That was not necessary, for presently, clear and cold out of the silence, pealed a mournful howl, long drawn, strange and full and wild.
"Oh! What's that ?" whispered Bo.
"That's a big gray wolf--a timber-wolf, or lofer, as he's sometimes called," replied Dale.

"He's high on some rocky ridge back there.

He scents us, an' he doesn't like it....

There he goes again.

Listen! Ah, he's hungry." While Helen listened to this exceedingly wild cry--so wild that it made her flesh creep and the most indescribable sensations of loneliness come over her--she kept her glance upon Dale.
"You love him ?" she murmured involuntarily, quite without understanding the motive of her query.
Assuredly Dale had never had that question asked of him before, and it seemed to Helen, as he pondered, that he had never even asked it of himself.
"I reckon so," he replied, presently.
"But wolves kill deer, and little fawns, and everything helpless in the forest," expostulated Bo.
The hunter nodded his head.
"Why, then, can you love him ?" repeated Helen.
"Come to think of it, I reckon it's because of lots of reasons," returned Dale.