shoot it, or he would not even hesitate to send a bullet through an owl
on a bough, but he saw nothing, and, as he went back to his warriors, a
hideous snapping and barking of wolves followed him.

The note of the wolf had not been present hitherto in the demon chorus,
but now it predominated. What it lacked in the earliness of coming it
made up in the vigor of arrival. It had in it all the human qualities,
that is, the wicked or menacing ones--hunger, derision, revenge, desire
for blood and threat of death. Tandakora, veteran of a hundred battles,
one of the fiercest warriors that ever ranged the woods, shook. His
blood turned to water, ice water at that, and the bones of his gigantic
frame seemed to crumble. He knew, as all the Indians knew, that the
souls of dead warriors, usually those who had been wicked in life,
dwelled for a while in the bodies of animals, preferably those of
wolves, and the wolves about him were certainly inhabited by the worst
warriors that had ever lived. In every growl and snap and bark there was
a threat. He could hear it, and he knew it was meant for him. But what
he feared most of all was the deadly whine with which growl, snap and
bark alike ended. Perspiration stood out on his face, but he could not
afford to show fear to his men, and, retreating slowly, he rejoined
them. He would make no more explorations in the haunted wood that lay
all about them.

As the chief went back to his men the snarling and snapping of the demon
wolves distinctly expressed laughter, derision of the most sinister
kind. They were not only threatening him, they were laughing at him, and
his bones continued to crumble through sheer weakness and fear. It was
not worth while for him to fire at any of the sounds. The bullet might
go through a wolf, but it would not hurt him, it would merely increase
his ferocity and make him all the more hungry for the blood of