Only in the face of their deadliest enemy, the lynx--the terrible fighter who had blinded her long ago in that battle on the Sun Rock!--did she give such warning as this to Kazan.

He sprang ahead of her, ready for battle even before he caught the scent of the gray beautiful creature of death stealing over the trail.
Then came the interruption.

From a mile away there burst forth a single fierce long-drawn howl.
After all, that was the cry of the true master of the wilderness--the wolf.

It was the cry of hunger.

It was the cry that sent men's blood running more swiftly through their veins, that brought the moose and the deer to their feet shivering in every limb--the cry that wailed like a note of death through swamp and forest and over the snow-smothered ridges until its faintest echoes reached for miles into the starlit night.
There was silence, and in that awesome stillness Kazan and Gray Wolf stood shoulder to shoulder facing the cry, and in response to that cry there worked within them a strange and mystic change, for what they had heard was not a warning or a menace but the call of Brotherhood.