For a week not a day passed that they did not cross a fresh trail, and sometimes two or three.
Gray Wolf was haunted by constant fear.

In her blindness she knew that they were surrounded by the menace of men.

To Kazan what was coming to pass had more and more ceased to fill him with fear and caution.

Three times that week he heard the shouts of men--and once he heard a white man's laughter and the barking of dogs as their master tossed them their daily feed of fish.

In the air he caught the pungent scent of camp-fires and one night, in the far distance, he heard a wild snatch of song, followed by the yelping and barking of a dog-pack.
Slowly and surely the lure of man drew him nearer to the post--a mile to-night, two miles to-morrow, but always nearer.