He heard faintly a distant wailing cry.

He recognized the sound.
It was not a wolf-cry, but the howl of a husky.

He fancied then that the girl moved, that she was gripping the sides of the canoe with her hands.

For fifteen minutes more there was not a sound but the dip of the paddles and the monotone of the wind sweeping through the forest tops.

Then the dog howled again, much nearer; and this time he was joined by a second, a third, and a fourth, until the night was filled with a din that made Philip stare wonderingly off into the blackness.
There were fifty dogs if there was one in that yelping, howling horde, he told himself, and they were coming with the swiftness of the wind in their direction.
From his canoe Croisset broke the silence.
"The wind has given the pack our scent, ma Josephine, and they are coming to meet you," he said.
The girl made no reply, but Philip could see now that she was sitting tense and erect.