Chapter 4 THE WOLF'S LAIR.

Yes, it was all true! That grim gray wolf was not seeking an early breakfast for herself, but a safe plaything for the five young wolflings which she loved so dearly. She cared but little for the scratch on her shoulder when she thought of their delight.

She snatched up Carl so stealthily, and with so soft a touch, he never wakened until he felt the cool breeze that arose with the peep of day, fanning his hot cheeks as the wolf ran swiftly on. It was too dark for him to see where he was, or he might have been frightened into fits. He put up his two little chubby hands and felt the wolf's shaggy coat. He thought it was Sailor, and threw his arm lovingly round the big throat. He was far too sleepy to take much notice.

The wolf gave him a gentle swing, as she still ran at her fastest pace,-aware, by the way in which she looked over her shoulder, that the pursuers were already on her track. She could hear the baying of the dogs, and darting down the river-bank, hid herself in a natural hollow formed by the dripping of a little spring. She laid Carl down where the cool drops trickled on his head, and he was soon asleep again, sounder than before.

The wolf knew well what she was about. In that quiet water-cradle, with long trailing creepers for fly-curtains, and the softest of mosses for a bed, the child never roused to utter a sound.

Many a native mother tries the same plan, and puts her little black baby to sleep in a shallow watercourse when the heat and the insects become intolerable, and so secures a few hours' refreshing sleep for it on the most sultry days.

The dogs lost the scent when the wolf stepped into the water, and scoured the plain beyond her retreat. Then the wary creature took up her prize once more, and doubling cleverly upon her pursuers, made her way to the hills, where her mate was keeping watch over the precious wolflings. A run of five miles through the morning air was an invigorating experience after his fretful, feverish night, and Carl waked up at last, with a stretch and a laugh, quite unconscious of his perilous position.

They had entered one of the basins scooped in the side of the hills, where the wild beasts made their retreat. The gorge was narrow at the entrance, and partly filled up by dislodged stones and fallen rocks, now overgrown with tangle and jungle, and overshadowed by spreading trees.

These places are called koonds in India; and in the rainy season are well watered by a mountain torrent, dashing and foaming from the heights above. Beneath those precipitous rocks, and through the dense foliage which clothed them, the hottest rays of the midday sun could scarcely penetrate. Now, at that early hour, it was so dark Carl could distinguish nothing but a dog-like form. He was still dreaming of his faithful Sailor, and began to struggle and kick to be set on his feet. His hands had dabbled in the wolf's blood, and he rubbed his half-open eyes, wondering more and more why his ayah did not come and make Sailor leave go of him.

The rapid exercise had made the wolf's torn shoulder burst out bleeding again, and as they forced their way through a perfect sea of grass and fern and flowers, under bush and over brake, he became smeared all over. This was his safeguard. Wolves live for the night, and trust to their own keen scent to recognize each other, in the blackness of darkness which envelopes them, as they penetrate deeper and deeper into the innermost recesses of the koond.

It is a well-known fact that when a pack of wolves are out hunting, if one of their number gets into a fight, and becomes smeared with the blood of their prey, the rest of the pack mistake it for the object of their chase, and tear it to pieces instead.

We think only of the savage ferocity of the wolf when it is seeking its prey, but it has a warm and loving heart beneath its shaggy coat. The nobility of the dog is in it; and to each other they are as faithful, affectionate, and obedient, and even more intelligent.

The gray wolf stopped at last before a luxuriant korinda bush. The thick-leaved branches arched over until they touched the ground, forming a leafy tent so thick and dark and cool no rain could filter through, and the brightest sunshine could scarcely dart more than a flickering glimmer upon the snug nest it sheltered.

Such was the spot the wolves had chosen for their nursery. They had dug a hole and lined it with the softest moss they could find, and the wolf-mother had torn off the hair from her own coat to improve her babies' bed.

Five little heads popped up to welcome mother, as the gray wolf, with Carl in her mouth, pushed her way beneath the branches; and the grim, gaunt wolf-father, who had been guarding them in her absence. got up with a stretch as she dropped the child into the midst of the pricking ears and wagging tails. She had brought Carl to her wolflings as a cat brings a mouse to her kittens, to teach them how to kill and to devour; but the savage lesson was yet unlearned. They were more ready for play than for lessons, and found infinite delight in tearing his shirt to pieces, and freeing him from so strange an encumbrance.

They rolled over and over together as puppies love to do; and when Carl cried, not knowing what to make of such strange surroundings, the wolf-father in much perplexity sniffed all over him.

Could that smooth-skinned, hairless little creature be one of his cubs? How he pricked up his ears every time the small lips puckered, half in fear, and more than half in anger, because nobody came to fetch Carl! The deepening sobs ended at last in a roar that made the five strong wolflings howl in concert.

The shaggy mother stepped into her nest and cuddled her young ones lovingly in her rough paws. The sixth little head crept closer and closer until it also found a pillow on that hairy shoulder. Sleeping in the dark on the dewy moss, Carl dreamed of Sailor in a rougher coat, and waked to find his dream a reality. But his arms were round his hairy nurse, and the pouting lips were kissing her rough cheek, as if she really were his own dear old doggie.

Could he have seen the savage face, he might have been afraid.

Those who live in the land where wild beasts dwell, know that a loving caress will even induce a tiger to withdraw its teeth; but few, very few, have the courage and presence of mind to try it. It is just another proof that love, which is stronger than death, is also stronger than the savage instincts of wolves and tigers; reminding us of that millennial day when the wolf shall lie down with the lamb, and none shall hurt or destroy in all God's holy mountain.

Rare as such instances are, they do really happen, and many a story is told under the banyan trees of Bengal of children who have been brought up thus in a wild wolf's nest.

From that hour the grim and savage creature looked on Carl Desborough as her own.

He waked up wide at last, hungry and thirsty. Old Gray Legs, the fierce wolf-father, cracked a marrow-bone with his formidable teeth as a boy might crack a nut, and gave it to him to suck. The wild honey trickled from the rocks above the korinda bush. Ripe mangoes dropped from the trees around, and lay ready to his baby hand in the drying grass, and other wild fruits ripened and fell around him as the summer days went on. It must have worried the wolf-mother that he cared so little for flesh, which her cubs begin to eat at five weeks. But nothing comes amiss to a wolf in the shape of food, so she let him help himself to what he liked best.

The wild birds sang overhead; the frogs croaked in the grass, and queer-looking lizards basked in the chinks of the rock; crawling snakes wound their slimy length about unheeded, as they hissed in anger or basked in some happy spot into which a straggling sunbeam happened to penetrate. Carl might shriek with terror when he heard the tigers grunting in the bed of the stream, as the search for water grew more difficult every day, or the "Ugh! ugh!" of a grizzly bear in search of the mangoes in which it so delights; but he was really safe, for the wolves never leave their young alone. If one parent takes a stroll, the other remains to watch over them, and at the sound of their cry the whole pack would rally to their defence.

Carl was so much weaker and so much more helpless than their other wolflings, that Old Gray Legs and his mate kept him close beside them when he ventured outside his mossy hole.

No human foot had ever penetrated this forest fastness, and if some echo of a hunter's cry did occasionally waken its solitudes, it was scarcely heeded.

It was as if poor little Carl had been transported to another world, beyond the reach of all who loved him so dearly. As the weeks went on he forgot his home, or remembered it only in dreams. Like a baby Robinson Crusoe,

"He was out of humanity's reach;

Must he finish his journey alone-

Never hear the sweet music of speech,

And start at the sound of his own!"

The young wolflings made him run on all fours; for if they saw him stand upright, one or other was sure to leap on his back and roll him over. Besides, it was often much easier to crawl than to walk in that trackless wild of fallen rocks and marshy swamps, where decaying tree-trunks barred the path, and unsuspected burrows perforated what might otherwise have been described as solid ground.

Like all wild beasts, the wolves retreated to their secret bower for a midday sleep, and took their stroll in the moonlight. So Carl was almost always in the dark, and his eyes grew so weak he began to blink like an owl in the sunshine. For sometimes he waked up when his wolfish companions were all fast asleep, and at such times he was apt to stray beyond the dense foliage of the korinda. Now and then the fierce blaze of the noonday sun shot a swift ray across the drying watercourse, where a fallen tree made a break in the thick masses of leaves that for the most part shut out sky and sun altogether. He would scramble over the rough ground, attracted by its brilliancy, and then, half-blinded by the unaccustomed light, stumble and fall. Many a sad hurt befell him, and many a time Old Gray Legs fetched him home; many a fight he had with chattering monkeys and sprightly-spotted fawns-fights which would have ended badly for Carl but for the vigilance of his foster-parents. But the scars and scratches, the bites and stings, taught him at last to find protection and safety by the gray wolf's side, until he became afraid to lose sight of her, and answered her slightest call as dutifully as the five strong cubs, who were now his sole playfellows.

He became the old wolf's constant care; for the perils which surrounded him increased when week after week wore away, and the ever-increasing heat dried up the last and deepest pool, which had remained to mark the course of the once dashing torrent. The blackening grasses rustled as the wolves rushed hither and thither, with their tongues hanging out of their mouths from thirst; and the young things cried for the water they could not find.

When the moon rose behind the rocky steeps which shut in the koond with its precipitous wall, the patriarch of the pack gave tongue, and called his hairy children to follow him out. The time had come for those five wolflings to obey the call, and Carl was as unwilling to be left behind as the gray wolf was to leave him. Out, out he went into the silvery moonlight, led by the two old wolves into the very midst of the pack, catching something of the excitement of the hunt as the wolves swept down the dried-up river-bed with an appalling howl, in pursuit of their flying prey. To keep up with them was impossible, and when he could neither run nor crawl, in his terror he scrambled upon his foster-mother's back and rode.

When that appalling howl rang through the midnight air, every sleeper in Noak-holly wakened in trembling fear; and yet a bit of white rag fluttering at the end of a tall bamboo would have made so good a "scare-wolf" that it would have kept the whole pack at a respectful distance.

After nights like these, Carl grew vigorous and strong, bounding into the air, and leaping like the young fawn they were pursuing, and running on all fours with astonishing swiftness.

Once he was almost left behind, as the whole pack scampered off suddenly at the unwelcome sound of the hunting-horn of a Rana, or small hill chieftain.

The child was left staring wistfully at the Hindu train; for, like the wolves, the Rana had chosen the midnight to come out with his hog-spear and beat the jungle for his share of the game with which the hills abounded. But the sight of the turbaned heads and the dusky faces, the bare black arms poising the long bamboo-handled spears, and the sound of their unearthly cries, aroused no thought of home in the heart of the baby hunter. They only terrified him. The boy was growing wild. With a leap and a yell he bounded into the air, for the Rana's dogs were upon him.

Out from the towering moonje grass rushed the returning wolves, hemming him round as they would the weakest of the pack, and fighting off the hounds.

Carl was down; but Gray Legs stood over him and brought him out of the fray unhurt, although the Rana's spear stuck in the ground within an inch of his naked chest.

"There is a boy in the midst of the pack," said the Rana's jogie or beater, who had thrown the spear-"a child of the fair people"-for so the Hindus amongst themselves usually call the Europeans.