane lay sleeping. To-night
it was colder than usual, and the keen tang of the wind that came fresh
from the west stirred him strangely. It set his blood afire with what
the Indians call the Frost Hunger. Lethargic summer was gone and the
days and nights of hunting were at hand. He wanted to leap out into
freedom and run until he was exhausted, with Gray Wolf at his side. He
knew that Gray Wolf was off there--where the stars hung low in the clear
sky, and that she was waiting. He strained at the end of his chain, and
whined. All that night he was restless--more restless than he had been
at any time before. Once, in the far distance, he heard a cry that he
thought was the cry of Gray Wolf, and his answer roused McGill from deep
sleep. It was dawn, and the little professor dressed himself and came
out of the cabin. With satisfaction he noted the exhilarating snap in
the air. He wet his fingers and held them above his head, chuckling when
he found the wind had swung into the north. He went to Kazan, and talke