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James Oliver Curwood
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 197 pages of information about Kazan.

Wonderful days followed for Kazan.  He missed the forests and deep snows.  He missed the daily strife of keeping his team-mates in trace, the yapping at his heels, the straight long pull over the open spaces and the barrens.  He missed the “Koosh—­koosh—­Hoo-yah!” of the driver, the spiteful snap of his twenty-foot caribou-gut whip, and that yelping and straining behind him that told him he had his followers in line.  But something had come to take the place of that which he missed.  It was in the room, in the air all about him, even when the girl or his master was not near.  Wherever she had been, he found the presence of that strange thing that took away his loneliness.  It was the woman scent, and sometimes it made him whine softly when the girl herself was actually with him.  He was not lonely, nights, when he should have been out howling at the stars.  He was not lonely, because one night he prowled about until he found a certain door, and when the girl opened that door in the morning she found him curled up tight against it.  She had reached down and hugged him, the thick smother of her long hair falling all over him in a delightful perfume; thereafter she placed a rug before the door for him to sleep on.  All through the long nights he knew that she was just beyond the door, and he was content.  Each day he thought less and less of the wild places, and more of her.

Then there came the beginning of the change.  There was a strange hurry and excitement around him, and the girl paid less attention to him.  He grew uneasy.  He sniffed the change in the air, and he began to study his master’s face.  Then there came the morning, very early, when the babiche collar and the iron chain were fastened to him again.  Not until he had followed his master out through the door and into the street did he begin to understand.  They were sending him away!  He sat suddenly back on his haunches and refused to budge.

“Come, Kazan,” coaxed the man.  “Come on, boy.”

He hung back and showed his white fangs.  He expected the lash of a whip or the blow of a club, but neither came.  His master laughed and took him back to the house.  When they left it again, the girl was with them and walked with her hand touching his head.  It was she who persuaded him to leap up through a big dark hole into the still darker interior of a car, and it was she who lured him to the darkest corner of all, where his master fastened his chain.  Then they went out, laughing like two children.  For hours after that, Kazan lay still and tense, listening to the queer rumble of wheels under him.  Several times those wheels stopped, and he heard voices outside.  At last he was sure that he heard a familiar voice, and he strained at his chain and whined.  The closed door slid back.  A man with a lantern climbed in, followed by his master.  He paid no attention to them, but glared out through the opening into the gloom of night.  He almost broke loose when he

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