The old trapper and his son crept cautiously among the rocks and shrubs towards the spot where the traps had been set around their slaughtered steeds. Moggs cocked his rifle as his keen eye fell on a large white wolf, which, caught by the leg in one of the traps, was making desperate efforts to free itself, and appeared every instant on the point of succeeding. As they drew near, the ferocious animal, with its mouth wide open, its teeth broken in its attempts to gnaw the iron trap, and its head covered with blood, sprang forward to reach them, but the trap held it fast.
“Keep behind me, Laurence,” said Michael. “If the creature gets loose, it will need a steady aim to bring it to the ground.” Not for a moment did the wolf turn round to fly, but again and again it sprang forward as far as the chain would allow it.
Although old Michael knew nothing of the humanity which would avoid allowing any of God’s creatures to suffer unnecessary pain, he was preparing to put an end to its agonies, when the creature, by a frantic effort, freeing itself, sprang towards him. Laurence uttered a cry of terror; for he expected the next moment to see its savage jaws fixed in his father’s throat; but the old man, standing calm and unmoved, fired, and the animal fell dead at his feet.
“Did ye think, Laurence, that I could not manage a single wolf,” he said, half turning round with a reproachful look towards the boy, who had not yet recovered from his alarm. “This is a prize worth having, though. It has not often been my luck to kill a white wolf, and we may barter this skin with the Crees for six of the best mustangs they have got. While I skin the varmint, see what the other traps have been about.” Laurence went forward to examine them.
“Here is a foot in one of them,” he exclaimed. “The creature must have gnawed it off, and got away. The other trap has been pulled up. I can see the tracks it has left, as the animal dragged it away.”
“We will be after it, then,” cried Moggs. “If it is another white wolf we shall be well repaid indeed for the loss of our steeds, though we have to carry our packs till we can reach the fort. Come, Laurence, help me to finish off this work.”
The skin was added to the already heavy load which old Moggs carried, and the traps hid in a spot which, with his experienced eye, he could without difficulty find.
“Now Laurence,” he exclaimed, “we will be after the runaway.”
The keen sight of the old man easily distinguished the marks left on the ground by the heavy trap as the animal trailed it behind him. The creature, after going some way along the valley, had taken to the higher ground, where its traces were still more easily distinguished upon the crust of the snow which lay there. The white wolf had got some distance ahead, when at length, to the delight of old Moggs, he discovered it with the trap at its heels. It seemed to know that its pursuers were close behind. Off it scampered at a rapid trot, now over the rugged and broken surface of rocks, now descending into ravines, now going north, now south, making numerous zigzag courses in its efforts to escape and deceive the hunters. Still old Moggs pursued, regardless of fatigue, though Laurence had great difficulty in keeping up with him, and often felt as if he must drop. His father encouraged him to continue the chase, promising soon to overtake the creature. At length, however, Laurence could go no further, and sank down on a hill, over which they had just climbed, and were about to descend to a valley below them.
“Rest there till I come back, then, boy,” exclaimed the hardy old trapper, a slight tone of contempt mixed with his expression of pity. “The wolf I must have, even though he leads me a score of miles further. Here, take the tinder-box and axe, and make a fire; by the time I come back we shall need some food, after our chase.”