“It was wrong to run, little brother,” whispered Mooka.

“Why?” said Noel.

“Cause Wayeeses see it, and think we ’fraid.”

“But I was ’fraid out there, little sister,” confessed Noel bravely.  “Here we can climb tree; good chance shoot um with my arrows.”

Like two frightened rabbits they crouched under the fir, staring back with wild round eyes over the trail, fearing every instant to see the savage pack break out of the woods and come howling after them.  But only the single big wolf appeared, trotting quietly along in their footsteps.  Within bowshot he stopped with head raised, looking, listening intently.  Then, as if he had seen them in their hiding, he turned aside, circled widely to the left, and entered the woods far below.

Again the two little hunters hurried on through the silent, snow-filled woods, a strange disquietude settling upon them as they felt they were followed by unseen feet.  Soon the feeling grew too strong to resist.  Noel with his bow ready, and a strange chill trickling like cold water along his spine, was hiding behind a tree watching the back trail, when a low exclamation from Mooka made him turn.  There behind them, not ten steps away, a huge white wolf was sitting quietly on his tail, watching them with absorbed, silent intentness.

Fear and wonder, and swift memories of Old Tomah and the wolf that had followed him when he was lost, swept over Noel in a flood.  He rose swiftly, the long bow bent, and again a deadly arrow cuddled softly against his cheek; but there were doubts and fears in his eye till Mooka caught his arm with a glad little laugh—­

“My cub, little brother.  See his ear, and oh, his tail!  Watch um tail, little brother.”  For at the first move the big wolf sprang alertly to his feet, looked deep into Mooka’s eyes with that intense, penetrating light which serves a wild animal to read your very thoughts, and instantly his great bushy tail was waving its friendly greeting.

It was indeed Malsunsis, the cub.  Before the great storm broke he had crouched with the pack in the hollow just in front of the little hunters; and although the wolves were hungry, it was with feelings of curiosity only that they watched the children, who seemed to the powerful brutes hardly more to be feared than a couple of snowbirds hopping across the vast barren.  But they were children of men—­that was enough for the white-wolf packs, which for untold years had never been known to molest a man.  This morning Malsunsis had again crossed their trail.  He had seen them lying in wait for the caribou that his own pack were driving; had seen Noel smite the bull, and was filled with wonder; but his own business kept him still in hiding.  Now, well fed and good-natured, but more curious than ever, he had followed the trail of these little folk to learn something about them.