Trembling and undecided, the four huskies and the wolf-dog stood on the
ridge with Gray Wolf cringing behind them. Not until man and dogs and
sledge had disappeared did they move, and then they trotted down to the
trail and sniffed at it whiningly and excitedly. For a mile or two they
followed it, Kazan and his mates going fearlessly in the trail. Gray
Wolf hung back, traveling twenty yards to the right of them, with the
hot man-scent driving the blood feverishly through her brain. Only her
love for Kazan--and the faith she still had in him--kept her that near.

At the edge of a swamp Kazan halted and turned away from the trail. With
the desire that was growing in him there was still that old suspicion
which nothing could quite wipe out--the suspicion that was an
inheritance of his quarter-strain of wolf. Gray Wolf whined joyfully
when he turned into the forest, and drew so close to him that her
shoulder rubbed against Kazan's as they traveled side by side.

The "slush" snows followed fast after this. And the "slush" snows meant
spring--and the emptying of the wilderness of human life. Kazan and his
mates soon began to scent the presence and the movement of this life.
They were now within thirty miles of the post. For a hundred miles on
all sides of them the trappers were moving in with their late winter's
catch of furs. From east and west, south and north, all trails led to
the post. The pack was caught in the mesh of them. For a week not a day
passed that they did not cross a fresh trail, and sometimes two or
three.

Gray Wolf was haunted by constant fear. In her blindness she knew that
they were surrounded by the menace of men. To Kazan what was coming to
pass had more and more ceased to fill him with fear and caution. Three