“I guess your rifle will manage,” was the reply.
Once more the cry arose, and at that they commenced the descent of the ridge.
As they neared the base, two wildly-grappling forms loomed through the twilight. In a moment Haverly switched on the light of his lantern, and focussed its rays upon the combatants.
Struggling desperately in the coils of a monstrous serpent was one of the fearsome wolf-men.
Three of the reptile’s great glistening folds encircled the savage’s body; the mighty jaws gaped expectantly above him, while the beadlike eyes were fixed in a fascinating stare upon the unfortunate creature.
“We can’t stand by and see him crushed to death by that brute,” cried the baronet impulsively, “even though he is a wolf-man.”
“Best not to interfere,” returned the Yankee shortly.
At that instant the wolf-man, attracted by the light, turned his head towards the two friends and raised his hands imploringly, while from his lips came another agonised scream.
That settled the question for Seymour. Quick as thought he raised his rifle and fired. At the report the great, yawning head vanished, shattered to atoms, and the body, relaxing its grip of the savage, thrashed up the ravine as though still endowed with life.
As it vanished into the gloom the wolf-man rose, rushed forward, and cast himself down at Seymour’s feet.