Carolina watchman. [volume] (Salisbury, N.C.) 1871-1937, 1917-04-18
CHAPTER IV.-Continued.

After that cry Kazan sat for a long
tl1ne on his launches, shifting the new
freedom of the air, and watching the
deep black pits in the forest about him,
as they faded away before dawn. Now
and then, since the day the traders had
first bought him and put him into
sledge-traces away owe on the Macken-
zie, he had often thought of his free
dom longingly, the wolf blood in him
urging him to take it. But he had
never quite dared. 1t thrilled him now.
There We're no clubs here, no whips,
none of the Nan-beasts whom he had
first learned to d%istrust, and then to
hate. It was his miSfortune-that
quarter-strain of wolf; and the clubs,
instead of subduing him, had added to
the savagery that was born in him.
Men had been his worst enemies. They
mad beaten him time and again until he
was almost dead. They called him
bad" and stepped wide of him, and
never missed the chance to snap a
whip over his back. His body was COW
ered with scars they had given him.
He had never felt kindness, or love,
until the first night the woman had put
her warm little hand on his head. and
had snuggled her face close down to
his, while Thorpe-her husband-had
cried out in horror. He had almost
buried his fangs in her white flesh, but
in an instant her gentle touch. and her
sweet voice, had sen through him that
wonderful thrill that was his first
knowledge of love. And now it was a
man who was driving him from her,
away from the hand that had never
held a club or a whip, and he growled
as he trotted deeper into the forest.
He came to the edge of a swamp as
day broke. For a time he had been
filled with a strange uneasiness, and
light did not quite dispel it. At last
he was free of men He could detect
nothing that reminded him of their
hated presence in the air. But neither
could he smell the presence of other
dogs, of the sledge, the fire, of compan-
ionship and food, and so far back as he
could remember they had always been
a part of his life.
Here it was very quiet. The swamp
lay in a hollow between two ridge
mountains, and the spruce and cedar
grew low and thick-so thick that
there was almost no snow under them,
and the day was like twilight. Two
things he began to miss more than all
others-food and company. Both the
wolf and the dog that was in him de-
manded the first, and that part of him
that was dog longed for the latter. To
both desires the wolf blood that was
strong in him rose responsively. It told
him that somewhere in this silent
world between the two ridges there
was companionship, and that all he
had to do to find it was to sit back on
his launches, and cry out his loneli-
ness. More than nee something trem-
bled in his deep chest, rose in his
throat, and ended there in a whine. It
was the wolf howl, not yet quite born.
Food came more easily than voice.
Toward midday he cornered a big
white rabbit under a log, and killed it.
The warm flesh and blood was better
than frozen fish, or tallow and bran,
and the feast he had gave him conf
dence. That afternoon he chased many
rabbits, and killed two more. Until
now, he had never known the delight of
pursuing and killing at will, even
though he did not eat all he killed.
But there "a no fight in the rab-
bits. They died too easily. They were
very sweet and tender to eat, when he
was hungry, but the first thrill of kill
ing them passed away after a time. He
wanted something bigger. He no long
er skunk along as if he were afraid, or
as If he wanted to remain hidden. He
held his head up. His back bristled.
His tail swung free and bushy, like a
VOLTS. Every hair in his body Quiv-