Chapter Three The Northern Waste

First came one low howl. Then many green eyes shone along the riverbed. Blood had drawn them. More than a dozen gray wolves formed a half circle, ribs moving beneath their fur. Old Bill shifted uneasily. Jack built the fire high and loaded the Winchester. He wasted no ammunition, killing only the nearest wolf. The pack scattered, then gathered again. They had patience. Hunger had taught them to wait. Until sunrise, Jack guarded the fire, the horses, and the water without closing his eyes. He knew now that he had truly entered the waste. Here, weakness was eaten. Mercy was used. Hesitation was buried by wind. At dawn, the wolves finally withdrew. Jack mounted and continued north. By evening on the third day, the dust storm caught him.