Kazan faced the ridge.

The man was taking up their trail.

He stopped where Gray Wolf had fallen, and examined the snow.

Then he came on.
Kazan urged Gray Wolf to her feet, and they made for the thick swamp close to the lake.

All that day they kept in the face of the wind, and when Gray Wolf lay down Kazan stole back over their trail, watching and sniffing the air.
For days after that Gray Wolf ran lame, and when once they came upon the remains of an old camp, Kazan's teeth were bared in snarling hatred of the man-scent that had been left behind.