Brown Wolf

by Jack London

SHE had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put onher overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found herwaiting husband absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud.She sent a questing glance across the tall grass and in and outamong the orchard trees."Where's Wolf?" she asked."He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with ajerk from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle ofblossom, and surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit thelast I saw of him.""Wolf! Wolf! Here Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearingand took the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanitajungle to the county road.Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand andlent to her efforts a shrill whistling.She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace."My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you canmake unlovely noises. My ear-drums are pierced. You outwhistle - ""Orpheus.""I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely."Poesy does not prevent one from being practical - at least itdoesn't prevent ME. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sellgems to the magazines."He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on:"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I ampractical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmuteitself, with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage,a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove of red-woods, an orchard ofthirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rowsof strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurglingbrook. I am a beauty-merchant, a trader in song, and I pursueutility, dear Madge. I sing a song, and thanks to the magazineeditors I transmute my song into a waft of the west wind sighingthrough our redwoods, into a murmur of waters over mossy stonesthat sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet thesame song wonderfully - er - transmuted.""O that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" shelaughed."Name one that wasn't.""Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow thatwas accounted the worst milker in the township.""She was beautiful - " he began,"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted."But she WAS beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted."And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply."And there's the Wolf!"From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush,and then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall ofrock, appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced fore pawsdislodged a pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes hewatched the fall of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Thenhe transferred his gaze and with open mouth laughed down at them."You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman calledout to him.The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemedto snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand.They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceededon their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trailwhere the descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midstof a miniature avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was notdemonstrative. A pat and a rub around the ears from the man, and amore prolonged caressing from the woman, and he was away down thetrail in front of them, gliding effortlessly over the ground intrue wolf fashion.In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the liewas given to his wolfhood by his color and marking. There the dogunmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him.He was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back andshoulders were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneathto a yellow that was dingy because of the brown that lingered init. The white of the throat and paws and the spots over the eyeswas dirty because of the persistent and ineradicable brown, whilethe eyes themselves were twin topazes, golden and brown.The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was becauseit had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easymatter when he first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere totheir little mountain cottage. Footsore and famished, he hadkilled a rabbit under their very noses and under their verywindows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring at the footof the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went down to inspectthe intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge likewisewas snarled at when she went down to present, as a peace-offering,a large pan of bread and milk.A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all theiradvances, refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them withbared fangs and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleepingand resting by the spring, and eating the food they gave him afterthey set it down at a safe distance and retreated. His wretchedphysical condition explained why he lingered; and when he hadrecuperated, after several days' sojourn, he disappeared.And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and hiswife were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time beencalled away into the northern part of the state. Riding along onthe train, near to the line between California and Oregon, hechanced to look out of the window and saw his unsociable guestsliding along the wagon road, brown and wolfish, tired yettireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred miles of travel.Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train atthe next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, andcaptured the vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return tripwas made in the baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to themountain cottage. Here he was tied up for a week and made love toby the man and woman. But it was very circumspect love-making.Remote and alien as a traveller from another planet, he snarleddown their soft-spoken love-words. He never barked. In all thetime they had him he was never known to bark.To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had ametal plate made, on which was stamped: RETURN TO WALT IRVINE,GLEN ELLEN, SONOMA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA. This was riveted to acollar and strapped about the dog's neck. Then he was turnedloose, and promptly he disappeared. A day later came a telegramfrom Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had made over a hundredmiles to the north, and was still going when captured.He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, andwas loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southernOregon before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as hereceived his liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. Hewas possessed of an obsession that drove him north. The hominginstinct, Irvine called it, after he had expended the selling priceof a sonnet in getting the animal back from northern Oregon.Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half thelength of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, beforehe was picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing wasthe speed with which he travelled. Fed up and rested, as soon ashe was loosed he devoted all his energy to getting over the ground.On the first day's run he was known to cover as high as a hundredand fifty miles, and after that he would average a hundred miles aday until caught. He always arrived back lean and hungry andsavage, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving his waynorthward in response to some prompting of his being that no onecould understand.But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted theinevitable and elected to remain at the cottage where first he hadkilled the rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a longtime elapsed before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. Itwas a great victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands onhim. He was fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottageever succeeded in making up to him. A low growl greeted suchapproach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, the lipslifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl - asnarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them,as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog-snarling, but had never seen wolf-snarling before.He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge.He had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of theowner from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearestneighbor and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him aKlondike dog. Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks inthat far country, and so she constituted herself an authority onthe subject.But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears,obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would neverquite heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of theAlaskan dogs they saw published in magazines and newspapers. Theyoften speculated over his past, and tried to conjure up (from whatthey had read and heard) what his northland life had been. Thatthe northland still drew him, they knew; for at night theysometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind blew andthe bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would comeupon him and he would lift a mournful lament which they knew to bethe long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation was greatenough to draw from him that canine cry.Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as towhose dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly anyexpression of affection made by him. But the man had the better ofit at first, chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolfhad had no experience with women. He did not understand women.Madge's skirts were something he never quite accepted. The swishof them was enough to set him a-bristle with suspicion, and on awindy day she could not approach him at all.On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she whoruled the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone,that he was permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It wasbecause of these things that she bade fair to overcome the handicapof her garments. Then it was that Walt put forth special effort,making it a practice to have Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote,and, between petting and talking, losing much time from his work.Walt won in the end, and his victory was most probably due to thefact that he was a man, though Madge averred that they would havehad another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and at least twowest winds sighing through their redwoods, had Wait properlydevoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone toexercise a natural taste and an unbiassed judgment."It's about time I heard from those triolets", Walt said, after asilence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily downthe trail. "There'll be a check at the post-office, I know, andwe'll transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon ofmaple syrup, and a new pair of overshoes for you.""And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madgeadded. "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know."Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and heclapped his hand to his breast pocket."Never mind. I have here a nice beautiful new cow, the best milkerin California.""When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then,reproachfully, "And you never showed it to me.""I saved it to read to you on the way to the post-office, in a spotremarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave ofhis hand, a dry log on which to sit.A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down amossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. Fromthe valley arose the mellow song of meadow-larks, while about them,in and out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellowbutterflies.Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt readingsoftly from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet,punctuated now and again by the clattering of a displaced stone.As Walt finished and looked to his wife for approval, a man cameinto view around the turn of the trail. He was bare-headed andsweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand he mopped his face, whilein the other hand he carried a new hat and a wilted starched collarwhich he had removed from his neck. He was a well-built man, andhis muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfullynew and ready-made black clothes he wore."Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy,and never missed an opportunity to practise it.The man paused and nodded."I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed halfapologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather.""You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed."Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin'for it neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you knowwhere she lives. Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson.""You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes brightwith interest, "about whom we've heard so much?""Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, SkiffMiller. I just thought I'd s'prise her.""You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the foot-path." Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon aquarter of a mile. "You see that blasted redwood? Take the littletrail turning off to the right. It's the short cut to her house.You can't miss it.""Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. He made tentative efforts togo, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. He was gazing at herwith an open admiration of which he was quite unconscious, andwhich was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea ofembarrassment in which he floundered."We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said."Mayn't we come over some day while you are at your sister's? Or,better yet, won't you come over and have dinner with us?""Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caughthimself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin'north again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got amail contract with the government."When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futileeffort to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. Heforgot his embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn toflush and feel uncomfortable.It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time forhim to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, whohad been away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like intoview.Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman beforehim passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for thedog, and a great wonder came into his face."Well, I'll be damned!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly.He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At thesound of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouthhad opened in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger andfirst smelled his hands, then licked them with his tongue.Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnlyrepeated, "Well, I'll be damned!""Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment "I was just s'prisedsome, that was all.""We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolfmake up to a stranger before.""Is that what you call him - Wolf?" the man asked.Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you- unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondikedog, you know.""Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's fore legsand examined the foot-pads, pressing them and denting them with histhumb. "Kind of SOFT," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for along time.""I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets youhandle him."Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, andin a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?"But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer'slegs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, briefand joyous, but a bark."That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked.Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened.Wolf had barked."It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said."First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered.Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist."Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for fiveminutes."Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guileher words had led him to suspect."I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'dtumbled to it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His nameain't Wolf. It's Brown.""Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband.Walt was on the defensive at once."How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded."Because he is," was the reply."Mere assertion," Walt said sharply.In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, thenasked, with a nod of his head toward Madge:"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,'and I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an'raised 'm, an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove itto you."Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang outsharply, and at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to acaress. "Gee!" The dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Nowmush-on!" And the dog ceased his swing abruptly and startedstraight ahead, halting obediently at command."I can do it with whistles", Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was mylead dog.""But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge askedtremulously.The man nodded."Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?"He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look atme. Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I?""But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, thestarvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know.""I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Millervolunteered grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all thatsaved 'm.""I'd have died first!" Madge cried."Things is different down here", Miller explained. "You don't haveto eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're allin. You've never ben all in, so you don't know anything about it.""That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten inCalifornia. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll neverwant for food - you know that. He'll never suffer from cold andhardship. Here all is softness and gentleness. Neither the humannor nature is savage. He will never know a whip-lash again. Andas for the weather - why, it never snows here.""But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," SkiffMiller laughed."But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What haveyou to offer him in that northland life?""Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came theanswer."And the rest of the time?""No grub.""And the work?""Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Workwithout end, an' famine, an' frost, an all the rest of the miseries- that's what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it.He is used to it. He knows that life. He was born to it an'brought up to it. An' you don't know anything about it. You don'tknow what you're talking about. That's where the dog belongs, andthat's where he'll be happiest.""The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "Sothere is no need of further discussion.""What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, his brows lowering and anobstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead."I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believehe's your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may evensometime have driven him for his owner. But his obeying theordinary driving commands of the Alaskan trail is no demonstrationthat he is yours. Any dog in Alaska would obey you as he obeyed.Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska,and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to get possessionof him. Anyway, you've got to prove property."Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifledeeper on his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the blackcloth of his coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as thoughmeasuring the strength of his slenderness.The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he saidfinally, "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin'the dog right here an' now."Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms andshoulders seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife flutteredapprehensively into the breach."Maybe Mr. Miller is right", she said. "I am afraid that he is.Wolf does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of'Brown.' He made friends with him instantly, and you know that'ssomething he never did with anybody before. Besides, look at theway he barked. He was just bursting with joy Joy over what?Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller."Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droopwith hopelessness."I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, butBrown, and he must belong to Mr. Miller.""Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buyhim."Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly,quick to be generous in response to generousness."I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way totemper his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack teamof Alaska. Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused fivethousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; butthat wasn't what made the fancy price. It was the team itself.Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelvehundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't a-sellin' 'mnow. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've ben lookin'for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd benstole - not the value of him, but the - well, I liked 'm like hell,that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes when Iseen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to betrue. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug everynight. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk attwo dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. Henever knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular,the darn little cuss - that finger right there!"And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore fingerfor them to see."That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehowclinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection.He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began tospeak."But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog."Skiff Miller looked puzzled."Have you thought about him?" she asked."Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response."Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on."Maybe he has his likes and desires. You have not considered him.You give him no choice. It has never entered your mind thatpossibly he might prefer California to Alaska. You consider onlywhat you like. You do with him as you would with a sack ofpotatoes or a bale of hay."This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visiblyimpressed as he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage ofhis indecision."If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would beyour happiness also," she urged.Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole aglance of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval."What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded.It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked."D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?"She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it."Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, atthe same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mootedanimal."He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He neverloafed on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team intoshape. He's got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. Heknows what you say to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin'about him."The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws,ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager tofollow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first oneand then the other."An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come.An' I do like him. I like him like hell."Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closedit again without speaking. Finally he said:"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weightin them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berthan' has got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him.Whatever he says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down.I'll say good-by and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, hecan stay. If he wants to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call'm to come an' don't you call 'm to come back."He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you mustplay fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned.""We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on herassurances."I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft.When their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards,look at the bottom of the deck, an' lie like the devil - beggin'your pardon, ma'am. I'm only discoursin' about women in general.""I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered."I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied."Brown ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow?It's no more'n fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundredyards." - Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfullythat we won't do anything to influence him.""Well, then, I might as well be gettin' along," Skiff Miller saidin the ordinary tones of one departing.At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, andstill more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shookhands. He sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on herhip and at the same time licking Skiff Miller's hand. When thelatter shook hands with Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting hisweight on Walt and licking both men's hands."It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker'slast words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail.For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself alleagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn andretrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang afterhim, overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctanttenderness, and strove gently to make him pause.Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catchinghis coat-sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him afterthe retreating man.Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wantedto be in two places at the same time, with the old master and thenew, and steadily the distance between them was increasing. Hesprang about excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, nowtoward one, now toward the other, in painful indecision, notknowing his own mind, desiring both and unable to choose, utteringquick sharp whines and beginning to pant.He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward,the mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each timeopening wider. These jerking movements were in unison with therecurrent spasms that attacked the throat, each spasm severer andmore intense than the preceding one. And in accord with jerks andspasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first silently, accompaniedby the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then sounding a low,deep note, the lowest in the register of the human ear. All thiswas the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling.But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the fullthroat, the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, andhe looked long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolfturned his head, and over his shoulder just as steadily regardedWalt. The appeal was unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did thedog receive, no suggestion and no clew as to what his conductshould be.A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of thetrail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, andthen, struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge.Hitherto he had ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, shealone was left. He went over to her and snuggled his head in herlap, nudging her arm with his nose - an old trick of his whenbegging for favors. He backed away from her and began writhing andtwisting playfully, curvetting and prancing, half rearing andstriking his fore paws to the earth, struggling with all his body,from the wheedling eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, toexpress the thought that was in him and that was denied himutterance.This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness ofthese humans who had never been cold before. No response could hedraw from them, no help could he get. They did not consider him.They were as dead.He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Millerwas rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view.Yet he never turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly andmethodically, as though possessed of no interest in what wasoccurring behind his back.And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him toreappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, withoutmovement, as though turned to stone - withal stone quick witheagerness and desire. He barked once, and waited. Then he turnedand trotted back to Walt Irvine. He sniffed his hand and droppeddown heavily at his feet, watching the trail where it curvedemptily from view.The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemedsuddenly to increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save forthe meadow-larks, there was no other sound. The great yellowbutterflies drifted silently through the sunshine and lostthemselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge gazed triumphantly at herhusband.A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision anddeliberation marked his movements. He did not glance at the manand woman. His eyes were fixed up the trail. He had made up hismind. They knew it. And they knew, so far as they were concerned,that the ordeal had just begun.He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenuefor the caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth.But the caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look ather husband, and she saw the sternness with which he watched her.The pursed lips relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly.Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps hemade. Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing outstraight behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trailand was gone.

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