Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1888-10-12
TIE WOLVES.

Where the fir trees began to grow less
closely; where, between their tall trunks and
in their black foliage cleaned a few crimson
splashes of fire as the sun sank below the
horizon; where the snow lay deep and IN
spotted, save by the multitudinous prints of
their own restless feet-there, on the out
skirts of the forest. at the wane of day, the
wolves were gathering themselves together
Hungry they were and eager for work to be-
gin. There was no play among them, no
leaping over one anothers backs, or wrest-
ling, or growing pretenses at fighting. They
were on business-the first business of life; to
keep life; and to keep life, if you happen to
be a wolf, means hard work and plenty of it.,
with but little time to spare on the amenities
Of existence.
And now their old gray leaders-warriors
who have survived many a scene of death
and disaster to man and wolf-leap out to-
gether from the woods upon the darkening
plain. They raise their noses. sniff the
wind and shake themselves. One yawns and
stretches his paws, while puff of hot breath
rises from his red tongue, and, as he shuts
his narrow jaws with a snap, sharp canine
teeth, white as the snow itself, glitter in the
dusk.
Then begins that long, slouching, tireless
trot, that internal gallop that beats horse and
man and all things living for combined speed
and endurance. The pack covers nearly five
and twenty square yards of snow, and settles
into stride, each beast moving and turning
in unison with the rest, as a fight of birds
mysteriously wheels in air. They are Nor
way wolves these, and experience has long
since taught them what work will be neces-
sary before supper and return to their for
est Businesses
Note what happens almost at the start
tpne 1.-THE brute suddenly slips and strains
his leg. Fearfully he glances at his compan-
ions on the right and left, but as yet they
know not of the accident. All too soon,
however, the pace tells upon the injured ami
NAL Nature asserts herself in the great
gray wolf, his eyes glow like red hot embers,
his sinewy leg gives under him, he bowls his
farewell to dear life, and his place in the
ranks know him no more But the manned
creatures sufferings are over almost in
stantly, for the fittest alone survive in a
pack of wolves. A ravenous fighting mass
of fur and legs and teeth closes in upon him,
and he is gone, leaving no monument more
enduring than drops of his own hot blood,
which have fallen and melted for themselves
deep holes in the trampled snow.
Then forward they sweep, the cannibals,
on the best possible terms with one another,
and feeling as you would feel after anchovy,
or an olive or some such preliminary to
more important gastronomic efforts.
But now, ahead, there stands solitary
tree, naked save where, on its topmost
branches, the dark pine needles mingle in one
shapeless clump, or where, lower down,
dead cones still cling to the parent bow. In
the rough bark at its foot are fecks of wool;
but the sheep which rub themselves there in
the summer are far away just now.
Something Of greater interest meets the
wolves here. Along the snow at the base Of
this tree, and running at right angles to the
course they have, till now, been taking, ex-
tend two parallel lines, cut by the irons of
a sledge One vehicle alone has passed since
the snow last fell, but it appears to have
gone by quite recently, for the scent is
strong and the pack take it up without a
moments halt. Now supper becomes a pro-
liability, for where there is sledge there
Is horse, perhaps two; where there is a
sledge there is man, possibly more than
one.
Have you ever heard the bowling of
wolves?
/ have, seated in comfortable place Of
entertainment, with my mind at ease and
certain knowledge that many iron bars sep
arated me from the invisible howlers. Even
under those circumstances the sound was one
that made me turn cold and wonder how ma
ture had produced anything so hideous 1t
is like nothing but itself; you cannot COM
pare or contrast it with any other cry of
living things; gale Of wind in the rigging
of big ship at sea is the nearest approach to
it know. Thin, hollow walls of sound grow
and swell and burst into one demoniac howl
that embodies in its volume every conceiv-
able note of despair and eternal torture
Then the crescendo dies, sometimes as though
suddenly strangled, more often in long drawn
shrieks that fade upon the ear. There is
music in their cadences at times; those that
| heard were fairly in tune-but such tune,
such a droning, iendish, whirling blast of
melody it was. If the neither world has its
own music, that music should be the howl of
hungry wolves-the frantic chorus whose
elimination is death to flying singers, or flee
ing audiences, or both.
So much for the wolves know; SO much
for wolves whose hearts are broken and
whose sides have ached often enough under
the heavy whip of their master. So much
for tame wolves who do clumsy tricks and
have learned the beauty of obedience, for
getting, at the same time, the watchword of
all wolves, that union is strength. Return
we to my pack, which is moving like one big
machine, and the component parts of which
are together giving tongue.
The snow, for them, is in perfect order; hut
somebody ahead may perchance find his
horses crushing through the thin frozen sur
face at every stride. The darkness suits the
hunters well, but somebody ahead may be
praying for that moonlight which at present
only shows silver fringes on black cloud.
To them their wolf music is the dinner
gong; but somebody ahead may hear nothing
more beautiful than his own passing bell In
the distant mutations, rising and falling and
coming over the snow.
Fortunately, thought and a pen travel
quicker than even gray wolves; therefore,
though not knowing with certainty whether
it can catch us again before the end Of thu
story-we will leave the racing pack and
draw level with the sledge.
Here it is sure enough, blowing through
the snow and spinning out those two parallel
lines as it goes The stout horses are gal
Looping steadily, and the solitary man sitting
behind them does not use whip or word
at present He must be some miles nearer
home ere the last struggle begins, and he not
only knows the road well, but can also guess
with tolerable accuracy at the distance which
still lends enchantment to the wolf music in
the darkness behind him. Physically Rollo
Svantsen is typical Norwegian-strong
and in the prime of life. He has
been in passing peril from the wolves
before today; the rug now wrapped
about him, one corner of which flaps
and rustles in the snow, is made of wolf
skins. Tonight he appears anxious, how
ever. His horses are powerful, but not fleet,
and in his Judgment when the Journey is