ut on his night's
hunting. When he found that out Wayeeses would dart away in the long,
rolling gallop that carries a wolf swiftly over the roughest country
without fatigue. In an hour or two he would be back again with another
wolf. Then Eleemos, dozing away in the winter sunshine, would hear an
unusual racket in the scrub behind him,--some heavy animal brushing
about heedlessly and sniffing loudly at a cold trail. No wolf certainly,
for a wolf makes no noise. So Eleemos would get down from his warm rock
and slip away, stopping to look back and listen jauntily to the clumsy
brute behind him, till he ran plump into the jaws of the other wolf that
was watching alert and silent beside the runway.

When the snows were deep and soft the wolves took to hunting the
lynxes,--big, savage, long-clawed fighters that swarm in the interior of
Newfoundland and play havoc with the small game. For a single lynx the
wolves hunted in pairs, trailing the big prowler stealthily and rushing
upon him from behind with a fierce uproar to startle the wits out of his
stupid head and send him off headlong, as cats go, before he knew what
was after him. Away he would go in mighty jumps, sinking shoulder deep,
often indeed up to his tufted ears, at every plunge. After him raced the
wolves, running lightly and taking advantage of the holes he had made in
the soft snow, till a swift snap in his flank brought Upweekis up with a
ferocious snarl to tear in pieces his pursuers.

Then began as savage a bit of fighting as the woods ever witness, teeth
against talons, wolf cunning against cat ferocity. Crouched in the snow,
spitting and snarling, his teeth bared and round eyes blazing and long
claws aching to close in a death grip, Upweekis waited impatient as a
fury for the rush. He is an ugly fighter; but he must always get close,
gripping his enemy with teeth and fore claws while the hind claws get in
their deadly work, kicking downward in powerful spasmodic blows and
ripping everything before them. A dog would rush in now and be torn to
pieces; but not so the wolves. Dancing lightly about the big lynx they
would watch their chance to leap and snap, sometimes avoiding the blow
of the swift paw with its terrible claws, and sometimes catching it on
their heavy manes; but always a long red mark showed on the lynx's
silver fur as the wolves' teeth clicked with the voice of a steel trap
and they leaped aside without serious injury. As the big cat grew blind