PART I
THE WOLF PACK
CHAPTER I
THE RUNAWAY
THE ancient train was laboring heavily. It was climbing, and stated the fact vociferously to the wilderness of echoing hills. Its speed was little better than that of a weary team of horses on an outward journey.
It was passing through a broken, tattered world of wind-swept, stunted northern forest. There were bald crags, and open, water-logged flats. There was snow, too; melting snow, for the Canadian spring was hungrily devouring the last remnants of a fierce winter. The sun was brilliant. The cloud-flecked sky was a steely blue. And the crisp, mountain air even contrived to refresh the superheated atmosphere within the passenger coaches.
Luana’s dark eyes were without concern for the natural beauties beyond the windows of the fantastic old observation car. The small boy-child, who was her charge, occupied her whole attention.
The infant was sturdily clinging to a brass stanchion. He was peering out at the wonders of the endless panorama passing before his baby eyes. But his chubby hand was unequal to its task. He had spent much time and energy in falling down and scrambling again to his feet as the train lumbered drearily over its uneven track. However, he was quite undismayed. In fact, he seemed to consider every struggling effort to be an essential joy of his infant life.
He was only a few brief months beyond his second birthday. But he was wonderfully grown and sturdy. Perhaps it was his warm, woolly suit that helped the impression. But it certainly had nothing to do with the full, rosy cheeks, and the bright intelligence of his smiling black eyes.
In response to a fierce jolt of the train, Luana dropped her sewing in her lap and spoke warning in a deep voice of almost mannish quality.
“Hold fast, boy-man,” she cried. “Bimeby, you get hurt. Then your moma get mad with Luana. Maybe she send her right away. Then boy-man see her no more. And you not happy again. Yes?”