The Yellow Horde Part 9

"I can pick him out from amongst a thousand wolves," he stated. "There's no wolf s.h.i.+ver to that howl. It's a yellow wolf! As yellow as gold, not a d.a.m.ned white hair on him anywheres! It's Breed, the yellow wolf of Sand Coulee Basin--there's color come into this white h.e.l.l hole at last!"

A shrill whistle pealed from his lips and his companions shook their heads. Then the wolf howled again and they stiffened with surprise as a score of wild voices answered. The sounds were new to them and the snowy waste was filled with bewilderingly different inflections that ripped back and forth through opposing waves of sound till it seemed that jeering cachinnations rose from a thousand fiends.

They read the gleam in Collins' eyes and his disjointed utterances as a sign of hopeless madness,--but in reality it was returning sanity. A new warmth stole over him, and the certainty that he would win through.

"Here they come," he said. "The little yellow devils! They've spread from the Arctic to the Neck, like I always knowed they would. There's music a white man can listen to--the music of the little yellow wolves."

Then the two men sat silent and wondered if they themselves were mad.

For the dogs were snarling and straining at their leashes in the scrub spruce, and a strange yellow she-wolf with a strip of dark fur along her back came creeping toward the fire. Her eyes regarded the two men suspiciously and one ear tipped toward the dogs beyond. She slipped up and rested her head on Collins' knee, enjoyed his friendly voice and rubbing fingers for a single minute, then vanished in the night as the yellow breed-wolf called his pack.