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Dusty Star   By:

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DUSTY STAR

BY OLAF BAKER

Author of "SHASTA OF THE WOLVES."

ILLUSTRATED BY PAUL BRANSOM

NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1936

COPYRIGHT, 1922. By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

[Illustration: FIVE TIMES MORE THE MOTHER MADE THE LONG DOUBLE JOURNEY]

CONTENTS

I CARBOONA'S SECRET

II WHY "DUSTY STAR" WAS

III RUNNING WOLF MOVES

IV KIOPO FINDS AN ENEMY

V "SITTING ALWAYS"

VI THE MEDICINE MAKING

VII HOW THE WOLVES SANG

VIII HOW KIOPO CAME BACK

IX SITTING ALWAYS SPEAKS HER MIND

X "BALTOOK" THE SILVER FOX

XI WHY THE FOXES TRUSTED DUSTY STAR

XII GOSHMEELEE

XIII "NEW BED FELLOWS"

XIV THE "YELLOW DOGS"

XV THE TAKING OF DUSTY STAR

XVI "THE GRIZZLY"

XVII THE SWIMMING OF KIOPO

XVIII HOW KIOPO FOUGHT THE LYNX

XIX THE PURSUIT

XX THE TERROR OF THE CARBOONA

XXI HOW DUSTY STAR MET THE TERROR

XXII THE MOON WHEN THINGS WALK

XXIII LONE CHIEF GOES WEST

XXIV EVIL DAYS

XXV HOW DUSTY STAR DANCED WITH THE WOLVES

XXVI HOW THE WOLVES CLOSED IN

XXVII CARBOONA'S CALL

ILLUSTRATIONS

Five times more the mother made the long double journey

The arrival of Kiopo was now known to every husky in the camp, and each husky hated him from the bottom of his husky heart

Her look said as plainly as possible, "What are you going to do?"

On came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly from side to side

DUSTY STAR

PART I

CHAPTER I

CARBOONA'S SECRET

In an old badger hole among a maze of bramble brakes and ancient thickets of thorn and juniper covering the foot of one of Carboona's eastern spurs, one morning very early, as Little Sweet Voice, the white throated sparrow, was singing his earliest song, a great event took place.

It was twilight in the badger hole, and only persons accustomed to odds and ends of day light could have seen what was going on. Not that it mattered. The only person to whom it could have mattered was a grey mother wolf, and she did not need the light.

The badger hole had been enlarged, and specially arranged for the event, without the badgers having been consulted. This wasn't as rude as it sounds, for the simple reason that there hadn't been any badgers to consult. Long before the mother wolf and her mate had gone apartment hunting, the badgers had moved deeper into Carboona, leaving no address. Now that it was more roomy and better aired, it was a pleasant place enough so long as you didn't stub your nose against a jagged stump of pine root that pierced the northern wall. True it was a little damp in places, and got noticeably stuffier as you went further in; but it was a good wolf stuffiness, and helped to give the true home smell that warned strangers that all interfering noses had best keep out of the way.

Before Little Sweet Voice, at the tip of his fir branch high over the hole, had come to the end of his song, seven baby wolves had got themselves born.

Seven little blind, hairless, helpless things that hadn't an inch of beauty between them; seven little flabby uglinesses that could do nothing but wriggle and suck. But such as they were, the old wolf loved her ugly babies with all her wolfish heart. For a long time no one not even the father wolf saw them but herself. A better place for being secret than the hole among the bramble brakes she could not have chosen. The great old thorn trees, with their twisty stems and thorny branches which had been growing twistier and thornier through countless moons, stretched their gnarled limbs high above the den and guarded endless secrecies as countless as the moons. And the brambles reached their twisted tangles this way and that in a bewildering labyrinth of thorns. While, dotting all the upper slopes, the junipers, large and little, stood up in dusk battalions above the lonely land... Continue reading book >>




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