Page:They who walk in the wilds, (IA theywhowalkinwil00robe).pdf/218

 ished clean, silence once more descended upon the glittering white spaces about the moose-yard. By night the cold was still of a savage intensity; but the days were growing longer, and in the sun's rays at noon-time there was a perceptible warmth. The result was a hard crust upon the surface of the snow,—a crust so strong that all but the heavier creatures of the wild could move about upon it easily and swiftly. And now, ravaging down across it from their famine-stricken north, came the wolves. Not for nearly fifty years had these fierce and crafty slayers been seen in New Brunswick. They came not in great packs, as in lands where they expect to hunt great game, but rather in small bands of four or five, or at most eight or ten, scattering over a wide range of country, and disdaining no quarry, however humble. Before them, on every side, spread panic. Only the moose family, sequestered and indifferent, knew nothing of it.

Then, one still and bitter morning, a band of four of the grey invaders caught scent of the moose-yard, and swept down upon it with their dreadful, quavering hunting-cry. At sight of these strange galloping beasts, with their long jaws and deadly fangs, the first impulse of the moose family was to flee. But the old bull, though he knew nothing of wolves, saw at once that flight would be instantly fatal. Conveying this in some