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Albeck's shotgun could never be polished, as if it could not be wiped away like the eye mucus from the corners of his eyes. Because the barrel of the gun was covered with dust and dirt, the muzzle was tightly stuffed with white cloth strips, and was blackened by the khaki smoke and sheep dung fire. It looked like a rusty steel pipe. The barrel was rusty, and the butt was dirty and full of cracks. It was hanging on the outer pole of the tent, and was blown cold by the wind. The green-maned male wolf, with vague eyes and a pale body, broke into Baker's tent with a blast of cold air in the dark night. The moment he broke in, the wind blew the heavy door curtain. It tore up the brown wood beside the door with one claw, exhaled a breath of white dew, and howled twice. It smelled the aftertaste of the unextinguished cow dung fireworks and the acidic smell of cheese, but did not smell the smell of blood or meat.