"Ja," corroborated Corlaer, joining the conversation for the first time. "Der wolfs are broders. Why not?" He used Tawannears' own words. "Do not worry, my friendt. They run our way. Dot is all."
But I did worry as the shadows lengthened. The piercing howls seemed fairly to tremble with menace. I thought they were nearer at dusk than they had been in the full glare of the sunset. Then the early moon rose, and I saw the gray pursuers once more, low, sinister shapes, galloping over the snow, their broad pads seldom breaking through the crust—and I knew they were nearer.
"Aaaah-yaaah-oooo-oouuu-wh!"
Long-drawn-out, it quavered upward, was sustained and dropped off on an eerie pitch of unspeakable import.
"I don't like this," I declared, unable to restrain myself.
"What would Otetiani do?" inquired Tawannears mildly.
"Shoot them. There seems to be no cover available."
He shook his head.
"Whatever else happens, brother, do not shoot."
"Are we to be dragged down out in the open, then, without raising a hand in defense?" I asked sarcastically.