THE FIERCEST ONE

The Wolf.
“It was the father wolf coming in.” Page 137.

The old mother wolf came home from her hunting, licking her black lips. Her four woolly babies scrambled out of the den among the rocks, and ran to meet her. They wagged their little tails, and barked joyous baby barks. They rubbed against her legs, and reached up their little faces to kiss her on her cool nose.

After smelling them all over the old wolf lay down beside them in the den to give them their dinner. The strongest little wolf was getting tired of milk. When he had nursed for a few minutes he began to play, climbing up his mother’s shaggy back and rolling down again, with his legs waving in the air.

Soon he pricked up his ears at the sound of a footstep outside the den. Then he sniffed the air. Sure enough! It was the father wolf coming in with something furry in his mouth. The cubs ran to smell it. Somehow the smell made the strongest little fellow feel so hungry that he tried to bite it with his new sharp teeth. He snapped and snarled when the old wolves dragged it away from him.

Very likely this reminded the parents that they must now teach the young ones to eat meat. So on the next evening they left the babies safe asleep in the den and trotted away together. They looked like two fierce dogs, with shaggy gray and black hair, pointed ears, and bushy tails. Their yellow eyes were set more slanting than the eyes of dogs.

They caught a rabbit by taking turns in chasing it till it was tired out. Then they trotted home. At the mouth of the den the mother gave a low call. There was a rustle of woolly bodies over the leaves and grasses of the nest back in the dark. And out tumbled the cubs, wriggling with joy. The father wolf, with his big teeth glittering behind his whiskered lips, tore the rabbit into pieces, and showed the young ones how to eat. Each snapped at his piece, and ran to one side alone to gnaw and pull it into bits small enough to swallow. They did not chew their food, because like other flesh-eating animals, except bears, they did not have any grinding teeth.

After the strongest baby had finished his piece he tried with a rush and a snap and a snarl to snatch from another little fellow. But the other cub held on tight with his little jaws. Then, growling and rolling his yellow eyes to watch his greedy brother, he dug a hole with his nose in one corner and buried the rest of his piece. He did this without being taught at all. Every wolf that ever lived knew enough to bury his food when he did not want to eat any more.

After their dinner the mother led the babies down the valley to lap water from the brook. It was dark by this time. Stars were twinkling in the sky. The shadowy trees swayed to and fro in the night wind. One little cub sat down on his haunches, pointed his nose at the sky, and howled. The little ones trotted here and there, smelling every stick and stone. The scream of a far-away panther on the mountain made the old wolf growl and bristle the hairs on her back. She hurried back to the den and sent the cubs in to sleep, while she stole off to hunt for her own supper.

In the morning the little wolves crept out to play about in the sunshine. They rolled and tumbled and wrestled in much the same way as the young foxes. Like the foxes the wolves belonged to the dog family of flesh-eaters. The little wolves were stronger and larger and fiercer than the little foxes. They did not have such bushy tails.

One young wolf found bits of the rabbit’s fur. He tossed and worried them, and gnawed so hard that the fur flew in his throat and nose and made him sneeze. Another saw a butterfly, and went plunging after it on his unsteady little legs. He jumped up at it, and opened his mouth to snap at it. He did not try to slap at it, as a little panther might have done, for he could not use his fore-paws like hands so easily as animals of the cat family.

All summer long there was plenty to eat. The deer in the mountains were fattening on the green grass. They could not fight very well then, because their new antlers were too soft. There were flocks of sheep on the plain. The old parent wolves prowled about every night, and often hunted in the daytime. It kept them busy enough to supply the four hungry cubs.

The two hunted together. Sometimes one hid beside a deer trail, while the other chased the deer nearer and nearer. When the deer passed the spot where the first wolf was hiding he sprang out and caught it from behind. Sometimes they took turns in chasing a deer till it was tired out. The deer could run the faster, but it always lost time by looking around to see how near the wolf was getting. Once in a while one escaped by running into the middle of a patch of cacti. The wolves could not follow there without getting their feet full of thorns. But the deer’s tough hoofs protected its feet.

Later in the summer the young wolves were taken out to learn to hunt with their parents. Their legs were so long that they were good runners, though they could not climb or spring very well. The nails on their toes were short and blunt from walking, for they could not be drawn back and so kept sharp, like the claws of animals belonging to the cat family.

The cubs wore thick coats with soft under-fur beneath the coarse shaggy hair. Their yellow eyes were keen, and their sensitive noses were quick to catch every smell of the wilderness. Their jaws were strong for snapping, and their many teeth were sharp for biting and tearing. They could scent the wind and howl when a storm was coming.

About sunset, one summer day, the little wolves followed the old ones away from the den. Down the canyon they trotted silently, winding in and out among the rocks like gray shadows. Far up the mountain-side a flock of wild sheep went leaping away in terror at sight of the wolves.

On the plain below rabbits scurried off, bounding from hillock to hillock. Prairie-dogs dived, squeaking, into their holes. A fox looked around in fright, and dodged into a clump of underbrush. A small herd of buffaloes, on their way to the river, ran close together and stood with their horns outward, while the wolves skulked past.

Perhaps, just at first, it seemed strange to the cubs to see all other animals afraid of their parents. At home the two shaggy old wolves were gentle and warm and soft toward the little ones. They fed them and watched over them and taught them all they knew. The babies whimpered when the old wolves left them alone in the den; and they barked and frisked with joy to see them come home again.

Out here on the plain it was different. The sight or smell of a wolf sent all the timid wild creatures flying in a scramble and hurry-skurry to get safely out of the way. The sound of the hungry howling made them tremble with fear, for they knew what it meant. It meant something shaggy and gray, with gleaming eyes, galloping swiftly nearer and nearer. It meant the glitter of long teeth behind grim black lips. It meant a spring and a snarl and tearing pain, and then a crunching of bones.

The first lesson that the young wolves learned was to take the trail and run it to earth. The father wolf showed them how to do it. He led them over the plain toward a cluster of trees along the river. He lifted his nose and snuffed the air. He smelled something in the wind that was blowing toward him from the woods. It was not the smell of trees or grass or flowers or birds or squirrels. It was the smell of deer.

The four cubs followed the old one as he galloped under the trees. They saw him stop and go sniffing here and there with his nose to the ground. Yes, he could smell the place where the slender hoofs had been pressing the grass a few minutes before. He ran on, with his nose to the ground. The others galloped after him, their heads low, their tongues hanging out, their tails held straight behind.

Once the father wolf howled. The young ones looked up for an instant. There, far away in the dusky woods, the deer were bounding lightly over the dead logs. They turned their pretty heads now and then to look back, till they vanished from sight. The wolves kept on for a few miles, learning to pick up the scent on the run. Then they found a half-eaten buffalo in a hollow, and stopped there for supper.

Through the late summer and early fall the young wolves hunted with their parents. During the day they stayed up in the mountains and slept in sheltered places. Sometimes they were scattered miles apart. At nightfall they called to one another with piercing howls, till they finally gathered about the old father wolf. Then they all set out to hunt together.

Sometimes they moved single file, stepping in one another’s tracks. They swam across the river and stole noiselessly through the woods. The timid sheep were easiest to kill because they could not fight. When they found a calf or sick old buffalo one sprang at his head while the others attacked from behind and bit his hind-legs. If the wolves went too near a herd the old buffaloes tried to hook them. Once a cub started to catch a young elk, but he was chased away by the old mother elk. They butted at him with their heads and struck at him with their sharp hoofs, while he ran with his tail tucked under him.

Autumn was pleasant enough with its bright days and frosty nights. The busy little creatures of the woods were gathering in their winter stores. Buffaloes and deer were fat from their summer’s feeding, and could not always run fast to get out of the way when chased by the wolves. Plump rabbits and prairie-hens were everywhere for the catching. Many a night the cruel wolves killed more than they could eat.

But soon winter came with its shortening days and gray storms lowering above the horizon. Snow fell, and icy winds blew across the frozen land. The deer and elk and antelope gathered in sheltered valleys. The wolves wandered down from the mountains, and roamed far and wide, hunting for food.

So long as the fresh snow lay soft and powdery in the gullies they could not run fast enough to catch anything, but when the snow packed hard, and an icy crust formed over the drifts, their spreading feet did not sink in deeply. Then they could go out and hunt the elk and the deer, whose small hoofs cut through the crust at every bound.

The young wolves felt hungry all the time. Sometimes, when a blinding storm shut them into their den among the rocks, they went without eating day after day. The fine snow sifted down upon their glossy winter coats as they lay close together, snuggling their cold noses into one another’s fur. Many a night they dreamed of eating, and snapped and swallowed greedily in their short, uneasy sleep. Once, in nosing about hungrily, the strongest little wolf happened to find a bone that he had hidden and forgotten weeks before. With a spring and a snarl he crunched it between his white teeth and gulped it down in a hurry.

One winter evening the four cubs, with their parents and five or six others, were following a herd of buffaloes. On galloped the buffaloes over the frozen plain. Behind and around them the dark forms of the wolves seemed to rise from the bushes and follow noiselessly. There was not a sound of a snap or a snarl. Now on this side, now on that, now lost in the shadows, the wolves galloped tirelessly on and on.

Here and there two eyes gleamed in the dim circle of a head, or bared white teeth glittered for an instant. Then again lost in the dusk, without the patter of a footfall on the snow, they edged nearer and nearer. Finally there was a sound of snarling and yelping. The wolves were fighting together over a dead buffalo. They ate him, and then broke away over the plain at a full jump, howling as they went.

Winter was over at last. The wolves were thin and fiercer than ever. Their grim black lips were always ready to curl back over their teeth at the smell of food. They felt such a dreadful gnawing emptiness inside that they were frantic to eat anything. When they began to grow weaker and weaker from hunger the welcome spring brought them new life.

Now in the time of pleasant weather and the plentiful food it was no longer necessary for the pack of wolves to hunt together. They were strong enough to look out for themselves. So the wolves scattered to make their summer homes in the loneliest spots among the mountains.

The weeks passed by, and soon there was many a new family of woolly little cubs frisking about the rocky dens. The fathers and mothers watched them lovingly. The black lips seemed almost smiling and the fierce eyes grew soft. They were gentle and happy there together, though so cruel and hateful to all the world outside.