lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl - a
snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them,
as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog-
snarling, but had never seen wolf-snarling before.

He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge.
He had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the
owner from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest
neighbor and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a
Klondike dog. Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in
that far country, and so she constituted herself an authority on
the subject.

But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears,
obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never
quite heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the
Alaskan dogs they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They
often speculated over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what
they had read and heard) what his northland life had been. That
the northland still drew him, they knew; for at night they
sometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind blew and
the bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would come
upon him and he would lift a mournful lament which they knew to be
the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation was great
enough to draw from him that canine cry.

Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to
whose dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any
expression of affection made by him. But the man had the better of
it at first, chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf