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 were both glad that spring had at last come. They rejoiced with all the other wild kindred. Silversheene himself was lying in the sunlight, sleeping on a hillside near the head waters of the Tanana, thousands of miles away from those who had loved him in the old days. The sun was warm, the sounds about him were joyous, and Silversheene himself was glad after his kind. His mate, Gray Wolf, was nursing six likely wolf-dog puppies inside their burrow, the entrance to which Silversheene was guarding. This was their second litter, for over a year had now passed since Silversheene had killed the leader of the gray pack in that desperate battle to the death, and had himself taken the leadership. Both litters had been born in this good burrow which was a natural den in the rocks on the hillside. They had discovered it together that first spring.

It was a long way back from the Yukon and where men rarely penetrated. True, occasionally an adventurous prospector