The wolf is kipichi-mao, as the Indians say.

No hunter ever heard a trapped wolf whine for mercy at the sting of a bullet or the beat of a club.

He dies with his fangs bared.

Tonight it was a wolf whelp that Oohoomisew was attacking, and not a dog pup.

The owl's first rush keeled Baree over, and for a moment he was smothered under the huge, outspread wings, while Oohoomisew--pinioning him down--hopped for a claw hold with his one good foot, and struck fiercely with his beak.
One blow of that beak anywhere about the head would have settled for a rabbit, but at the first thrust Oohoomisew discovered that it was not a rabbit he was holding under his wings.