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1Hunting their living meat, as the Yeehats were hunting it, on the flanks of the migrating moose, the wolf pack had at
2last crossed over from the land of streams and timber and invaded Buck's valley. Into the clearing where the moonlight
3streamed, they poured in a silvery flood; and in the centre of the clearing stood Buck, motionless as a statue, waiting
4their coming. They were awed, so still and large he stood, and a moment's pause fell, till the boldest one leaped
5straight for him. Like a flash Buck struck, breaking the neck. Then he stood, without movement, as before, the stricken
6wolf rolling in agony behind him. Three others tried it in sharp succession; and one after the other they drew back,
7streaming blood from slashed throats or shoulders. This was sufficient to fling the whole pack forward, pell-mell,
8crowded together, blocked and confused by its eagerness to pull down the prey. Buck's marvellous quickness and agility
9stood him in good stead. Pivoting on his hind legs, and snapping and gashing, he was everywhere at once, presenting a
10front which was apparently unbroken so swiftly did he whirl and guard from side to side. But to prevent them from
11getting behind him, he was forced back, down past the pool and into the creek bed, till he brought up against a high
12gravel bank. He worked along to a right angle in the bank which the men had made in the course of mining, and in this
13angle he came to bay, protected on three sides and with nothing to do but face the front. And so well did he face it,
14that at the end of half an hour the wolves drew back discomfited. The tongues of all were out and lolling, the white
15fangs showing cruelly white in the moonlight. Some were lying down with heads raised and ears pricked forward; others
16stood on their feet, watching him; and still others were lapping water from the pool. One wolf, long and lean and gray,
17advanced cautiously, in a friendly manner, and Buck recognized the wild brother with whom he had run for a night and a
18day. He was whining softly, and, as Buck whined, they touched noses. Then an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred, came
19forward. Buck writhed his lips into the preliminary of a snarl, but sniffed noses with him, Whereupon the old wolf sat
20down, pointed nose at the moon, and broke out the long wolf howl. The others sat down and howled. And now the call came
21to Buck in unmistakable accents. He, too, sat down and howled. This over, he came out of his angle and the pack crowded
22around him, sniffing in half-friendly, half-savage manner. The leaders lifted the yelp of the pack and sprang away into
23the woods. The wolves swung in behind, yelping in chorus. And Buck ran with them, side by side with the wild brother,
24yelping as he ran. And here may well end the story of Buck. The years were not many when the Yeehats noted a change in
25the breed of timber wolves; for some were seen with splashes of brown on head and muzzle, and with a rift of white
26centring down the chest. But more remarkable than this, the Yeehats tell of a Ghost Dog that runs at the head of the
27pack. They are afraid of this Ghost Dog, for it has cunning greater than they, stealing from their camps in fierce
28winters, robbing their traps, slaying their dogs, and defying their bravest hunters. Nay, the tale grows worse. Hunters
29there are who fail to return to the camp, and hunters there have been whom their tribesmen found with throats slashed
30cruelly open and with wolf prints about them in the snow greater than the prints of any wolf. Each fall, when the
31Yeehats follow the movement of the moose, there is a certain valley which they never enter. And women there are who
32become sad when the word goes over the fire of how the Evil Spirit came to select that valley for an abiding-place. In
33the summers there is one visitor, however, to that valley, of which the Yeehats do not know. It is a great, gloriously
34coated wolf, like, and yet unlike, all other wolves. He crosses alone from the smiling timber land and comes down into
35an open space among the trees. Here a yellow stream flows from rotted moose-hide sacks and sinks into the ground, with
36long grasses growing through it and vegetable mould overrunning it and hiding its yellow from the sun; and here he muses
37for a time, howling once, long and mournfully, ere he departs. But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights
38come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through
39the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a
40song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.
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