strange excitement. His own incredulity was gone. He was beginning
to believe Pierre.

"And after that--you saw him?"

"Yes. I would not do again what I did then for all the foxes
between the Athabasca and the Bay, M'sieu. It must have been--I
don't know what. It dragged me out into the night. I followed. I
found the trail of the wolves, and I found the snowshoe tracks of
a man. Oui. I still followed. I came close to the kill, with the
wind in my face, and I could hear the snapping of jaws and the
rending of flesh--yes--yes--AND A MAN'S TERRIBLE LAUGH! If the
wind had shifted--if that pack of devils' souls had caught the
smell of me--tonnerre de dieu!" He shuddered, and the knuckles of
his fingers snapped as he clenched and unclenched his hands. "But
I stayed there, M'sieu, half buried in a snow dune. They went on
after a long time. It was so dark I could not see them. I went to
the kill then, and--yes, he had carried away the two hind quarters
of the caribou. It was a bull, too, and heavy. I followed--clean
across that strip of Barren down to the timber, and it was there
that Bram built himself the fire. I could see him then, and I
swear by the Blessed Virgin that it was Bram! Long ago, before he
killed the man, he came twice to my cabin--and he had not
changed. And around him, in the fire-glow, the wolves huddled. It
was then that I came to my reason. I could see him fondling them.
I could see their gleaming fangs. Yes, I could HEAR their bodies,
and he was talking to them and laughing with them through his
great beard--and I turned and fled back to the cabin, running so
swiftly that even the wolves would have had trouble in catching
me. And that--that--WAS NOT ALL!"