and his hunger increased
mightily; but he was too old in the world to forget his caution. He
waited. He lay down and waited, while the porcupine grated its teeth and
uttered grunts and sobs and occasional sharp little squeals. In a little
while, One Eye noticed that the quills were drooping and that a great
quivering had set up. The quivering came to an end suddenly. There was
a final defiant clash of the long teeth. Then all the quills drooped
quite down, and the body relaxed and moved no more.

With a nervous, shrinking paw, One Eye stretched out the porcupine to its
full length and turned it over on its back. Nothing had happened. It
was surely dead. He studied it intently for a moment, then took a
careful grip with his teeth and started off down the stream, partly
carrying, partly dragging the porcupine, with head turned to the side so
as to avoid stepping on the prickly mass. He recollected something,
dropped the burden, and trotted back to where he had left the ptarmigan.
He did not hesitate a moment. He knew clearly what was to be done, and
this he did by promptly eating the ptarmigan. Then he returned and took
up his burden.

When he dragged the result of his day's hunt into the cave, the she-wolf
inspected it, turned her muzzle to him, and lightly licked him on the
neck. But the next instant she was warning him away from the cubs with a
snarl that was less harsh than usual and that was more apologetic than
menacing. Her instinctive fear of the father of her progeny was toning
down. He was behaving as a wolf-father should, and manifesting no unholy
desire to devour the young lives she had brought into the world.

CHAPTER III--THE GREY CUB

He was different from his brothers and sisters. Their hair already
betrayed the reddish hue inherited from their mother, the she-wolf; while
he alone, in this particular, took after his father. He was the one
little grey cub of the litter. He had bred true to the straight wolf-
stock--in fact, he had bred true to old One Eye himself, physically, with
but a single exception, and that was he had two eyes to his father's one.

The grey cub's eyes had not been open long, yet already he could see with
steady clearness. And while his eyes were still closed, he had felt,
tasted, and smelled. He knew his two brothers and his two sisters very
well. He had begun to romp with them in a feeble, awkward way, and even
to squabble, his little throat vibrating w