Several years later, when I was spending the summer at Shahwandahgooze,
in the Laurentian Mountains, I again met Billy Le Heup, the hunter, and
one night when we were listening to a wolf concert I mentioned the
foregoing newspaper thriller. Billy laughed and acknowledged that he,
too, had read it, but not until several weeks after he had had a chance
to investigate, first hand, the very same yarn; for he, too, had been
trailing wolf stories all his life.

It so happened that Le Heup's work had taken him through the timber
country north of Lake Temiscamingue. While stopping one day at a
lumber camp to have a snack, three men entered the cookery where he was
eating. One of them was the foreman, and he was in a perfect rage. He
had discharged the other two men, and now he was warning them that if
they didn't get something to eat pretty ---- quick and leave the camp
in a ---- of a hurry, he would kick them out. Then, just before he
slammed the door and disappeared, he roared out at them that not for
one moment would he stand for such ---- rot, as their being chased and
treed all night by wolves.

When quiet was restored and the two men had sat down beside Le Heup at
the dining table, he had questioned them and they had told him a
graphic story of how they had been chased by a great pack of wolves and
how they had managed to escape with their lives by climbing a tree only
just in the nick of time; and, moreover, how the ferocious brutes had
kept them there all night long, and how, consequently, they had been
nearly frozen to death.

It was a thrilling story and so full of detail that even "old-timer" Le
Heup grew quite interested and congratulated himself on having at last