supporting his elbows, and scowled up at the window with a sort of
sullen terror.

Then Byrne heard it--so small a voice that at first he thought it was
only a part of the silence. It grew and grew--in a sudden burst it was
clear to every ear--the honking of the wild geese!

And Byrne knew the picture they made. He could see them far up in the
sky--a dim triangle of winter grey--moving with the beat of lightning
wings each in an arrowy flight north, and north, and north. Creatures
for sport all the world over; here alone, in all the earth, in the heart
of this mountain-desert, they were in some mysterious wise messengers.
Once more the far discord showered down upon them, died as they rose,
perhaps, to a higher level, and was heard no more.




CHAPTER XX

THE COMING


Then a padding step, light, lighter than the sound of the softest
thought. It was passing near; the faint breeze blew the sound to them,
around them, behind them. Each man felt as if some creature were
stalking him, unseen. Next--it appeared by magic against the blue black
of the night--the head of a great wolf, quite black, shaggy, with
sharply pointed ears. And the eyes stared at them, green eyes with
lights that swirled as the flame jumped in the throat of the lamp. For a