CHAPTER III

THE HUNGER CRY



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 an 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

udulating 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.

****

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