With the sustenance of seven at his service the little Wolf had every
reason to grow, and when in the autumn he began to follow his mother on
her hunting trips he was as tall as she was. Now a change of region was
forced on them, for numbers of little Wolves were growing up. Sentinel
Butte, the rocky fastness of the plains, was claimed by many that were
big and strong; the weaker must move out, and with them Yellow Wolf and
the Dusky Cub.
Wolves have no language in the sense that man has; their vocabulary is
probably limited to a dozen howls, barks, and grunts expressing the
simplest emotions; but they have several other modes of conveying
ideas, and one very special method of spreading information--the
Wolf-telephone. Scattered over their range are a number of recognized
"centrals." Sometimes these are stones, sometimes the angle of
cross-trails, sometimes a Buffalo-skull--indeed, any conspicuous object
near a main trail is used. A Wolf calling here, as a Dog does at a
telegraph post, or a Muskrat at a certain mud-pie point, leaves his
body-scent and learns what other visitors have been there recently to
do the same. He learns also whence they came and where they went, as
well as something about their condition, whether hunted, hungry,
gorged, or sick. By this system of registration a Wolf knows where his
friends, as well as his foes, are to be found. And Duskymane, following
after the Yellow Wolf, was taught the places and uses of the many
signal-stations without any conscious attempt at teaching on the part
of his foster-mother. Example backed by his native instincts was indeed
the chief teacher, but on one occasion at least there was something
very like the effort of a human parent to guard her child in danger.
The Dark Cub had learned the rudiments of Wolf life: that the way to
fight Dogs is to run, and to fight as you run, never grapple, but snap,
snap, snap, and make for the rough country where Horses cannot bring
their riders.
He learned not to bother about the Coyotes that follow for the pickings
when you hunt; you cannot catch them and they do you no harm.
He knew he must not waste time dashing after Birds that alight on the
ground; and that he must keep away from the little black and white
Animal with the bushy tail. It is not very good to eat, and it is very,
very bad to smell.
Poison! Oh, he never forgot that smell from the day when the den was
cleared of all his foster-brothers.
He now knew that the first move in attacking Sheep was to scatter them;
a lone Sheep is a foolish and easy prey; that the way to round up a
band of Cattle was to frighten a Calf.
He learned that he must always attack a Steer behind, a Sheep in front,
and a Horse in the middle, that is, on the flank, and never, never
attack a man at all, never even face him. But an important lesson was
added to these, one in which the mother consciously taught him of a
secret foe.
V