In the Wolf’s mind there was no longer any doubt. The husky was heading for the decoy shelter which the cunning mind of Pideau had designed, and his hands had set up years before.
It lay beyond the muskeg defences of the valley, and was at once a resting place for the spoils of Pideau’s cattle raids, and a carefully designed bluff to fool any chance pursuer to whom ill luck might have revealed his trail.
Why had the dog chosen such a destination, and run for it till she was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion?
Stiff and sore from the lean back of his pony, the Wolf had dismounted. He had tethered the weary beast, and now stood gazing down upon the dogs crouching at his feet.
It was the bitch, Rene, that held his attention. She had sprawled herself on the rotting underlay of the forest, and her slavering jaws were resting on outstretched forepaws. Her fierce eyes were searching the cover in the direction of the clearing which lay ahead.
The boy’s dark eyes wore an indulgent smile. To his mind there was something almost humorous in the dog’s attitude. Her whole pose seemed to be saying:
“Well, here I am, and I go not a step farther. I brought you here, and now it’s up to you.”
For some moments he stood considering. Then of a sudden he stooped.
Rene remained unresponsive. But Pete, with the male dog’s greater demonstrativeness, drew himself nearer to the hand whose caress he sought. The Wolf, however, gave him no heed. His hand fell gently on the narrow head of the bitch, and he talked to her in a fashion she seemed to understand.