amused himself with the antics of the shadow, which seemed
responsible for a portion of the crisp music that came from his
snowshoes.

From this careless reverie Dave was suddenly aroused by a ghost of
sound that drifted towards him through the trees. It was a long,
wailing cry, which somehow stirred the roots of his hair. He did not
recognize it. But he felt that it was nothing human. It came from
somewhere between himself and home, however; and he instinctively
quickened his steps, thinking with satisfaction of the snug and
well-warmed cabin that sheltered his dear ones.

[Illustration: "Where anything from a baby's rattle to a bag of
fertilizer could be purchased."]

Presently the long cry sounded again, nearer and clearer now, and
tremulous. Dave had heard wolves before, in Labrador and in the West.
Had he not been quite sure that wolves were unknown in this part of
the country, he would have sworn that the sound was the hunting cry of
a wolf-pack. But the idea was impossible. He had no sooner made up his
mind to this, however, than the cry was repeated once more. Thereupon
Dave reluctantly changed his mind. That the sound meant wolves was not
only possible, but certain. It filled him with resentment to think
that those ravening marauders had come into the country.

It was soon manifest to Dave's initiated ears that the wolves were
coming directly towards him. But he gathered, too, that they were in
pursuit of some quarry. Dave had the eastern woodsman's contempt for
wolves, unless in a very large pack; and he soon decided that this
pack was a small one. He did not think that it would dare to face him.
Nevertheless, he recognized the remote possibility of their being so
hungry as to forget their dread of man. That in such case his axe
would be an all-sufficient defence he did not doubt. But he was in a
fierce hurry to get home. He did not want to be stopped and forced
into any fight. For a moment he thought of turning off through the
woods and giving these night foragers a wide berth. Then he remembered
his uncertain snowshoes. The snow would be very soft off the trail,
and there would be the chance of breaking the shoe again. Who was he,
to be turned out of his path by a bunch of wild curs? It was the
snow-shoe that settled it. He set his jaws grimly, unslung his axe,
and pressed forward. The clamour of the pack was now so near and loud
that it quite drowned one single, piercing cry of "Father!" that would
ot