, in a voice of angry command; and the onrushing pack
hesitated, checked themselves, spread apart. From that dominating
voice it was evident that this was a creature of power--not to be
attacked carelessly, but to be surrounded.

That voice of command had thrilled the heart of the long-jawed bitch.
Something in it reminded her of the dead peddler, who had been a
masterful man. She would have none of this hunting. But she looked at
each of her savage whelps, and knew that any attempt to lead them off
would be worse than vain. A strange hatred began to stir within her,
and her fangs bared toward them as if they, not the man against the
rock, were the enemy. She looked again at the man, and saw the bundle,
so like a peddler's pack, at his feet! Instantly her heart went out to
him. She was no longer a wolf, but a dog; and there was her
master--not her old master, but such a one as he had been. At his
side, and fighting his foes, was her place. Like a flash, she darted
away from her companions, stopped a few feet in front of the ready
woodsman, turned about, and faced the pack with a savage growl. Her
hair was stiffly erect from neck to tail; her long, white teeth were
bared to the roots; her eyes were narrowed to slits of green flame;
she half-crouched, ready to spring in mad fury and tear the throat of
any beast which should try to hurt the man.

As for the woodsman, he knew dogs, and was not greatly surprised at
his strange ally. At her sudden approach he had swung his axe in
readiness, but his cool eye had read her signals aright. "Good dog!"
he said, with cheerful confidence. "We'll lick the varmints!"

But the young wolves went wild with rage at this defection and
defiance, and rushed in at once. They sprang first upon the bitch;
though one, rushing past, leaped venomously at the woodsman's throat.
This one got the axe in his skull, and dropped without a sound.
Meanwhile, the old wolf, who had been holding back in uncertainty, had
made his decision. When he saw his mate attacked, his doubts vanished,
and a red haze for an instant went over his eyes. These unnatural
whelps that attacked her--he suddenly saw them, not as wolves at all,
but as dogs, and hated them with a deadly hate. Silently he fell upon
the nearest, and tore him savagely. He was too late, however, to save
his mistress. The long-jawed bitch, for all her strength and her
valiant spirit, was overwhelmed by her powerful offspring. One she had
killed, and