in his fury they would seize their chance like a flash and leap
together; one pair of long jaws would close hard on the spine behind the
tufted ears; another pair would grip a hind leg, while the wolves sprang
apart and braced to hold. Then the fight was all over; and the moose
birds, in pairs, came flitting in silently to see if there were not a
few unconsidered trifles of the feast for them to dispose of.

Occasionally, at nightfall, the wolves' hunting cry would ring out of
the woods as one of the cubs discovered three or four of the lynxes
growling horribly over some game they had pulled down together. For
Upweekis too, though generally a solitary fellow, often roams with a
savage band of freebooters to hunt the larger animals in the bitter
winter weather. No young wolf would ever run into one of these bands
alone; but when the pack rolled in upon them like a tempest the lynxes
would leap squalling away in a blind rush; and the two big wolves,
cutting in from the ends of the charging line, would turn a lynx kit
deftly aside for the cubs to hold. Then another for themselves, and the
hunt was over,--all but the feast at the end of it.

When a big and cunning lynx took to a tree at the first alarm the wolves
would go aside to leeward, where Upweekis could not see them, but where
their noses told them perfectly all that he was doing. Then began the
long game of patience, the wolves waiting for the game to come down, and
the lynx waiting for the wolves to go away. Upweekis was at a
disadvantage, for he could not see when he had won; and he generally
came down in an hour or two, only to find the wolves hot on his trail
before he had taken a dozen jumps. Whereupon he took to another tree and
the game began again.

[Illustration: "The silent, appalling death-watch began."]

When the night was exceeding cold--and one who has not felt it can
hardly imagine the bitter, killing intensity of a northern midnight in
February--the wolves, instead of going away, would wait under the tree
in which the lynx had taken refuge, and the silent, appalling
death-watch began. A lynx, though heavily furred, cannot long remain
exposed in the intense cold without moving. Moreover he must grip the
branch on which he sits more or less firmly with his claws, to keep from
falling; and the tense muscles, which flex the long claws to drive them
into the wood, soon grow weary and numb in the bitter frost. The wolves
meanwhile trot about to keep wa