er. He must have stepped without seeing it under the
snow, and it broke his leg. Then he'd tried to drag himself back home.

It was when I stood up to get breath and cool off that I first seen the
wolf, setting peaceful, waggin' his tail. First I thought he was one of
our own huskies, but when he didn't know his name I saw for sure he must
be the wolf who lived up Two Mile Crick. Wolves know they're scarce,
with expensive pelts, so neither father nor me had seen more'n this
person's tracks. He'd got poor inspecting father's business instead of
minding his own. That's why he was called the Inspector. It was March,
too, the moon of famine. Of course I threw my ax and missed. His hungry
smile's still thar behind a bush, and me wondering whether his business
is with me or father. That's why I stepped on the snow-shoes, and went
right past where he was, not daring to get my ax. Yes, it was me he
wanted to see--first, but of course I wasn't going to encourage any
animal into thinking he'd scared a man. Why, he'd scarce have let father
even see his tracks for fear they'd be trapped or shot. So I walked slow
and proud, leadin' him off from father--at least I played that, wishing
all the time that mother's lil' boy was to home. After a while I grabbed
down a lopped stick where father'd blazed, not as fierce as an ax, but
enough to make me more or less respected.

Sometimes the Inspector was down wind 'specting my smell, times he was
up wind for a bird's-eye view, or again on my tracks to see how small
they looked--and oh, they did feel small!

From what I've learned among these people, wolves is kind to man cubs,
gentle and friendly even when pinched with hunger, just loving to watch
a child and its queer ways. They're shy of man because his will is
strong compelling them, and his weapons magic. So they respects his
traps, his kids, an' all belonging to him. Only dying of hunger, they'll
snatch his dogs and cats, and little pigs, but they ain't known to hurt
man or his young.

The Inspector was bigger than me, stronger'n any man, swifter'n any
horse. I tell yer the maned white wolf is wiser'n most people, and but
for eating his cubs, he's nature's gentleman.

The trouble was not him hunting, but me scared. Why, if he'd wanted me,
one flash, one bite, and I'm breakfast. It was just curiosity made him
so close behind like a stealthy ghost. When I'd turn to show fight, he'd
seem to apologize, and then I'd go on whistling a hymn