A wilderness dog; the biography of a gray wolf

Front matter

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THE BIOGRAPHY OF A GFjiY WOLF

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Introduction

INTRODUCTION

Into the folk-lore and the fireside tales of nearly all peoples has come striding the tall, sinister figure of the great gray wolf.

Sometimes it is in fairy stories as in " Little Red Ridinghood," which in Grimm's Fairy Tales is explained as a mythical legend, describing the alternate day and night and the daily disappearance of the moon (the grandmother) before the sun, which is the wolf. Again, it is in legend, as in the story of the founding of Rome by Romulus and Remus, through the kind maternal offices of their foster-mother, the she-wolf.

In still more startling form it comes to us from India in those gruesome tales of wolf children, and there seem to be many of them which are credited by Englishmen who know India and its people. Such a tale is Kipling's story of Mowgli, the fascinating yet fearful account of a child snatched from the fireside by a she-wolf and taken away to her den, where he was suckled and brought up in all wa}'s like one of the wolf whelps, running either upon two feet or four at will, uttering strange cries like a wild beast, and eating flesh. Such is the description of the Indian wolfchild. But Mowgli became a great leader of the pack, supplementing the cunning of the wolf with that of man, and, whenever he could, preventing the pack from eating human flesh.

Nearly every people in its struggle on the frontier has fought with wolves ; hence frontier literature abounds in accounts of hairbreadth escapes from them. Nowhere is this more true than in the literature of Russia, where the wolves are most destructive to human life. In many parts of that country the fight for existence against wolves is a desperate one, and the government bounties upon these gray marauders are very heavy.

In other countries the wolves content themselves with simply making raids upon sheep and cattle, or other stock, and are a very serious menace to the stock-raiser. This is particularly true in the northwestern portion of our own country, where continuous war has gone on between the stock-raiser and the wolves ever since the days of Clarke and Lewis.

There have been many famous fighters in this border warfare ; — wolves renowned for their strength and cunning who have set at naught the traps and the poison of men and their skill as hunters, and gone on year after year with their devastation. In such cases a wolf becomes legendary, and lives in fireside tales long after he has gone the way of his sires.

Such a wolf was " the wild beast of Genendare," who terrorized Brittany in the north of France in 1760. He carried on his work of destruction among human beings for five years, although the skilled hunters of the country pursued him constantly, and notwithstanding the fact that the king had offered a large reward for his scalp, and for a portion of the time the better part of the French army was employed in hunting him.

In times of famine, wolves have been known to lay siege to large towns and not to allow the citizens to come forth for many weeks. But most of these strange things happened several centuries ago ; to-day the wolf is no longer a menace to life, and much less so to property than formerly.

The wolf is quick to learn from sad experience. Twenty or thirty years ago he could be both poisoned and trapped by the man upon our western frontier. To-day he knows both traps and strychnine and can be taken in neither way, so that man has again to sharpen his wits if he would protect his stock against the gray pack.

The wolf differs greatly in size, ferocity, and cunning, according to the region he inhabits, for it seems to be his environment that brings out his varying characteristics.

Naturalists are not of one accord as to the classification of wolves. All are agreed that there are two very distinctly marked species, but of the sub-divisions there seem to be many, all differing slightly, although not enough to render them really distinct from their brother wolves. The two widely differing varieties are the tall gray timber wolf, the scourge of the frontier, and his small brown brother, the prairie wolf, or coyote of the Mexican. These two are easily told apart in all climes, for one is a giant and the other, in comparison, a pigmy.

Some of the very largest wolves on record are found in Colorado and in our northwestern states. Many of them tip the beam at considerably over one hundred pounds, and there are a few instances on record of wolves weighing one hundred and forty and one hundred and fifty pounds. One hundred pounds is a fair weight for a timber wolf, while a very large coyote does not weigh over thirty or thirty-five pounds. So the gap between these two wolves will be seen to be wide. From the coyote down, however, there seems to be a gradual and an easy grade to the fox, for there is a wolf in Mexico called the fox-wolf, who is the natural link between the two.

Again, the gray wolf varies in size and color according to the clime he inhabits. Usually he is a grizzled gray, tawny in places, and also with many hairs tipped with black ; but in parts of Texas he is a dingy rufous red, while in another portion of the same state he is black. Along the upper Missouri River white wolves were quite common twenty years ago, so it will be seen that the gray wolf is not always gray. The coyote, which corresponds to the jackal in the eastern hemisphere, is nearly always some shade of brown ; but he is a sneaking, no-account fellow, so it does not much matter what color he is.

In the cold winter months, when food becomes scarce, the wolves form themselves into packs of from six to twenty members and hunt their food in common. Then it is that the law of the pack, a rather simple though rigorous code, is in force.

The pack is always under the guidance of a leader ; the strongest and most cunning wolf has this honor. He it is who directs their movements, and exacts rigid obedience. If any transgress his law, their punishment is death, which the gray, grizzled veteran metes out himself, while the remainder of the pack look on with approval.

Male wolves are never allowed to transgress his laws, but females are shown more leniency. The reason for this is that a male wolf will rarely bite a female. No matter how much the she-wolf may exasperate her lord, he seldom punishes her ; but simply turns his head and lets her slash him with her fangs at will.

Wolf whelps are simply a lot of tumbling, snapping, frolicking wilderness puppies. This is very easily proven. If one puts a collie pup into a wolf den, and allows it to be brought up with the wolf whelps, it will in one generation return completely to the wild, and when it has matured will be a veritable wolf, perhaps a little less ferocious than its real wolf brothers, yet to all intents and purposes a wolf. On the other hand, bring the wolf whelp into camp before he is old enough to have developed his wolfish traits, and you can make quite a respectable dog of him, although he will always be wolfish, and it would take several generations to make a clever dog of him.

Wolf-coursing has ever been a favorite sport upon the frontier, where the very conditions under which the people live breed recklessness and daring. In Europe it has been the pastime of the upper classes, and crowned heads have often distinguished themselves in famous wolf-hunts. Even to-day the Czar of all the Russias is supposed to own the finest wolfhounds in the world. Each year the royal family and the great retinue of the Czar go forth to test the skill of these Russian wolfhounds, and prizes are awarded to the best dogs.

Here, however, the sport seems to be rather cruel, as the dogs are run in packs and are taught to catch the wolf, each dog getting hold of a leg and stretching his body, thus holding him until the hunters come up.

A few years ago an American gentleman imported some of these famous Russian wolfhounds, but they were entirely unable to make the American timber wolf submit to this stretching ordeal, as he seems to be stronger and fiercer than any of his brothers.

My father and an uncle went west in the early fifties, when Chicago was a small village, with rough plank walks and other primitive features. In those days, the farmers came to town, drawing their wheat in four-horse wagons. Some traversed a distance of one hundred and fifty miles over the prairies, and wolves often followed these teams for hours. When a small boy, it was my delight to sit at my father's knee and hear stories of wolves upon the great plains in the early days.

The most exciting of all these tales, to which I listened with bated breath, were the accounts of wolf-coursing, in which daredevil sport the men and boys indulged in the late autumn. The packs used in these hunts were usually a motley set of dogs : deerhounds, foxhounds, shepherds, bulldogs, and many varieties of mongrels.

The hiding-places of the wolves were in what is called the bottom-lands, along the river-courses, where there was timber which afforded them good cover. Unless you could find your wolf in the open, this cover had to be beaten and the wolf driven out. When he was at last sighted, pandemonium broke loose among both the pack and the horsemen, for it was a part of the game to make as much noise as possible, the theory being that this confused the wolf and prevented his making his best run. Shouts rang out, horns were blown, pistols were discharged, and away they all went at a frightful pace across the rough prairie.

About the only stratagem used was to keep the wolf in the open and ride hard. This riding was far more treacherous than that ordinarily indulged in by fox-hunters who hunt to hounds, for much of the way led through cities of prairie dogs, where the ground was fairly perforated with the burrows of these interesting little creatures.

With the horse going at a dead run, it was impossible to guide him and keep him out of danger ; so he was usually given his head in any of this bad land, the rider knowing well that the horse's instinct was better than his own judgment in such a crisis.

Frequently after a long, hard chase, the wolf got away ; but often he was at last brought to bay, and, amid a babel of snarling dogs, shouting men, and the crack of firearms, paid the price of being a wolf and an outcast of civilization.

The particular reason why I am interested in wolves and am writing this book is to show that the wolf is the wilderness brother of our friend the dog ; that he is the dog's wild ancestor, like him in nearly every respect, but without his love and affection, which long association with man has so strongly developed. To me the affection of a good dog is one of the most beautiful things in the brute kingdom.

Just when or where the great gray wolf and man became acquainted is uncertain, but that they did become acquainted the dog can testify. It is probable that for centuries the wolf hovered upon the outskirts of man's camp-fire, fearful yet attracted, wishing to draw in close to this strange figure that crouched by the fire, yet not daring to do so. They met upon the mountain-top and in the deep valley, in spring, summer, autumn and winter, yet were strangers, until at last the fear wore away, and the great gaunt wolf drew in close to the man's habitation.

Perhaps he was hungry and the man threw him a fish, or it may be that the fascination of the firelight was too much for his curiosity ; but at last he came and sat by the side of the man creature and finally snuggled up close to him, putting his long cruel muzzle into the hand of his master. Then he licked the hand of man, and has been his slave and admirer ever since, loving him through poverty and disgrace, in sickness and in health, eager to forgive an injury, faithful unto death as only a dog can be. Such is the trustful brute that has come to us from the pack of the gray wolf.

CHAPTER I CHRISTMAS IN THE BIG WOODS A Wilderness Do

CHAPTER I

It was Christmas Eve in the big woods, but none of the silent-footed fur folk that came and went like shadows in its gray, ghastly aisles, or any of the swift-winged denizens of the tree-tops were aware of the fact. For them to-morrow would not be the very best and the gladdest day in all the year. To their senses the sun would shine no brighter, and the winds would be no warmer.

All day long they had come and gone, each upon his errand of subsistence bent. To catch somebody else, and not get caught himself, — that was the game. It was a rather hazardous game, but they had all of them always played it, and knew no other. If it was a hard lot, they did not realize it, for unlike man and the domestic creatures, they had not been pampered by civilization, and did not know the luxuries of shelter and artificial warmth.

But they played the game well, each in his own way.

The fox had gone about his hunting just as diligently that day as he ever had in his life, for game was scarce this winter, and the rabbit, the partridge, the wood-mouse, and everything else that is meat for Reynard had looked to it that this sly fellow went without his supper.

And each was well equipped to fight the battle. The rabbit had put on his ermine coat, that none of his many enemies might see him, and his broad-padded feet fell upon the snow, light as the falling of an autumn leaf. The weasel had also put on his white coat, which was unfortunate for all his prey both big and little, since it made him so inconspicuous in the new snow. The great horned owl had grown a fine fringe upon his wings, that his coming might be swift and sure ; and the partridge, swaying in the tree-top as he budded, might not hear his approach or know of his whereabouts, until steely talons enfolded him.

Thus the old warfare went on, and it made no difference whether it was Christmas Eve or not. In the ancient woods the snows that had fallen thick and fast, ever since about Thanksgiving-time, were three or four feet deep. The laurel and the scrub spruces in many cases were entirely hidden. The rabbit swamps were a tangle of paths, main-traveled roads, and innumerable sidestreets leading in every direction. Here and there one could see where a buck rabbit had his rubbing-post upon a soft maple or a white birch.

This was his own particular post, and for another rabbit to use it, would be as much a breach of etiquette, as for you or me to use another person's comb or brush. Impolite rabbits sometimes trespassed the long-established rules of conduct for the woods, and then there were battles royal, simply over a rubbing-post ; — but men often fight over even smaller things than that.

Occasionally also one might see where a partridge had plunged under the snow, for a night's rest. Here it was that the prowling fox, who does most of his hunting at night, sometimes found the sound sleeper; then there were signs of a scuffle and blood upon the snow, and perhaps a few feathers, for Reynard is a sly fellow, else he would have starved ages ago.

Early that morning of December twentyfourth, just as the sun glorified the eastern hilltops, and set all the myriad snow-crystals in field and forest to sparkling, a tote- team had started from McGregor's Point, a small lumbering and trading town on the upper Ottawa River, to carry supplies to camp No. 18, of the Ottawa River Lumber Company.

The team was driven by Roderick McElwain, a vigorous Scotch boy of about eighteen years. The load was a few general provisions for the camp, and also the mail from the outside world, with many parcels brimming with Christmas cheer. In short, the load was a sort of Merry Christmas from the world to camp No. 18.

The trip was a long one, considering the fact that the snow was deep, and much of the way the team could merely wallow slowly ; but in other places, where the pines and the spruces were especially heavy, the track was fairly good. Young McElwain had been over the trail every other day since the first snowfall, and although it was a winding, devious way, he knew all of its twists and turns, as well as you or I would know our own city street. This was his woodsman's instinct.

But the roads had never been as bad as they were to-day, and when the blue shadows of the early winter twilight began creeping through the woods, he had covered only about two-thirds of the journey, and there were still seven or eight good English miles between him and a night's lodging for both man and beast. This would not be so bad if the moon were bright, but there were signs of its being cloudy, and the outlook was not pleasant.

Anxiously Roderick watched the long blue shadows creep through the forest, and the sable mantle of night enfold the white landscape ; but it was not with fear, for to his strong nerves the forest held no terrors. It was the inconvenience of plodding for miles upon a winding, twisting trail in nearly total darkness that bothered him.

At first a few stars, brighter than their fellows, pricked through the haze, but even these were soon obscured by the enfolding gloom.

With the coming of night, the wind began to freshen and to moan a cheerless wailing dirge in the tree-tops. A benumbing chill also crept into the air, and altogether the night boded ill for the young traveler caught so far from shelter.

As the darkness deepened, he was obliged to go still more slowly and occasionally even to get out and hunt for the trail. This he was able to do, even in the darkness, by treading about in the snow, for the trail was hard, while the untrodden snows were very soft, and as soon as one got off the track he sank deep in them.

It was an eerie night of moaning winds and groaning branches, punctuated with the occasional hooting of an owl or the sharp bark of a prowling fox.

Once the young teamster got a few feet off the trail, and it was with great difficulty that he guided his plunging, frightened horse back to safety. Just as he had found the trail once more, and was again plodding upon his arduous way, a long, desolate, high-keyed howl floated down through the aisles of the gloom-haunted forest. It was so thin, so wavering, and so much like the howling of the wind, that a less experienced ear than Roderick's might have been mistaken in the sound. But, although he had heard the cry rarely before, he knew it instantly as foreboding menace, especially to a lone traveler far from shelter. It was the hunting cry of the great gray wolf.

Presently the fitful wind again bore the wild, weird howl to his ears. At first he had been doubtful of the direction from which it had come, but now he located it without difficulty, for it sounded somewhat nearer. The great gray hunter was on his trail, after his flesh and that of old Benny, the tote-horse.

A few minutes before he had been debating the advisability of camping for the night ; now, that was out of the question. He must press on desperately and see if he could not reach Lake Quambog before the fight came, for he was sure that there would be a fight. The deep snows had made hunting bad for the wolves, and they certainly were in earnest this time.

He reached under the seat to see if the thirty-two calibre revolver which he always carried was there, and, after reassuring himself that it was safe, braced his nerves, and urged Benny forward.

Soon the howling was repeated, this time much nearer, — so near in fact that it gave Roderick quite a start. They were following rapidly. Again and again the desolate, blood-curdling cry was reiterated, each time a little nearer. Like an inexorable fate, this menace from the seemingly peaceful woods bore down upon the young man.

Five anxious minutes dragged by, and the cries were not repeated. A less experienced woodsman than Roderick might have been deceived into the belief that his trail had been abandoned, but not he. He knew full well that their silence meant they had discovered his proximit}^ and were closing in, or reconnoitering their prey.

Another minute of this suspense went by and then old Benny stopped stock still in the trail and began snorting and shaking with fright. Roderick peered into the darkness, and, forty or fifty feet ahead, made out the two yellow phosphorous eyes of a wolf, burning like live coals.

This was serious. They had either intentionally or unwittingly got directly in his way, so that further progress was impossible until the road was cleared. Why could not the miserable brutes content themselves with following behind ? Then they might even help him to urge the tired horse forward.

Roderick reached down under the seat for his revolver, and, turning Benny's head as far to one side as he could and still keep him on the trail, he took deliberate aim between the two bright coals and fired. The old tote-horse reared and plunged, and for a moment the boy had his hands full quieting him. When he got a chance to look for the wolf, the two coals had disappeared and the way was again clear.

Once more they started forward, but now Benny was keyed to the highest pitch. He too understood the danger, and that wild, unreasoning terror, which horses often show in time of peril, made him almost unmanageable.

For an arduous quarter of a mile they moved on again, the horse plunging and snorting, and the driver holding on to him for dear life, and, by a superhuman effort,

4o A Wilderness Dog

keeping him in the path. Then Roderick's quick ear caught the soft patter of feet on the trail behind, and, turning, he made out three or four tall gray shapes following. How bold they were becoming ! If they were not checked they might at any minute jump upon his low load from behind and attack him ; so turning part way around, and at the same time keeping as tight a rein on the horse as he could, he fired one more shot at his menacing enemies. But the shot was probably high ; and, although they all sneaked into the cover at the side of the trail and followed warily for a few rods, no harm was done them as far as Roderick could see. Soon he heard the rhythmic pat-a-pat-pat in the road behind, and knew that they were following again.

They were not as much of a menace from behind, however, as when they blocked his way in front, so he let them come on, until one caught at the end of a blanket that was flapping behind, and sought to pull it from the load. Then Roderick whirled and fired again. As before, they took to the underbrush, but not for long.

A bright thought now came to him. He reached down under the blankets and dragged up a ham, about the only eatable thing in the load, and threw it over the back of the sled, as a peace-offering to his pursuers.

The famished pack fell upon it like furies, and the boy shuddered at the thought of what they would do to him if they got the chance. But they were soon back, like Oliver Twist, asking for more. Roderick had no more meat for them, and little else that he fancied they would care for; but at last, seeing how hard they were pressing him, he hurled the buffalo robe at them, and it, too, went the way of the ham.

The lake was now barely half a mile distant, and the boy's hopes began to rise ; if he could only reach it ; he knew that he could offer a better fight. There the way was smooth and open, and if the moon would only come up, he felt certain that he could beat them off. So, as fast as the wolves pressed him too hard, he fired the remaining two shots in his revolver, and urged the frantic horse forward.

Yet the pack pressed him closer and closer, and he was soon obliged to strike with the whip and to shout, in order to keep them from springing upon the load behind.

The rearing and plunging of the horse did not permit of his loading the revolver again, and he now began to fear that he had made a mistake in not keeping his last two shots until they came to close quarters. He reached down under the seat and got out the axe which he always carried. That did not need to be reloaded, and, after all, was about as good a weapon at close range as the revolver.

Suddenly a mighty wolf leaped fairly upon the top of the load. At the same instant Roderick had a premonition of danger, and turned just in time to see the brute spring.

The axe was light, and the young man was strong, and his plight made him desperate. Before the wolf could advance or retreat, with a mighty blow he sent him sprawling in the road behind. It was a lucky blow well placed, and the fallen wolf's famished comrades, frenzied by the blood that flowed freely from a gash in his head, made short work of him.

For fifteen minutes Roderick and his jaded horse plodded on without molestation, and then he gave a great shout of joy. The moon was at last breaking through the clouds, and the lake, wind-swept and nearly free of snow, was just ahead. He had also reloaded his revolver during the cessation of hostilities, and now felt much better able to continue the struggle.

" Come on," he shouted, as the horse broke into a wild gallop across the frozen lake, " and I will give you a bit of lead for supper."

His pursuers needed no further invitation, and soon six gigantic timber wolves were racing over the ice after him.

Bang, went his revolver and the bullet skimmed over the ice. It was almost impossible to hit one of them, with his attention so closely riveted upon the horse, and going at this breakneck pace. Three of the brutes raced alongside and three behind, but Benny still kept up his frantic speed. Soon two alarming facts were apparent : first, that the horse was nearly exhausted ; and, second, that the wolves were on the outside, running the team around in a great circle.

When Roderick fully realized these two facts, his blood ran cold. Benny would soon drop, and they would be at the mercy of the pack. He cheered on the poor horse with friendly cries, and shouted hoarse imprecations at his foes ; but in spite of all he could do, the pace slackened, and the great circle in which they were running grew smaller and smaller.

As long as they kept in rapid motion, Roderick did not much fear that the wolves would try to close in on him, but as soon as they came to a dead stop, then he knew that there would be a desperate battle. He would have to protect both himself and the horse, for he did not intend to abandon his faithful steed to these famished brutes.

After fifteen minutes of rapid running, the tired horse was blowing and gasping, nearly winded ; but the gaunt timber wolves galloped on, as fresh as ever. Clearly it was no hardship for them. The circle in which they were now running was only about twenty rods in diameter, and at first it had been half a mile. Surely it seemed that the chances of escape upon the lake, which Roderick had thought so bright a few minutes before, were vanishing rapidly.

The wolves now galloped in close, and once a gigantic tawny fellow snapped at Benny's leg. Roderick shuddered to think how soon the pack would have been upon them, had the wolf drawn blood.

In a last effort to frighten them a little farther from the horse he fired his remaining two shots, and again his revolver was empty. Just at the moment that the last shot rang out clear and sharp upon the night air, a tall, gaunt figure leaped fairly upon the load behind him. Roderick felt the hot breath of the beast upon the back of his neck, so sure and strong had been the leap.