Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1915-10-12

the wolf cry. This desire grew strong
err in him as the shadows or nlSnt
deepened in the forest. He had travel
ed all day, but he was not tired. Ihere
was something about night, now that
there were no men near. that exhllar-
ated him strangely. The wolf blood in
him ran swifter and sWifter. Ionlght
| it was clear. The sky was filled with
stars The moon rose. And at last he
settled back in the snow and turned
his head straight up to the spruce tops
and the wolf came out of him in long
mournful cry which quivered through
the still night for miles.
For long time he sat and listened
after that howl He had found voice
a voice with a strange new note in 1T.
and 1t gave him still greater conf
dence. He had expected an answer,
but none came. He had travelled in the
face of the wind, and as he howled,
bull moose crashed through the scrub
timber ahead Of him, his horns rafting
against the trees like the tattoo of a
clear birch club as he put distance be-
tween himself and that cry.
Twice Kazan howled before he went
on, and he found Joy in the practise OF
that new note. He came then to the
foot OF a rough ridge, and turned up
out of the swamp to the top Of 1t. The
stars and the moon were nearer to him
there. and on the other side of the
ridge he looked down upon a great
sweeping plain, with frozen lake glis-
tening in the moonlight, and white
river leading from it off into timber
that was neither so thick nor So black
as that in the swamp.
And then every muscle in his body
grew tense and his blood leaped. From
far of in the plain there came cry.
It was his cry = the wolf cry. His
Jaws snapped. His white fangs gleam-
ed, and he growled deep in his throat.
He wanted to reply, but some strange
instinct urged him not to. That In
stinct of the wild was already becom-
ing master of him. In the air, in the
whispering of the spruce tops, In the
moon and the stars themselves. there
breather a spirit which told him that
what he had heard was the wolf cry,
but that it was not the wolf call.
The other came an hour later, clear
and distinct, that same wailing howl
at the beginning 80 but ending IN a..
staccato OF quick sharp yelps that stir
red his blood at once into fiery ex-
element that 1t had never known be-
fore. The same instinct told him that
this was the call = the hunt cry. 1t
urged him to come quickly. A few
moments later it came again and this
time there was reply from close
down along the foot IF the ridge. and
another from so far away that Kazan
could scarcely hear it. The hunt pack
was gathering for the night chase; but
Kazan sat quiet and trembling.
He was not afraid, but he was not
ready to co. The ridge seemed to split
the world for him. Down there 1t was
new, and strange and without men.
From the other side something seemed
pulling him back, and suddenly ne
turned his head and gazed back
through the moonlit space behind him,
and whined. It was the dog whine
now. The woman was back there. He
could hear her voice. He could feel
the touch of her soft hand. He could
see the laughter in her face and eyes,
the laughter that had made him warm
and happy. She was calling to him
through the forests, and he was torn
between desire to answer that call,
and desire to 90 down into the plain.
For he could also see many men wait
ing for him with clubs. and he could
hea: the cracking of whips, and feel
the sting Of their lashes.
For long time he remained on the
top of the ridge that divided his world.
And then, at last, he turned and went
down into the plain.
AL, that night he kept close to the
hunt pack. but never quite approached
It. This was fortunate for him. He
still bore the scent of traces and of
man. The pack would have torn him
to pieces. The first instinct Of the wild
is that of self preservation. 1t NAV
have been this, whisper back
through the years of savage forbears,
that made Kazan roll IN the snow now
and then where the feet Of the pack
had trod the thickest,
That night the pack killed caribou
on the edge of the lake, and Toasted un-
till nearly dawn. Kszan hung in the
face of the wind. Tie smell of blood
and of warm flesh tickled his nostrils,
and his sharp ears could catch the
cracking of bones. But the instinct
was stronger than the temptation.
Not until broad day, when the pack
had scattered far and wide over the
plain, did he go boldly to the scene OF
the kill He found rothing but an area
of blood redeemed snow, covered with
bones, entrails and torn bits of tough
hide. But it was enough, and he roll