Never had the terror and loneliness of blindness fallen upon Gray Wolf as in the days that followed the shooting of Kazan and his capture by Sandy McTrigger.  For hours after the shot she crouched in the bush back from the river, waiting for him to come to her.  She had faith that he would come, as he had come a thousand times before, and she lay close on her belly, sniffing the air, and whining when it brought no scent of her mate.  Day and night were alike an endless chaos of darkness to her now, but she knew when the sun went down.  She sensed the first deepening shadows of evening, and she knew that the stars were out, and that the river lay in moonlight.  It was a night to roam, and after a time she moved restlessly about in a small circle on the plain, and sent out her first inquiring call for Kazan.  Up from the river came the pungent odor of smoke, and instinctively she knew that it was this smoke, and the nearness of man, that was keeping Kazan from her.  But she went no nearer than that first circle made by her padded feet.  Blindness had taught her to wait.  Since the day of the battle on the Sun Rock, when the lynx had destroyed her eyes, Kazan had never failed her.  Three times she called for him in the early night.  Then she made herself a nest under a banskian shrub, and waited until dawn.

Just how she knew when night blotted out the last glow of the sun, so without seeing she knew when day came.  Not until she felt the warmth of the sun on her back did her anxiety overcome her caution.  Slowly she moved toward the river, sniffing the air and whining.  There was no longer the smell of smoke in the air, and she could not catch the scent of man.  She followed her own trail back to the sand-bar, and in the fringe of thick bush overhanging the white shore of the stream she stopped and listened.  After a little she scrambled down and went straight to the spot where she and Kazan were drinking when the shot came.  And there her nose struck the sand still wet and thick with Kazan’s blood.  She knew it was the blood of her mate, for the scent of him was all about her in the sand, mingled with the man-smell of Sandy McTrigger.  She sniffed the trail of his body to the edge of the stream, where Sandy had dragged him to the canoe.  She found the fallen tree to which he had been tied.  And then she came upon one of the two clubs that Sandy had used to beat wounded Kazan into submissiveness.  It was covered with blood and hair, and all at once Gray Wolf lay back on her haunches and turned her blind face to the sky, and there rose from her throat a cry for Kazan that drifted for miles on the wings of the south wind.  Never had Gray Wolf given quite that cry before.  It was not the “call” that comes with the moonlit nights, and neither was it the hunt-cry, nor the she-wolf’s yearning for matehood.  It carried with it the lament of death.  And after that one cry Gray Wolf slunk back to the fringe of bush over the river, and lay with her face turned to the stream.

A strange terror fell upon her.  She had grown accustomed to darkness, but never before had she been alone in that darkness.  Always there had been the guardianship of Kazan’s presence.  She heard the clucking sound of a spruce hen in the bush a few yards away, and now that sound came to her as if from out of another world.  A ground-mouse rustled through the grass close to her forepaws, and she snapped at it, and closed her teeth on a rock.  The muscles of her shoulders twitched tremulously and she shivered as if stricken by intense cold.  She was terrified by the darkness that shut out the world from her, and she pawed at her closed eyes, as if she might open them to light.  Early in the afternoon she wandered back on the plain.  It was different.  It frightened her, and soon she returned to the beach, and snuggled down under the tree where Kazan had lain.  She was not so frightened here.  The smell of Kazan was strong about her.  For an hour she lay motionless, with her head resting on the club clotted with his hair and blood.  Night found her still there.  And when the moon and the stars came out she crawled back into the pit in the white sand that Kazan’s body had made under the tree.

With dawn she went down to the edge of the stream to drink.  She could not see that the day was almost as dark as night, and that the gray-black sky was a chaos of slumbering storm.  But she could smell the presence of it in the thick air, and could feel the forked flashes of lightning that rolled up with the dense pall from the south and west.  The distant rumbling of thunder grew louder, and she huddled herself again under the tree.  For hours the storm crashed over her, and the rain fell in a deluge.  When it had finished she slunk out from her shelter like a thing beaten.  Vainly she sought for one last scent of Kazan.  The club was washed clean.  Again the sand was white where Kazan’s blood had reddened it.  Even under the tree there was no sign of him left.

Until now only the terror of being alone in the pit of darkness that enveloped her had oppressed Gray Wolf.  With afternoon came hunger.  It was this hunger that drew her from the sand-bar, and she wandered back into the plain.  A dozen times she scented game, and each time it evaded her.  Even a ground-mouse that she cornered under a root, and dug out with her paws, escaped her fangs.

Thirty-six hours before this Kazan and Gray Wolf had left a half of their last kill a mile of two farther back on the plain.  The kill was one of the big barren rabbits, and Gray Wolf turned in its direction.  She did not require sight to find it.  In her was developed to its finest point that sixth sense of the animal kingdom, the sense of orientation, and as straight as a pigeon might have winged its flight she cut through the bush to the spot where they had cached the rabbit.  A white fox had been there ahead of her, and she found only scattered bits of hair and fur.  What the fox had left the moose-birds and bush-jays had carried away.  Hungrily Gray Wolf turned back to the river.

That night she slept again where Kazan had lain, and three times she called for him without answer.  A heavy dew fell, and it drenched the last vestige of her mate’s scent out of the sand.  But still through the day that followed, and the day that followed that, blind Gray Wolf clung to the narrow rim of white sand.  On the fourth day her hunger reached a point where she gnawed the bark from willow bushes.  It was on this day that she made a discovery.  She was drinking, when her sensitive nose touched something in the water’s edge that was smooth, and bore a faint odor of flesh.  It was one of the big northern river clams.  She pawed it ashore, sniffing at the hard shell.  Then she crunched it between her teeth.  She had never tasted sweeter meat than that which she found inside, and she began hunting for other clams.  She found many of them, and ate until she was no longer hungry.  For three days more she remained on the bar.

And then, one night, the call came to her.  It set her quivering with a strange new excitement ­something that may have been a new hope, and in the moonlight she trotted nervously up and down the shining strip of sand, facing now the north, and now the south, and then the east and the west ­her head flung up, listening, as if in the soft wind of the night she was trying to locate the whispering lure of a wonderful voice.  And whatever it was that came to her came from out of the south and east.  Off there ­across the barren, far beyond the outer edge of the northern timber-line ­was home.  And off there, in her brute way, she reasoned that she must find Kazan.  The call did not come from their old windfall home in the swamp.  It came from beyond that, and in a flashing vision there rose through her blindness a picture of the towering Sun Rock, of the winding trail that led to it, and the cabin on the plain.  It was there that blindness had come to her.  It was there that day had ended, and eternal night had begun.  And it was there that she had mothered her first-born.  Nature had registered these things so that they could never be wiped out of her memory, and when the call came it was from the sunlit world where she had last known light and life and had last seen the moon and the stars in the blue night of the skies.

And to that call she responded, leaving the river and its food behind her ­straight out into the face of darkness and starvation, no longer fearing death or the emptiness of the world she could not see; for ahead of her, two hundred miles away, she could see the Sun Rock, the winding trail, the nest of her first-born between the two big rocks ­and Kazan!