There he would discover the mystery and the tragedy of it, if it meant anything at all.

He appreciated the extreme hazard of following Bram to his long hidden retreat.

The man he might outwit in pursuit and overcome in fair fight, if it came to a fight, but against the pack he was fighting tremendous odds.
What this odds meant had not fully gripped him until he came cautiously out of the timber half an hour later and saw what was left of the caribou the pack had killed.

The bull had fallen within fifty yards of the edge of the scrub.

For a radius of twenty feet about it the snow was beaten hard by the footprints of beasts, and this arena was stained red with blood and scattered thickly with bits of flesh, broken bones and patches of hide.