It was a man-trail.

There were the marks of the sledge, the dogs' feet, and the snow-shoeprints of his enemy.
Then he threw up his head to the stars, and from his throat there rolled out over the wide plains the hunt-cry--the wild and savage call for the pack.

Never had he put the savagery in it that was there to-night.

Again and again he sent forth that call, and then there came an answer and another and still another, until Gray Wolf herself sat back on her haunches and added her voice to Kazan's, and far out on the plain a white and haggard-faced man halted his exhausted dogs to listen, while a voice said faintly from the sledge: "The wolves, father.

Are they coming--after us ?" The man was silent.