oot, watching him steadily
with the same horrible stare in his unblinking eyes. The hackles rose up
on the cub's neck and a growl rumbled in his deep chest, for he knew now
what it all meant. The smell of blood was in the air, and the old
he-wolf, that had so often shared his kill to save the cubs, was now
going crazy in his awful hunger. Another moment and there would have
been a terrible duel in the scrub; but as the wolves sprang to their
feet and faced each other some deep, unknown feeling stirred within them
and they turned aside. The old wolf threw himself down heavily, facing
away from the temptation, and the cub slipped aside to find another den,
out of sight and smell of the huge leader, lest the scent of blood
should overcome them again and cause them to fly at each other's throats
in uncontrollable fury.

Next morning a queer thing happened, but not uncommon under the
circumstances among wolves and huskies. The cub was lying motionless,
his head on his paws, his eyes wide open, when something stirred near
him. A red squirrel came scampering through the scrub branches just
under the thick coating of snow that filled all their tops. Slowly,
carefully the young wolf gathered his feet under him, tense as a
bowstring. As the squirrel whisked overhead the wolf leaped like a
flash, caught him, and crushed him with a single grip. Then with the
squirrel in his mouth he made his way back to where the big leader was
lying, his head on his paws, his eyes turned aside. Slowly, warily the
cub approached, with a friendly twist of his ears and head, till he laid
the squirrel at the big wolf's very nose, then drew back a step and lay
with paws extended and tail thumping the leaves, watching till the
tidbit was seized ravenously and crushed and bolted in a single
mouthful. Next instant both wolves sprang to their feet and made their
way out of the scrub together.

They took up the trail of the pack where they had left it, and followed
it ten hours, the cub at a swift trot, the old wolf loping along on
three legs. Then a rest, and forward again, slower and slower, night
after day in ever-failing strength, till on the edge of a great barren
they stopped as if struck, trembling all over as the reek of game poured
into their starving nostrils.

Too weak now to kill or to follow the fleet caribou, they lay down in
the snow waiting, their ears cocked, their noses questioning every
breeze for its good news. Left to themselves the