the rocky ledge immediately
below the one which flanked the entrance of the den, a shrill cry
of mortal anguish fell upon his ears, and thrilled him to the very
marrow. The cry came from the inside of the den above him, and he
knew it for the cry of one of his children in extremity. That gave
Finn the most piercing thrill of paternity he had felt up till this
time. He dropped his kill, and leaped with one mighty bound clear
over two boulders and a bare stretch of track to the ledge outside
the den. And, in the moment of his leap, a figure emerged from the
mouth of the den bearing between its uncovered, yellow tusks the
body of Warrigal's last-born son, limp and bleeding. This figure
which faced Finn now in the moonlight was the most terribly ugly
one that the countryside could have produced. Gaunt beyond
description, ragged, grey, bereft of hair in many places, aged and
desperate, old Tasman, the Zebra-Wolf, had his tusks sunk in warm,
juicy flesh for the first time in three months, and was prepared to
pay for the privilege with the remains of his life if need be.
Skin, bone, glittering eyes, and savage, despairing ferocity; that
was all there was left of Tasman, three months after the death of
his son Lupus. He had lived so long almost entirely upon insects,
grubs, scraps of carrion dropped by birds, and the like. Desperate
hunger, and the smell of young animal life, and of the proceeds of
daily kills, had drawn him to the den on the first spur that night;
and now, now he was face to face with the master of the range, and
the outraged father of Warrigal's pups.

The gaunt old wolf dropped his prey on the instant, realizing
clearly that his life was at stake. In his day he had slain many
dingoes, but that was in the distant past, and this iron-grey
monster which roared at him now was different from the dingoes
Tasman had known. With massive, bony skull held low, and saliva
dripping from his short, powerful jaws, the old wolf sent forth his
most terrible snarl of challenge and defiance; the cry which had
been used in bygone years to paralyse his victims into a condition
which made them easy prey for his tearing claws and lance-like
tusks. But the horrible sound was powerless so far as Finn was
concerned, and the Wolfhound gathered himself together now for the
administration of punishment which should be as swift as it would
be terrible and final. But in that moment he heard a scattering of
loose stones behind him whic