And fainter and fainter grew that scent which Kazan could still find about it--the scent of man, of the woman, the baby.
One day he found a little baby moccasin under one of the closed windows.
It was old, and worn out, and blackened by snow and rain, but he lay down beside it, and remained there for a long time, while the baby Joan--a thousand miles away--was playing with the strange toys of civilization.

Then he returned to Gray Wolf among the spruce and balsam.
The cabin was the one place to which Gray Wolf would not follow him.

At all other times she was at his side.

Now that she had become accustomed to blindness, she even accompanied him on his hunts, until he struck game, and began the chase.

Then she would wait for him.