After breakfast, the men lashed their slim camp outfit to the sled and turned their backs on the fading warmth of the fire. As they moved into the darkness, the haunting cries of the wolves rose again, echoing through the freezing air. Conversation ceased as they focused on the trail. Daylight did not arrive until nine o’clock, and by midday, a brief rose-coloured glow in the southern sky marked where the sun sat just below the horizon. However, this light faded quickly, and by three o’clock, the heavy shroud of the Arctic night descended once more.
As the shadows lengthened, the hunting cries grew closer, occasionally sending the dogs into brief fits of panic. When the men finally made camp, Henry was busy adding ice to the pot when a sudden blow and a sharp cry of pain startled him. He looked up to see a dark shape vanishing into the trees and Bill standing among the dogs with a stout club.
“It got half a salmon,” Bill announced, looking both triumphant and frustrated. “But I managed to hit it. Did you hear that squeal?”
“What did it look like?” Henry asked.
“I couldn’t see clearly, but it had four legs and fur. It looked just like a dog.”
“It must be a tame wolf,” Henry remarked. “It’s certainly bold enough, coming right into camp at feeding time.”
That night, as they sat on the wooden box smoking their pipes, the circle of gleaming eyes drew even tighter. Bill’s anxiety was becoming more apparent. He spoke of his desire to reach Fort McGurry, but Henry, losing patience, snapped at him to stop complaining.
The next morning, Henry was awakened by Bill’s furious shouting. He sat up to find Bill standing by the fire, his face twisted with anger.
“Frog is gone,” Bill said shortly.
Henry jumped out of his blankets to count the dogs. It was true. Frog, the strongest dog in the pack, had vanished. This was their second loss in two days. A heavy, gloomy silence hung over them as they ate and harnessed the remaining four dogs. The day was a repeat of the ones before—a long, silent struggle across the frozen world, with the unseen pack trailing closely behind.
To prevent further losses, Bill spent the evening tying the dogs up using a clever method. He fastened a leather strap around each dog’s neck and attached a heavy stick to it. The other end of the stick was tied to a stake. This prevented the dogs from reaching the leather to gnaw through it.
“That should hold them,” Bill said with satisfaction. “Even One Ear won't be able to escape this.”
As they sat by the fire, they watched the dark shapes moving on the edge of the light. Occasionally, when the fire flared up, they could see the wolves clearly. Suddenly, One Ear began to whine eagerly, straining against his stick toward the darkness. A dog-like animal glided into the firelight with a mixture of caution and daring.
“It’s a she-wolf,” Henry whispered. “She’s the decoy. She lures the dogs away so the rest of the pack can kill them.”
The animal looked strangely like a large sled-dog. Her coat was primarily grey, but it had a faint, reddish tint that seemed to flicker in the firelight. She regarded the men with a look that was not affectionate, but filled with a hungry, merciless longing.
“She’s not afraid of us at all,” Henry noted.
Bill reached for his rifle, moved by a sudden urge to end the threat. He had only three cartridges left, but the shot was clear. However, the moment he moved the gun toward his shoulder, the she-wolf leaped into the bushes and vanished.
“She knew exactly what I was doing,” Bill muttered, discouraged. “A wolf that understands guns has spent time around humans. I’m going to get her, Henry. I’ll find a way to trap her.”
“Don’t wander too far,” Henry warned. “If that pack attacks, three bullets won't save you. They’re starving and desperate.”
The following morning brought more bad news. Spanker was gone. Bill sat in silence, looking defeated.
“How did it happen?” he asked.
“One Ear must have chewed him loose,” Henry explained. “Since he couldn’t free himself, he freed Spanker instead.”
A hundred yards down the trail, they found the remains of Spanker—nothing but a clean-bitten stick and some scraps of leather. The wolves had eaten everything.
“They’re going to get us, Henry,” Bill whispered, his voice heavy with dread. “They’re like land sharks following a ship. They know they just have to wait.”
“You’re half-beaten already if you talk like that,” Henry retorted, though he was privately concerned. He noticed that Bill didn't even argue back, which was unlike him. As Henry drifted off to sleep that night, he watched his partner’s grim face and realized that Bill’s spirit was beginning to break under the pressure of the silent, white wilderness.