Her hair fell in a thick shining braid over her shoulder, and she was hugging something tightly to her breast.
"They're on the trail of something--probably a deer," said the man, looking at the breech of his rifle.

"Don't worry, Jo.

We'll stop at the next bit of scrub and see if we can't find enough dry stuff for a fire .-- Wee-ah-h-h-h, boys! Koosh--koosh--" and he snapped his whip over the backs of his team.
From the bundle at the girl's breast there came a small wailing cry.

And far back in the plain there answered it the scattered voice of the pack.
At last Kazan was on the trail of vengeance.

He ran slowly at first, with Gray Wolf close beside him, pausing every three or four hundred yards to send forth the cry.