and then, with his blanket wrapped about him, lay down upon his thick,
springy mattress of fir-brush, with his feet toward the fire, and
slumbered as only a decent, hard-working man can. Out among the
dancing shadows that flitted among the snow-mantled bushes and heavily
laden trees a hundred and fifty eyes glared in the brooding
darkness--as though all the wolves in the forest were gathering there.
Later, when the sound of heavy breathing was heard round the fires, a
fierce, wolfish-looking dog, bolder than the rest, left its snowy bed
to hunt for more sheltered quarters. There was a whine, a snarl, then
the sound of clashing teeth. In a moment every dog leaped up with
bristling hair. Instantly bedlam reigned. Over seventy dogs waged the
wildest kind of war and the distant woods reechoed the horrible din. A
dozen blanketed mounds rose up, and many long lashes whistled through
the air. The seething mass broke away and flew howling and yelping
into outer darkness followed by a roar of curses--but only in civilized
tongues.

Presently all was still again. The men lay down, and the dogs, one by
one, came slinking back to their resting places. But in a couple of
hours one of the half-frozen brutes silently rose up, cautiously
stepped among the sleeping men, and lay couched close to a smouldering
fire. Another followed and then another until most of the dogs had
left their beds. Growing bolder, a couple of the beasts fought for a
warmer spot. In their tussle they sprawled over one of the men, but a
few lusty blows from a handy frying-pan restored calm. As the night
wore on some of the dogs, not contented with sleeping beside the men,
curled up on top of their unconscious masters. Then for hours nothing
but the heavy breathing and snoring in camp and the howling of distant
wolves was heard. Slumber had at last overtaken the wild men of the
wilderness--who always made it a rule to kneel down every night, and