It was soon manifest to Dave’s initiated ears that the wolves were coming directly towards him. But he gathered, too, that they were in pursuit of some quarry. Dave had the eastern woodsman’s contempt for wolves, unless in a very large pack; and he soon decided that this pack was a small one. He did not think that it would dare to face him. Nevertheless, he recognized the remote possibility of their being so hungry as to forget their dread of man. That in such case his axe would be an all-sufficient defence he did not doubt. But he was in a fierce hurry to get home. He did not want to be stopped and forced 100 into any fight. For a moment he thought of turning off through the woods and giving these night foragers a wide berth. Then he remembered his uncertain snowshoes. The snow would be very soft off the trail, and there would be the chance of breaking the shoe again. Who was he, to be turned out of his path by a bunch of wild curs? It was the snow-shoe that settled it. He set his jaws grimly, unslung his axe, and pressed forward. The clamour of the pack was now so near and loud that it quite drowned one single, piercing cry of “Father!” that would otherwise have reached his ears. There was a new note in the howling, too, which Dave’s ear interpreted as meaning that the quarry was in sight. Then the noise stopped abruptly, save for an impatient yelp or two.
“Whatever it be they’re after, it’s took to cover,” said Dave to himself. “An’ in the old shanty, too!” he added, as he saw the little patch of clearing open before him.
Realizing that the wolves had something to occupy fully their attention, he now crept noiselessly forward just within the edge of the wood. Peering forth from behind the cover of a drooping hemlock branch, he saw the roof of the hut, the half-open doorway nearly choked with snow, and the wolves prowling and sniffing around it, but keeping a couple of yards away.
“Scairt of a trap!” he thought to himself with 101 a grin, and cursed his luck that he had not his rifle with him.
“A couple o’ them thick, grey pelts,” he thought––“what a coat they’d make for the little one!”
There were six wolves, and big ones––enough to make things look pretty ugly for one man with only an axe. Dave was glad they had something to keep them from turning their attention to him. He watched them for a few moments, then decided to go around by the other side of the clearing and avoid trouble.
He drew back as silently as a lynx. Where the woods overhead were thick, the snow was soft, with no crispness on the surface; and instead of the crunching that his steps made on the trail, here the snow made no sound under his feet but a sort of thick sigh.
Dave had taken several paces in retreat, when an idea flashed up that arrested him. Why were the wolves so wary about entering the hut, when their quarry was certainly inside? Their dread of a trap was not, of itself, quite enough to explain their caution. The thought gave him a qualm of uneasiness. He would return and have another look at them! Then his impatience got the better of him. Mary and the little one were waiting and watching for him at home. He retreated another pace or two. What should he be doing, wasting his time over a parcel of wolves that had got a fox 102 cornered in the old shanty? Dave felt sure it was a fox. But no! He could not escape the conviction––much as he wished to––that if the fugitive were a fox, or any other animal of the north-eastern woods, it would not take six hungry wolves much more than six seconds to get over their suspicions and go in after him. What if it should be some half-starved old Indian, working his way into the Settlement after bad luck with his hunting and his trapping! Whoever it was, he had no gun, or there would have been shooting before this. Dave saw that he must go back and look into the matter. But he was angry at this new delay. Cursing the wolves, and the Indian who didn’t know enough to take care of himself, Dave stole back to his covert behind the hemlock branch, and peered forth once more, no longer interested, but aggrieved.
The wolves were now sitting on their haunches around the hut door. Their unusual behaviour convinced him that there was a man inside. Well, there was no getting around the fact that he was in for a fight. He only hoped that the chap inside was some good, and would have “somethin’ to say fer himself, darn him!” Dave gently lowered the bundle from his back, and threw off his thick coat to allow his arms freer play.
It was at this moment that the leader of the pack made up his mind to crawl into the hut. 103