“This is strange,” he said after a few moments. “These tracks look like the tracks of big dogs. How did they get here? Are we near a camp?”
“No, Spotted Deer, these are not dog tracks,” said Running Fox. “That is what I took them for when I first saw them. Then I knew different. These are the tracks of Timmeu, the wolf.”
“It is true,” replied Spotted Deer.
They noted that the tracks were several days old, and that the trail turned toward the north. It was also apparent that there had been a goodly number of wolves, for the lads saw tracks of various sizes. That night as they sat beside a small fire broiling the grouse which Running Fox had killed their thoughts turned to the wolf pack.
“I have heard the hunters tell about those wolves,” said Running Fox. “They are very large and very fierce. They have fought with many of our people. My father killed some of them when he was hunting along the river.”
“Why are they down in this country?” inquired Spotted Deer. “This is not the time for them to come down here. I have heard the hunters say that in the time of growing things they travel far beyond the country of the Mohawks.”
“What you say is so,” replied Running Fox. “When it is cold our people have found them down near our village. I do not know how they come to be here now.”
“Perhaps we shall see them,” Spotted Deer suggested, hopefully.
“No, I do not believe it,” said Running Fox.
The next day they resumed their journey at daylight. They had quite recovered from their trip through the rapids, and excepting a few minor cuts and bruises showed little evidence of the rough treatment which they had received from the river. They felt that they had escaped with a very light penalty for their foolishness, and they were very grateful to Getanittowit. However, they agreed that they would be more careful in the future.