"Try!" I invited him. "My gun is loaded, and I propose to climb a tree. It won't be comfortable, but I'll last as long as I can."
"Foolishness," remarked Corlaer dispassionately. "You watch Tawannears. He knows."
"What?" I jeered.
"Der wolfs."
As if in acknowledgment of this remark, Tawannears handed his musket to the Dutchman and opened his leather shirt across his chest. Then he stepped forward three paces, and faced the half-circle of gray, slavering shapes, with his arms flung wide.
"Brothers!" he began.
And I swear a whine as of interest rose from the half-circle.
"You are hungry. You have followed a scent that was different. You have turned aside from the buffalo and the deer, the antelope and the wapiti, to follow this different scent. For a long time you have tracked us. You could have had meat for the taking, but you must savor this new meat that smelled different."
Not a sound from the half-circle, except the rhythmic panting of powerful lungs. The scores of eyes, so luminous, so impersonally cruel, were riveted upon the orator.
Tawannears advanced another step. He might have been addressing the Hoyarnagowar.