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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
164
THE
WINNIPEG
WOLF
I
It
was
during
the
great
blizzard
of
1882
that
I
first
met
the
Winnipeg
Wolf.
I
had
left
St.
Paul
in
the
middle
of
March
to
cross
the
prairies
to
Winnipeg,
expecting
to
be
there
in
twenty-four
hours,
but
the
Storm
King
had
planned
it
otherwise
and
sent
a
heavy-laden
eastern
blast.
The
snow
came
down
in
a
furious,
steady
torrent,
hour
after
hour.
Never
before
had
I
seen
such
a
storm.
All
the
world
was
lost
in
snow--snow,
snow,
snow--whirling,
biting,
stinging,
drifting
snow--and
the
puffing,
monstrous
engine
was
compelled
to
stop
at
the
command
of
those
tiny
feathery
crystals
of
spotless
purity.
Many
strong
hands
with
shovels
came
to
the
delicately
curled
snowdrifts
that
barred
our
way,
and
in
an
hour
the
engine
could
pass--only
to
stick
in
another
drift
yet
farther
on.
It
was
dreary
work--day
after
day,
night
after
night,
sticking
in
the
drifts,
digging
ourselves
out,
and
still
the
snow
went
whirling
and
playing
about
us.
"Twenty-two
hours
to
Emerson,"
said
the
official;
but
nearly
two
weeks
of
digging
passed
before
we
did
reach
Emerson,
and
the
poplar
country
where
the
thickets
stop
all
drifting
of
the
snow.
Thenceforth
the
train
went
swiftly,
the
poplar
woods
grew
more
thickly--we
passed
for
miles
through
solid
forests,
then
perhaps
through
an
open
space.
As
we
neared
St.
Boniface,
the
eastern
outskirts
of
Winnipeg,
we
dashed
across
a
little
glade
fifty
yards
wide,
and
there
in
the
middle
was
a
group
that
stirred
me
to
the
very
soul.
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