t he
thought the tracks indicated a caribou. Then he stopped, without
rising, and looked about.

Near in front the trees rose in a shadowy wall against the clear blue
sky; there was no wind, and it was oppressively still; the darkness of
the woods was impenetrable and its silence daunting. The row of tracks
was the only sign of life Blake had seen for days.

While he listened, a faint howl came out of the distance, and was
followed by another. After the deep silence, the sound was startling.
Blake recognized the cry of the timber wolves, and knew his danger.
The big gray brutes would make short work of a lonely man. His flesh
crept as he wondered whether, they were on his trail. On the whole, it
did not seem likely, though they might get scent of him. Rising to his
feet, he felt that the rifle magazine was full before he set off at his
highest speed.

The snow was loose, however, and his shoes packed and sank; his breath
got shorter, and he began to feel distressed. There was no sound
behind him; but that somehow increased his uneasiness, and now and then
he anxiously turned his head. Nothing moved on the sweep of blue-gray
shadow; and he pressed on, knowing how poor his speed was compared with
that the wolves were capable of making. At last, with keen
satisfaction, he saw a flicker of light break out from the dark mass of
a bluff ahead, and a few minutes later he came, breathing hard, into
camp.

"You haven't stayed out long," Benson observed. "I suppose you saw
nothing?"

"I heard wolves," Blake answered dryly. "You had better gather wood
enough to keep a big fire going, because I've no doubt they'll pick up
my trail. However, it's a promising sign."

"I guess we could do without it," Hording broke in. "I've no use for
wolves."

"They must live on something," Blake said. "Since they're here, there
are probably moose or caribou in the neighborhood. I'll have another
try to-morrow."

"But the wolves!"

"They're not so bold in daylight. Anyway, it seems to me we must take
some risks."

This was obvious; and when they had heaped up a good supply of wood,
Harding and Blake went to sleep, leaving Benson to keep watch.

CHAPTER XVI

THE TRAIL OF THE CARIBOU

When Blake was awakened by Harding, the cold was almost unendurable,
and it cost him a determined effort to rise from the hollow he had
scraped out of the snow and lined with spruce twigs close beside the
fire. He had not been w