Kazan, with his three-quarters strain of dog, ran over the trail from trap to trap, intent only on something alive--meat to devour.

Gray Wolf, in her blindness, scented _death_.

It shivered in the tree-tops above her.

She found it in every trap-house they came to--death--_man death_.

It grew stronger and stronger, and she whined, and nipped Kazan's flank.