But in Baree he recognized the wolf breed, and he vented his spite at a distance.

After a time his good sense returned, and he went off on another hunt.
Baree ate a third of the partridge, and the remaining two thirds he cached very carefully at the foot of the big spruce.

Then he hurried down to the creek for a drink.

The world looked very different to him now.

After all, one's capacity for happiness depends largely on how deeply one has suffered.