Thus held the doomed animal could make little effort to protect itself and crouched in sullen quiet, its white fangs gleaming in a noiseless, defiant snarl, its eyes shining with pain and anger, and with only its thin starved body, which jerked and trembled as the Indian came nearer, betraying signs of fear.

To Rod it might have been a pitiful sight had not there come to him a thought of the preceding night and of his own and Wabi's narrow escape from the pack.
Two or three quick blows of the ax and the wolf was dead.

With a skill which can only be found among those of his own race, Mukoki drew his knife, cut deftly around the wolf's head just below the ears, and with one downward, one upward, and two sidewise jerks tore off the scalp.
Suddenly, without giving a thought to his speech, there shot from Rod, "Is that the way you scalp people ?" Mukoki looked up, his jaw fell--and then he gave the nearest thing to a real laugh that Rod ever heard come from between his lips.

When Mukoki laughed it was usually in a half-chuckle, a half-gurgle--something that neither Rod nor Wabi could have imitated if they had tried steadily for a month.
"Never scalped white people," the old Indian shot back.

"Father did when--young man.