'No, I will go to the kiln,' thought Walter, and so he went. But
he did not go quite near. He went only so near that he could see
the ram's blood which coloured the grass red, and some tufts of
wool which the wolves had torn from the back of the poor animal.

It looked so dreadful.

'I wonder what the ram thought when they ate him up,' thought
Walter to himself; and just then a cold shiver ran through him
from his collar right down to his boots.

'It is better for me to beat the drum,' he thought to himself
again, and so he began to beat it. But it sounded horrid, and an
echo came out from the kiln that seemed almost like the howl of a
wolf. The drumsticks stiffened in Walter's hands, and he thought
now they are coming. ...!

Yes, sure enough, just then a shaggy, reddish-brown wolf's head
looked out from under the kiln!

What did Walter do now? Yes, the brave Walter who alone could
manage four, threw his drum far away, took to his heels and ran,
and ran as fast as he could back to the mill.

But, alas! the wolf ran after him. Walter looked back; the wolf
was quicker than he and only a few steps behind him. Then Walter
ran faster. But fear got the better of him, he neither heard nor
saw anything more. He ran over sticks, stones and ditches; he
lost drum-sticks, sabre, bow, and air-pistol, and in his terrible
hurry he tripped over a tuft of grass. There he lay, and the wolf