first. But to-day they
were fated for more exciting business.

The caribou were plunging as fast as they could through the snow. They
came, in caribou fashion, in a long file, each stepping into the tracks
of the other, and it was a good woodsman, coming along behind them, that
could tell whether there were two or ten in the band. An old bull with
sweeping horns led the file.

When going is at all easy, the caribou can travel at an incredible pace.
Even their swinging trot can carry them from range to range in a single
day; but when they choose to run their fastest, they seem to have wings.
To-day, however, the soft snow impeded their speed. They seemed to be
running freely enough, in great bounds, but Bill could tell that they
were hard pressed. He would have liked to have taken one of the young
cows to add to his larder, but they were too far to risk a shot. Then
he seized the girl by the hand.

"Plow fast as you can up hill," he urged. "I think we'll see some
action."

For he had guessed the impulse behind the wild race. They plunged
through the snow as fast as they could, then sank almost out of sight in
the drifts. And in a moment Bill pointed to a gray, shadowy band that
came loping toward them out of the haze.

It was the wolf pack, and they were deep in the hunt. They were great,
shaggy creatures, lean and savage, and Virginia felt glad that this
stalwart form was beside her. The wolves of the North, when the
starvation time is on, are not always to be trusted. They looked
ghostly and incredibly large through the flurries.

They came within a hundred yards, then their keen senses whispered a
warning. Just for an instant they stood motionless in the snow, heads
raised and fierce eyes grazing.

Bill raised his rifle. He took quick aim at the great leader, and the
report rang far through the silences. But the entire pack sprang away
as one.

"I can't believe that I missed," Bill cried. He started to take aim
again.

But no second shot was needed. Suddenly the pack leader leaped high in
the air and fell almost buried in the snow. His brethren halted,
seemingly about to attack the fallen, but Bill's shout frightened them
on. The great, gaunt creature would sing no more to the winter stars.

He was a magnificent specimen of the black wolf, head as large as that
of a black bear, and a pelt already rich and heavy. "We'll add a few
more from time to time," Bill told her, "and then you can