“Well, I wish I was an Indian then,” Sandy sighed, “—for the present anyway.”
The renewed and increased restlessness of their dog attracted their attention then, and they watched him straining at the moosehide leash.
Dick caught the dog trying to chew through the thong and spoke sharply.
“Funny why he wants to get away,” Dick mused aloud. “One would think the dog would realize his danger and want to stay near the fire.”
Corporal Richardson’s voice sounded from his blankets. The officer had awakened and had overheard Dick’s remark.
“There’s a female wolf out there—several of them,” the veteran northerner answered Dick. “She’s calling to the dog. It’s the mate call of the wolf and the dog understands it. But only the wisest of she-wolves understand how to use the call to lure meat for their stomachs. That dog wouldn’t last three minutes once he left the fire.”
“How do you feel now?” Dick asked, going to the wounded man’s side.
“Much better,” answered the officer, “but my side is stiff and mighty sore. I’ll be flat on my back for a couple of weeks yet. Couldn’t be worse luck now that the Inspector needs every man of us.”
“Then you really think we have a good chance escaping from the wolf pack?” Dick eagerly seized at a grain of encouragement.
The corporal did not answer immediately. “You’d have a lot bigger chance if you left me here in the morning,” said the corporal steadily.