r man and dog sat by the fire, but Fleur was manifestly
restless. Time and again she left his side to take long sniffs of the
air. Not even the rubbing of her ears which usually brought grunts of
pleasure had the magic to hold her long.

The early moon hung on the white brow of a distant ridge, and Jean,
finishing his pipe, was about to renew his fire and roll into his
blankets, when a long, wailing howl floated across the valley.

Fleur bounded to her feet, her quivering nostrils sucking in the keen
air. Again the call of the timber wolf drifted out on the silent night.
Fleur, alive with excitement, trotted into the "bush." In a moment she
returned to the fire, whimpering. Then sitting down, she pointed her
nose at the stars and her deep throat swelled with the long-drawn howl
of the husky. Shortly, when the timber wolf replied, the lips of Fleur
did not lift from her white fangs in a snarl nor did her thick mane rise
as her ears pricked eagerly forward.

At dawn Jean waked with a sense of loneliness. Pushing together the
embers of his fire, he put on fresh wood, and not seeing Fleur, called
to her but she did not appear. She had a habit of prowling around the
neighboring "bush" at dawn, inspecting fresh tracks of mice, searching
for ptarmigan or for the snow-shoe rabbits that were not there. But when
Marcel's breakfast was cooked Fleur was still absent. Thinking that a
fresh game trail had led her some distance, he ate, then started to
break camp. Finally he put his index and middle fingers between his
teeth and blew the piercing whistle which had never failed to bring her
leaping home. Intently, he listened for her answer somewhere in the
valley of the stream or on the edge of the barren, but the yelp of his
dog did not come to his straining ears.

Curious as to the cause of her absence Jean smoked his pipe and waited.
He was anxious to start back with his traps and meat; but where was
Fleur? Becoming alarmed by the middle of the morning, he made a wide
circle of the camp hoping to pick up her trail. Two days previous there
had been a flurry of snow sufficient to enable him to follow her tracks
on the stiff crust. In the vicinity of the camp were traces of Fleur's
recent footprints but finally, at a distance, Marcel ran into a fresh
trail leading down into the brook-bottom. There he lost it, and after
hours of search returned to camp to wait for her return. But the day
wore away and the husky did not appear. Night