From side to side he swayed as he made his way through the forest.
He reached the little glade by the side of which stood the hollow oak.
“Let’s attack him in the glade!” cried Boone, as he and Kenton reached the edge of the opening and beheld the Wolf Demon standing motionless, as if irresolute, in the center of it.
“Come on, then.”
Clubbing their rifles—they did not dare to fire for fear of the report arousing the Indian village—the two scouts dashed into the opening.
Hearing the noise of their footsteps, the Wolf Demon turned, extended his arms as if to stay their progress, and then, with a heavy groan, fell sideways to the ground. The sudden shock burst the wolf-head from its fastenings to the body, and it rolled away from the prostrate figure.
The scouts halted in astonishment.
The wolf-head gone, the head of a man, covered with light, clustering curls, was revealed to their gaze.
Quickly they knelt by the side of the Wolf Demon and wiped the blood and war-paint from his face.
The superstitious fear of the woodmen was all gone now, for they knew that it was a human form that lay extended on the earth before them.