"Till the wolves come," said he huskily.
"A man must die some time," I called back; but my voice belied the bravery of the words, for something gray loomed from the ravine and stood stealthily motionless in the dusk behind the trader. Involuntarily a quick "Hist!" went from my lips.
"What's that?" shouted Godefroy. "Is anything there?"
"I am cold," said I.
And on top of that lie I prayed—prayed with wide-staring eyes on the thing whose head had turned towards us—prayed as I have never prayed before or since!
"Are you sure there's nothing?" cried the trader. "Look on both sides! I'm sure I feel something!"
Another crouching form emerged from the gloom—then another and another—silent and still as spectres. With a sidling motion they prowled nearer, sniffing the air, shifting watchful look from Godefroy to me, from me to Godefroy. A green eye gleamed nearer through the mist. Then I knew.
The wolves had come.
Godefroy screamed out that he heard something, and again bade me look on both sides of the hill.
"Keep quiet till I see," said I; but I never took my gaze from the green eyes of a great brute to the fore of the gathering pack.