w of its hole, strung
his bow, and picked out his heaviest, longest, sharpest arrow. Just as
he set the notch on the string, he saw that the creature was a
tremendous wolf, rushing straight at him. He loosened his knife in its
sheath, drew another arrow half way from the quiver, lest the first
should fail, and took his aim--at a good distance, to leave time for a
second chance. He shot. The arrow rose, flew straight, descended, struck
the beast, and started again into the air, doubled like a letter V.
Quickly Photogen snatched the other, shot, cast his bow from him, and
drew his knife. But the arrow was in the brute's chest, up to the
feather; it tumbled heels over head, with a great thud of its back on
the earth, gave a groan, made a struggle or two, and lay stretched out
motionless.

"I've killed it, Nycteris," cried Photogen. "It is a great red wolf."

"Oh, thank you!" answered Nycteris, feebly, from behind the tree. "I was
sure you would. I was not a bit afraid."

Photogen went up to the wolf. It _was_ a monster! But he was vexed that
his first arrow had behaved so badly, and was the less willing to lose
the one that had done him such good service: with a long and a strong
pull he drew it from the brute's chest. Could he believe his eyes? There
lay--no wolf, but Watho, with her hair tied round her waist! The foolish
witch had made herself invulnerable, as she supposed, but had forgotten
that, to torment Photogen therewith, she had handled one of his arrows.
He ran back to Nycteris and told her.

She shuddered and wept, but would not look.

XX.--ALL IS WELL.

There was now no occasion to fly a step farther. Neither of them feared
any one but Watho. They left her there, and went back. A great cloud
came over the sun, and rain began to fall heavily, and Nycteris was much
refreshed, grew able to see a little, and with Photogen's help walked
gently over the cool wet grass.

They had not gone far before they met Fargu and the other huntsmen.
Photogen told them he had killed a great red wolf, and it was Madam
Watho. The huntsmen looked grave, but gladness shone through.

"Then," said Fargu, "I will go and bury my mistress."

But when they reached the place, they found she was already buried--in
the maws of sundry birds and beasts which had made their breakfast off
her.

Then Fargu, overtaking them, would, very wisely, have Photogen go to the
king, and tell him the whole story. But Photogen, yet wiser than Far