I had almost forgotten to say anything about my young wolves. At our return, the three survivors were already grown large lank animals, gentle, timid, crouching to and fawning upon everybody. They were particularly anxious to ingratiate themselves with the dogs, but always met a repulse; and were not unfrequently pursued into the woods, where their fleetness saved them from being worried. They themselves soon learned to chase the white partridge; but, as the snow grew deep, they wandered less and became more domestic. Their appetite was voracious, and they growled in true savage style over their food. Sometimes the dogs brought them to bay in a corner; but, when thus pressed, the wolves shewed such formidable grinders, and gnashed them so fiercely, that their persecutors were fain to stand aloof. When I happened to relieve them from this situation, the poor things would lick my hand, as if grateful for my protection. To save themselves from nocturnal attacks, they had the sagacity to take up their quarters on the top of the wood pile, whence their long melancholy howl arose at night above the clamorous serenade with which the canine species delight to entertain the residents at the trading posts. When any of the dogs followed me in my rambles, the wolves were sure to
