Hardly had its echoes died away when, from deeper in the
swamp, there came another cry, and still another from the mountain;
and up and out of the desolation rose the calls of others of the
scattered pack, in quick response to the comrade who had first found
meat.
All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief, except
that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food.
A few minutes, and another of the mournful howls changed into the
fierce hunt-cry; then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound
of the chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the
mountain and down into the barrens.
"A caribou!" cried Jan softly. "A caribou, and he is going into the
barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!"
He ran and leaned over beside the old tree, so that the great plain
stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt-cry
growing fainter until it almost died away. Then, slowly, it grew again
in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east--approaching
nearer and nearer until Jan saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the
white gloom.
The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him; another half
rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out fan-shape, their gray
bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, and their leaders
almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side.
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