The Way of the Wild | Page 9

rolled along in Indian file,
except for the soft whisper of the snow underfoot.
No noise encompassed the Brothers as they sped swiftly side by side
over the glittering white carpet, save for the slither of the snow under
their weight.
All the wild seemed to be standing still, holding its breath, looking on,
spell-bound; and save for the occasional crash of a collapsing
snow-laden branch, sounding magnified as in a cave, all the forest
about there was as still as death.
Half-an-hour passed, and Gulo flung his head around, glancing over his
shoulder a little uneasily, but with never a trace of fear in his bloodshot
eyes. Then he grunted, and the two fell apart silently and instantly,
gradually getting farther and farther from each other on a diverging

course, till his wife faded out among the trees. But never for an instant
did either of them check that tireless, deceptive, clumsy, rolling slouch,
that slid the trees behind, as telegraph-poles slide behind the express
carriage window.
Half-an-hour passed, and one of the Brothers, peering up and along the
trail a little anxiously, saw the forking of the line ahead. Then he
grunted, and the two promptly separated without a word, gradually
increasing the distance between them on the widening fork till they
were lost to each other among the marshaled trunks. But never for an
instant did they relax that swift, ghostly glide on the wonderful ski, that
slid the snow underfoot as a racing motor spins over the ruts.
An hour passed. Sweat was breaking out in beads upon the faces of the
Brothers, now miles apart, but both going in the same general direction
over the endless wastes of snow, and upon their faces was beginning to
creep the look of that pain that strong men unbeaten feel who see a
beating in sight; but never for a moment did they slacken their swift,
mysterious glide.
An hour passed. Foam began to fleck the evilly up-lifted lips glistening
back to the glistening fangs of the wolverines, now miles apart, but still
heading in the same general line, and upon their faces began to set a
look of fiends under torture; but never for a moment did they check
their indescribable shuffling slouch.
After that all was a nightmare, blurred and horrible, in which endless
processions of trees passed dimly, interspersed with aching blanks of
dazzling white that blinded the starting eyes, and man and beast
stumbled more than once as they sobbed along, forcing each leg
forward by sheer will alone.
At last, on the summit of a hog-backed, bristling ridge, Gulo stopped
and looked back, scowling and peering under his low brows. Beneath
him, far away, the valley lay like a white tablecloth, all dotted with
green pawns, and the pawns were trees. But he was not looking for
them. His keen eyes were searching for movement, and he saw it after a
bit, a dot that crept, and crept, and crept, and--stopped!

Gulo sat up, shading his eyes against the watery sun with his forepaws,
watching as perhaps he had never watched in his life before.
For a long, long while, it seemed to him, that dot remained there
motionless, far, far away down in the valley, and then at length, slowly,
so slowly that at first the movement was not perceptible, it turned about
and began to creep away--creep, creep, creep away by the trail it had
come.
Gulo watched it till it was out of sight, fading round a bend of the hills
into a dark, dotted blur that was woods. Then he dropped on all fours,
and breathed one great, big, long, deep breath. That dot was the one of
the Brothers that had been hunting him.
And almost at the same moment, five miles away, his wife had just
succeeded in swimming a swift and ice-choked river. She was standing
on the bank, watching another dot emerge into the lone landscape, and
that dot was the other one of the Brothers.
They had failed to avenge the reindeer, and the wolverines were safe.
Safe? Bah! Wild creatures are never safe. Nature knows better than that,
since by safety comes degeneration.
There was a warning--an instant's rustling hissing in the air above--less
than an instant's. But that was all, and for the first time in his
life--perhaps because he was tired, fagged--Gulo failed to take it. And
you must never fail to take a warning if you are a wild creature, you
know! There are no excuses in Nature.
Retribution was swift. Gulo yelled aloud--and he was a dumb beast, too,
as a rule, but I guess the pain was excruciating--as a hooked stiletto, it
appeared, stabbed through fur, through skin, deep down through flesh,
right into his back, clutching, gripping vise-like. Another