“Oui, heem geet me pret’ soon. I older now dan der others. My time come soon oui.”
“But why hasn’t some one shot him? Did anyone ever try it?” Rex asked.
“Oui. My uncle, heem try eet once. Heem see heem and geet good sight on heem, but bullet go right troo heem, no hurt. Bullet no bon wid dat wolf, non, non,” and the man shook his head sadly.
During the afternoon and early evening, Rex, from time to time, harked back to the subject of the spectral wolf, and, by the time dusk had fallen he was pleased to note that the breed was in a highly nervous condition. After supper was finished, he fell to pacing back and forth across the room, and seemed constantly to be listening.
“What’s the matter with you, Parry? You make me nervous,” Rex asked after the breed had been pacing up and down for the better part of an hour.
“I tink I hear sometin’ leetle while ago.”
“What did it sound like?” Rex asked, “I thought I heard a howl off in that direction,” and he pointed toward the west.
“Oui. Dat what I hear,” the breed said as he stopped and listened intently.
But no sound save the gentle rustling of the spruce boughs as they swayed in the wind and the patter of rain drops on the window panes, came to their ears.
“Well, I guess I’ll hit the hay,” Rex declared a little later.