Chapter: The day began auspiciously.  They had lost no dogs during the night, and
they swung out upon the trail and into the silence, the darkness, and the
cold with spirits that were fairly light.  Bill seemed to have forgotten
his forebodings of the previous night, and even waxed facetious with the
dogs when, at midday, they overturned the sled on a bad piece of trail.

It was an awkward mix-up.  The sled was upside down and jammed between a
tree-trunk and a huge rock, and they were forced to unharness the dogs in
order to straighten out the tangle.  The two men were bent over the sled
and trying to right it, when Henry observed One Ear sidling away.

"Here, you, One Ear!" he cried, straightening up and turning around on
the dog.

But One Ear broke into a run across the snow, his traces trailing behind
him.  And there, out in the snow of their back track, was the she-wolf
waiting for him.  As he neared her, he became suddenly cautious.  He
slowed down to an alert and mincing walk and then stopped.  He regarded
her carefully and dubiously, yet desirefully.  She seemed to smile at
him, showing her teeth in an ingratiating rather than a menacing way.  She
moved toward him a few steps, playfully, and then halted.  One Ear drew
near to her, still alert and cautious, his tail and ears in the air, his
head held high.

He tried to sniff noses with her, but she retreated playfully and coyly.
Every advance on his part was accompanied by a corresponding retreat on
her part.  Step by step she was luring him away from the security of his
human companionship.  Once, as though a warning had in vague ways flitted
through his intelligence, he turned his head and looked back at the
overturned sled, at his team-mates, and at the two men who were calling
to him.

But whatever idea was forming in his mind, was dissipated by the
she-wolf, who advanced upon him, sniffed noses with him for a fleeting
instant, and then resumed her coy retreat before his renewed advances.

In the meantime, Bill had bethought himself of the rifle.  But it was
jammed beneath the overturned sled, and by the time Henry had helped him
to right the load, One Ear and the she-wolf were too close together and
the distance too great to risk a shot.

Too late One Ear learned his mistake.  Before they saw the cause, the two
men saw him turn and start to run back toward them.  Then, approaching at
right angles to the trail and cutting off his retreat they saw a dozen
wolves, lean and grey, bounding across the snow.  On the instant, the she-
wolf's coyness and playfulness disappeared.  With a snarl she sprang upon
One Ear.  He thrust her off with his shoulder, and, his retreat cut off
and still intent on regaining the sled, he altered his course in an
attempt to circle around to it.  More wolves were appearing every moment
and joining in the chase.  The she-wolf was one leap behind One Ear and
holding her own.

"Where are you goin'?" Henry suddenly demanded, laying his hand on his
partner's arm.

Bill shook it off.  "I won't stand it," he said.  "They ain't a-goin' to
get any more of our dogs if I can help it."

Gun in hand, he plunged into the underbrush that lined the side of the
trail.  His intention was apparent enough.  Taking the sled as the centre
of the circle that One Ear was making, Bill planned to tap that circle at
a point in advance of the pursuit.  With his rifle, in the broad
daylight, it might be possible for him to awe the wolves and save the
dog.

"Say, Bill!" Henry called after him.  "Be careful!  Don't take no
chances!"

Henry sat down on the sled and watched.  There was nothing else for him
to do.  Bill had already gone from sight; but now and again, appearing
and disappearing amongst the underbrush and the scattered clumps of
spruce, could be seen One Ear.  Henry judged his case to be hopeless.  The
dog was thoroughly alive to its danger, but it was running on the outer
circle while the wolf-pack was running on the inner and shorter circle.
It was vain to think of One Ear so outdistancing his pursuers as to be
able to cut across their circle in advance of them and to regain the
sled.

The different lines were rapidly approaching a point.  Somewhere out
there in the snow, screened from his sight by trees and thickets, Henry
knew that the wolf-pack, One Ear, and Bill were coming together.  All too
quickly, far more quickly than he had expected, it happened.  He heard a
shot, then two shots, in rapid succession, and he knew that Bill's
ammunition was gone.  Then he heard a great outcry of snarls and yelps.
He recognised One Ear's yell of pain and terror, and he heard a wolf-cry
that bespoke a stricken animal.  And that was all.  The snarls ceased.
The yelping died away.  Silence settled down again over the lonely land.

He sat for a long while upon the sled.  There was no need for him to go
and see what had happened.  He knew it as though it had taken place
before his eyes.  Once, he roused with a start and hastily got the axe
out from underneath the lashings.  But for some time longer he sat and
brooded, the two remaining dogs crouching and trembling at his feet.

At last he arose in a weary manner, as though all the resilience had gone
out of his body, and proceeded to fasten the dogs to the sled.  He passed
a rope over his shoulder, a man-trace, and pulled with the dogs.  He did
not go far.  At the first hint of darkness he hastened to make a camp,
and he saw to it that he had a generous supply of firewood.  He fed the
dogs, cooked and ate his supper, and made his bed close to the fire.

But he was not destined to enjoy that bed.  Before his eyes closed the
wolves had drawn too near for safety.  It no longer required an effort of
the vision to see them.  They were all about him and the fire, in a
narrow circle, and he could see them plainly in the firelight lying down,
sitting up, crawling forward on their bellies, or slinking back and
forth.  They even slept.  Here and there he could see one curled up in
the snow like a dog, taking the sleep that was now denied himself.

He kept the fire brightly blazing, for he knew that it alone intervened
between the flesh of his body and their hungry fangs.  His two dogs
stayed close by him, one on either side, leaning against him for
protection, crying and whimpering, and at times snarling desperately when
a wolf approached a little closer than usual.  At such moments, when his
dogs snarled, the whole circle would be agitated, the wolves coming to
their feet and pressing tentatively forward, a chorus of snarls and eager
yelps rising about him.  Then the circle would lie down again, and here
and there a wolf would resume its broken nap.

But this circle had a continuous tendency to draw in upon him.  Bit by
bit, an inch at a time, with here a wolf bellying forward, and there a
wolf bellying forward, the circle would narrow until the brutes were
almost within springing distance.  Then he would seize brands from the
fire and hurl them into the pack.  A hasty drawing back always resulted,
accompanied by angry yelps and frightened snarls when a well-aimed brand
struck and scorched a too daring animal.

Morning found the man haggard and worn, wide-eyed from want of sleep.  He
cooked breakfast in the darkness, and at nine o'clock, when, with the
coming of daylight, the wolf-pack drew back, he set about the task he had
planned through the long hours of the night.  Chopping down young
saplings, he made them cross-bars of a scaffold by lashing them high up
to the trunks of standing trees.  Using the sled-lashing for a heaving
rope, and with the aid of the dogs, he hoisted the coffin to the top of
the scaffold.

"They got Bill, an' they may get me, but they'll sure never get you,
young man," he said, addressing the dead body in its tree-sepulchre.

Then he took the trail, the lightened sled bounding along behind the
willing dogs; for they, too, knew that safety lay open in the gaining of
Fort McGurry.  The wolves were now more open in their pursuit, trotting
sedately behind and ranging along on either side, their red tongues
lolling out, their lean sides showing the undulating ribs with every
movement.  They were very lean, mere skin-bags stretched over bony
frames, with strings for muscles--so lean that Henry found it in his mind
to marvel that they still kept their feet and did not collapse forthright
in the snow.

He did not dare travel until dark.  At midday, not only did the sun warm
the southern horizon, but it even thrust its upper rim, pale and golden,
above the sky-line.  He received it as a sign.  The days were growing
longer.  The sun was returning.  But scarcely had the cheer of its light
departed, than he went into camp.  There were still several hours of grey
daylight and sombre twilight, and he utilised them in chopping an
enormous supply of fire-wood.

With night came horror.  Not only were the starving wolves growing
bolder, but lack of sleep was telling upon Henry.  He dozed despite
himself, crouching by the fire, the blankets about his shoulders, the axe
between his knees, and on either side a dog pressing close against him.
He awoke once and saw in front of him, not a dozen feet away, a big grey
wolf, one of the largest of the pack.  And even as he looked, the brute
deliberately stretched himself after the manner of a lazy dog, yawning
full in his face and looking upon him with a possessive eye, as if, in
truth, he were merely a delayed meal that was soon to be eaten.

This certitude was shown by the whole pack.  Fully a score he could
count, staring hungrily at him or calmly sleeping in the snow.  They
reminded him of children gathered about a spread table and awaiting
permission to begin to eat.  And he was the food they were to eat!  He
wondered how and when the meal would begin.

As he piled wood on the fire he discovered an appreciation of his own
body which he had never felt before.  He watched his moving muscles and
was interested in the cunning mechanism of his fingers.  By the light of
the fire he crooked his fingers slowly and repeatedly now one at a time,
now all together, spreading them wide or making quick gripping movements.
He studied the nail-formation, and prodded the finger-tips, now sharply,
and again softly, gauging the while the nerve-sensations produced.  It
fascinated him, and he grew suddenly fond of this subtle flesh of his
that worked so beautifully and smoothly and delicately.  Then he would
cast a glance of fear at the wolf-circle drawn expectantly about him, and
like a blow the realisation would strike him that this wonderful body of
his, this living flesh, was no more than so much meat, a quest of
ravenous animals, to be torn and slashed by their hungry fangs, to be
sustenance to them as the moose and the rabbit had often been sustenance
to him.

He came out of a doze that was half nightmare, to see the red-hued she-
wolf before him.  She was not more than half a dozen feet away sitting in
the snow and wistfully regarding him.  The two dogs were whimpering and
snarling at his feet, but she took no notice of them.  She was looking at
the man, and for some time he returned her look.  There was nothing
threatening about her.  She looked at him merely with a great
wistfulness, but he knew it to be the wistfulness of an equally great
hunger.  He was the food, and the sight of him excited in her the
gustatory sensations.  Her mouth opened, the saliva drooled forth, and
she licked her chops with the pleasure of anticipation.

A spasm of fear went through him.  He reached hastily for a brand to
throw at her.  But even as he reached, and before his fingers had closed
on the missile, she sprang back into safety; and he knew that she was
used to having things thrown at her.  She had snarled as she sprang away,
baring her white fangs to their roots, all her wistfulness vanishing,
being replaced by a carnivorous malignity that made him shudder.  He
glanced at the hand that held the brand, noticing the cunning delicacy of
the fingers that gripped it, how they adjusted themselves to all the
inequalities of the surface, curling over and under and about the rough
wood, and one little finger, too close to the burning portion of the
brand, sensitively and automatically writhing back from the hurtful heat
to a cooler gripping-place; and in the same instant he seemed to see a
vision of those same sensitive and delicate fingers being crushed and
torn by the white teeth of the she-wolf.  Never had he been so fond of
this body of his as now when his tenure of it was so precarious.

All night, with burning brands, he fought off the hungry pack.  When he
dozed despite himself, the whimpering and snarling of the dogs aroused
him.  Morning came, but for the first time the light of day failed to
scatter the wolves.  The man waited in vain for them to go.  They
remained in a circle about him and his fire, displaying an arrogance of
possession that shook his courage born of the morning light.

He made one desperate attempt to pull out on the trail.  But the moment
he left the protection of the fire, the boldest wolf leaped for him, but
leaped short.  He saved himself by springing back, the jaws snapping
together a scant six inches from his thigh.  The rest of the pack was now
up and surging upon him, and a throwing of firebrands right and left was
necessary to drive them back to a respectful distance.

Even in the daylight he did not dare leave the fire to chop fresh wood.
Twenty feet away towered a huge dead spruce.  He spent half the day
extending his campfire to the tree, at any moment a half dozen burning
faggots ready at hand to fling at his enemies.  Once at the tree, he
studied the surrounding forest in order to fell the tree in the direction
of the most firewood.

The night was a repetition of the night before, save that the need for
sleep was becoming overpowering.  The snarling of his dogs was losing its
efficacy.  Besides, they were snarling all the time, and his benumbed and
drowsy senses no longer took note of changing pitch and intensity.  He
awoke with a start.  The she-wolf was less than a yard from him.
Mechanically, at short range, without letting go of it, he thrust a brand
full into her open and snarling mouth.  She sprang away, yelling with
pain, and while he took delight in the smell of burning flesh and hair,
he watched her shaking her head and growling wrathfully a score of feet
away.

But this time, before he dozed again, he tied a burning pine-knot to his
right hand.  His eyes were closed but few minutes when the burn of the
flame on his flesh awakened him.  For several hours he adhered to this
programme.  Every time he was thus awakened he drove back the wolves with
flying brands, replenished the fire, and rearranged the pine-knot on his
hand.  All worked well, but there came a time when he fastened the pine-
knot insecurely.  As his eyes closed it fell away from his hand.

He dreamed.  It seemed to him that he was in Fort McGurry.  It was warm
and comfortable, and he was playing cribbage with the Factor.  Also, it
seemed to him that the fort was besieged by wolves.  They were howling at
the very gates, and sometimes he and the Factor paused from the game to
listen and laugh at the futile efforts of the wolves to get in.  And
then, so strange was the dream, there was a crash.  The door was burst
open.  He could see the wolves flooding into the big living-room of the
fort.  They were leaping straight for him and the Factor.  With the
bursting open of the door, the noise of their howling had increased
tremendously.  This howling now bothered him.  His dream was merging into
something else--he knew not what; but through it all, following him,
persisted the howling.

And then he awoke to find the howling real.  There was a great snarling
and yelping.  The wolves were rushing him.  They were all about him and
upon him.  The teeth of one had closed upon his arm.  Instinctively he
leaped into the fire, and as he leaped, he felt the sharp slash of teeth
that tore through the flesh of his leg.  Then began a fire fight.  His
stout mittens temporarily protected his hands, and he scooped live coals
into the air in all directions, until the campfire took on the semblance
of a volcano.

But it could not last long.  His face was blistering in the heat, his
eyebrows and lashes were singed off, and the heat was becoming unbearable
to his feet.  With a flaming brand in each hand, he sprang to the edge of
the fire.  The wolves had been driven back.  On every side, wherever the
live coals had fallen, the snow was sizzling, and every little while a
retiring wolf, with wild leap and snort and snarl, announced that one
such live coal had been stepped upon.

Flinging his brands at the nearest of his enemies, the man thrust his
smouldering mittens into the snow and stamped about to cool his feet.  His
two dogs were missing, and he well knew that they had served as a course
in the protracted meal which had begun days before with Fatty, the last
course of which would likely be himself in the days to follow.

"You ain't got me yet!" he cried, savagely shaking his fist at the hungry
beasts; and at the sound of his voice the whole circle was agitated,
there was a general snarl, and the she-wolf slid up close to him across
the snow and watched him with hungry wistfulness.

He set to work to carry out a new idea that had come to him.  He extended
the fire into a large circle.  Inside this circle he crouched, his
sleeping outfit under him as a protection against the melting snow.  When
he had thus disappeared within his shelter of flame, the whole pack came
curiously to the rim of the fire to see what had become of him.  Hitherto
they had been denied access to the fire, and they now settled down in a
close-drawn circle, like so many dogs, blinking and yawning and
stretching their lean bodies in the unaccustomed warmth.  Then the she-
wolf sat down, pointed her nose at a star, and began to howl.  One by one
the wolves joined her, till the whole pack, on haunches, with noses
pointed skyward, was howling its hunger cry.

Dawn came, and daylight.  The fire was burning low.  The fuel had run
out, and there was need to get more.  The man attempted to step out of
his circle of flame, but the wolves surged to meet him.  Burning brands
made them spring aside, but they no longer sprang back.  In vain he
strove to drive them back.  As he gave up and stumbled inside his circle,
a wolf leaped for him, missed, and landed with all four feet in the
coals.  It cried out with terror, at the same time snarling, and
scrambled back to cool its paws in the snow.

The man sat down on his blankets in a crouching position.  His body
leaned forward from the hips.  His shoulders, relaxed and drooping, and
his head on his knees advertised that he had given up the struggle.  Now
and again he raised his head to note the dying down of the fire.  The
circle of flame and coals was breaking into segments with openings in
between.  These openings grew in size, the segments diminished.

"I guess you can come an' get me any time," he mumbled.  "Anyway, I'm
goin' to sleep."

Once he awakened, and in an opening in the circle, directly in front of
him, he saw the she-wolf gazing at him.

Again he awakened, a little later, though it seemed hours to him.  A
mysterious change had taken place--so mysterious a change that he was
shocked wider awake.  Something had happened.  He could not understand at
first.  Then he discovered it.  The wolves were gone.  Remained only the
trampled snow to show how closely they had pressed him.  Sleep was
welling up and gripping him again, his head was sinking down upon his
knees, when he roused with a sudden start.

There were cries of men, and churn of sleds, the creaking of harnesses,
and the eager whimpering of straining dogs.  Four sleds pulled in from
the river bed to the camp among the trees.  Half a dozen men were about
the man who crouched in the centre of the dying fire.  They were shaking
and prodding him into consciousness.  He looked at them like a drunken
man and maundered in strange, sleepy speech.

"Red she-wolf. . . . Come in with the dogs at feedin' time. . . . First
she ate the dog-food. . . . Then she ate the dogs. . . . An' after that
she ate Bill. . . . "

"Where's Lord Alfred?" one of the men bellowed in his ear, shaking him
roughly.

He shook his head slowly.  "No, she didn't eat him. . . . He's roostin'
in a tree at the last camp."

"Dead?" the man shouted.

"An' in a box," Henry answered.  He jerked his shoulder petulantly away
from the grip of his questioner.  "Say, you lemme alone. . . . I'm jes'
plump tuckered out. . . . Goo' night, everybody."

His eyes fluttered and went shut.  His chin fell forward on his chest.
And even as they eased him down upon the blankets his snores were rising
on the frosty air.

But there was another sound.  Far and faint it was, in the remote
distance, the cry of the hungry wolf-pack as it took the trail of other
meat than the man it had just missed.




PART II

 The next day none of the dogs has disappeared, which puts Bill in a better mood. They again set out on their journey, but the sled turns over and is jammed between a tree trunk and a huge rock. When they unharness the dogs to straighten out the tangle, they see One Ear sneaking past them towards the she-wolf, who is playfully luring him into the pack of wolves. Bill prepares his gun, but the wolves are too far away to shoot. Bill sets out after them, fires his last three cartridges, and is overwhelmed by the pack, along with One Ear. Henry is now left to fend for himself and his remaining two dogs. The wolves, unafraid and unhesitating, pursue him. Fire is the only thing he has to keep them away. He spends sleepless nights, throwing fire brands at the wolves every time they get too close. Henry heaves the coffin up into a tree so that the wolves cannot get to it. He prepares himself for longer days, but he lives with paranoia, constantly fearing an attack from the wolves. The she-wolf continues to be the boldest of all, getting very close to Henry. In fact, she comes so close that he singes her fur, much to his satisfaction. The chances for his survival seem remote to Henry. He has resigned himself to the terrifying situation. When the wolves attack, trying to eat him alive, he successfully fights them off with burning coals. In exhaustion, he finally dozes. When he wakes up, he learns that his two remaining dogs have been devoured by the wolves. However, the wolves are gone and he is surrounded by about a dozen men. By a miracle, Henry has survived his Northland Wild ordeal.

