Raymond S. Spears

“ That wolf-trail, driving straight through all the careless, wandering, snuffling pack, was as plain as day to French Louie. He saw the other wolves for what they were—young pups, old rompers, a growling, snarling, hungry pack, leaving everything big to the wolf that traveled straight.
"No, by gar! Dat's too bad!" French Louie grumbled. "Dat feller raise one combamba wit' my trap-lines! Dey raise trouble wit' me, too, if dey catch me in the dark of the moon! By gar, I bet I climb a tree like porcupine—no, by gar! I run up like I wass a marten or a squirrel, in one mighty beeg hurry!" ”

“ Out from each of the river camps he made loop lines around the hills, and cleared the lines of logs and limbs and twigs, so that he could walk freely along them, carrying a heavy pack. He blazed the trees in line, mile after mile, the blaze-marks shining light yellow against the dark bark of the spruces, like street-lights in the gloom of the deep woods.
Day after day French Louie toiled. He worked, as it seemed, harder than even youth and strength could stand ”

“ French Louie felt in his bones that this two-toed wolf was a better wolf than any other of his tribe. The old man himself could not tell why he thought so, but it was there in the print of the paw in the sand. Of course, the wolf now knew enough to avoid a steel trap! No doubt he also knew the deadly nature of hydrocyanic acid, of strychnin, and of other poisons. The track looked just right for a strong, wise wolf.
"He not so heavy as mos' wolfs of hees size," said French Louie, shaking his head. "A lean, gaunt wolf, heem! He step soft, crafty like. ”