Although it was a still, dark night, the blue lights of the
approaching dawn proclaimed that March had already come. The gale
blew fiercely and bitingly, driving the snow in swirls and spirals
before it.
All was smooth at the place where the trap had been set; there was
not a trace of the recent death, even the snow round the trap had
been flattened out. The very scent of the she-wolf had been almost
entirely blown away. The wolf again raised his head and uttered a
deep, mournful howl; the moonlight was reflected in his
expressionless eyes, which were filled with little tears, then he
lowered his head to the earth and was silent.
A light twinkled in the farm-house windows. The wolf went towards it,
his eyes gleaming with vicious green sparks. The dogs scented him and
began a loud, terrified barking. The wolf lay in the snow and howled
back loudly. The red moon was swimming towards the horizon, and swift
murky clouds glided over it. Here by the river-side, and down at the
watering-place, in the great primeval woods and in the valleys, this
wolf had lived for thirteen years. Now his mate lay in the yard of
yonder farm-house. He howled again. A man came out into the yard and
shouted savagely, thinking a pack of wolves were approaching.
The night passed, but the wolf still wandered aimlessly, his broad
head drooping, his ferocious eyes glaring.
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