HOW WOLF BECAME THE COMPANION OF MEN

Twice that night Rod was awakened by Mukoki opening the cabin door.  The second time he raised himself upon his elbows and quietly watched the old warrior.  It was a brilliantly clear night and a flood of moonlight was pouring into the camp.  He could hear Mukoki chuckling and grunting, as though communicating with himself, and at last, his curiosity getting the better of him, he wrapped his blanket about him and joined the Indian at the door.

Mukoki was peering up into space.  Rod followed his gaze.  The moon was directly above the cabin.  The sky was clear of clouds and so bright was the light that objects on the farther side of the lake were plainly visible.

Besides, it was bitter cold—­so cold that his face began to tingle as he stood there.  These things he noticed, but he could see nothing to hold Mukoki’s vision in the sky above unless it was the glorious beauty of the night.

“What is it, Mukoki?” he asked.

The old Indian looked silently at him for a moment, some mysterious, all-absorbing joy revealed in every lineament of his face.

“Wolf night!” he whispered.

He looked back to where Wabi was sleeping.

“Wolf night!” he repeated, and slipped like a shadow to the side of the unconscious young hunter.  Rod regarded his actions with growing wonder.  He saw him bend over Wabi, shake him by the shoulders, and heard him repeat again, “Wolf night!  Wolf night!”

Wabi awoke and sat up in his blankets, and Mukoki came back to the door.  He had dressed himself before this, and now, with his rifle, slipped out into the night.  The young Indian had joined Rod at the open door and together they watched Mukoki’s gaunt figure as it sped swiftly across the lake, up the hill and over into the wilderness desolation beyond.

When Rod looked at Wabi he saw that the Indian boy’s eyes were wide and staring, with an expression in them that was something between fright and horror.  Without speaking he went to the table and lighted the candles and then dressed.  When he was done his face still bore traces of suppressed excitement.

He ran back to the door and whistled loudly.  From his shelter beside the cabin the captive wolf responded with a snarling whine.  Again he whistled, a dozen times, twenty, but there came no reply.  More swiftly than Mukoki the Indian youth sped across the lake and to the summit of the hill.  Mukoki had completely disappeared in the white, brilliant vastness of the wilderness that stretched away at his feet.

When Wabi returned to the cabin Rod had a fire roaring in the stove.  He seated himself beside it, holding out a pair of hands blue with cold.

“Ugh!  It’s an awful night!” he shivered.

He laughed across at Rod, a little uneasily, but with the old light back in his eyes.  Suddenly he asked: 

“Did Minnetaki ever tell you—­anything—­queer—­about Mukoki, Rod?”