Kazan lay mute and motionless, his gray nose between his forepaws, his eyes halfclosed. A rock could have appeared scarcely less lifeless than he; not a muscle twitched;not a hair moved; not an eyelid quivered. Yet every drop of the wild blood in hissplendid body was racing in a ferment of excitement that Kazan had never beforeexperienced; every nerve and fiber of his wonderful muscles was tense as steel wire.Quarter-strain wolf, three-quarters "husky," he had lived the four years of his life in thewilderness. He had felt the pangs of starvation. He knew what it meant to freeze. He hadlistened to the wailing winds of the long Arctic night over the barrens. He had heard thethunder of the torrent and the cataract, and had cowered under the mighty crash of thestorm. His throat and sides were scarred by battle, and his eyes were red with the blisterof the snows. He was called Kazan, the Wild Dog, because he was a giant among hiskind and as fearless, even, as the men who drove him through the perils of a frozenworld.