At the top of the hill, they came upon a wide, open space. Dusty Star saw to his wonder that it was crowded with wolves. They formed a wide, irregular circle, composed of single animals, and of little groups of five or six. In the centre of the circle sat a large wolf by himself. The remarkable thing about him was not his size, but his colour, which was pure white. With the moonlight full upon him, it almost seemed as if his coat itself gave out light.
As soon as Dusty Star and Kiopo joined the circle, the howling suddenly ceased. The wolves were uneasy. It was plain that they regarded the newcomers with suspicion, if not with enmity. Kiopo would have passed muster, but his companion was certainly anything but a wolf. One or two of the nearer wolves raised their hackles and growled. The rest maintained a grim silence. And the silence was not re-assuring. Dusty Star had the uncomfortable feeling that the pack were merely waiting for some signal, which, whenever it was given, would be an order to attack. In such a case he knew he must leave Kiopo to take whatever course was wisest. They were in the wolf-world now. The law of the man-world did not hold. The part that was so strangely wolf within him, knew that it must submit to the law of the pack, or pay the penalty of death. He watched Kiopo anxiously. Whatever Kiopo did within the next few moments would decide their fate. The silence grew terrible in its stillness. After their first restless movements the wolves were motionless, waiting for the sign.
It was then that Kiopo acted on the sudden impulse of an instinct that told him what to do. Very slowly and deliberately he made his way through the ring of wolves towards the place where the white wolf sat.
As his great body detached itself from the ring, and emerged to full view into the open space, the waiting wolves realized at once that they had before them a born leader, one of the Great Ones of the packs. Hitherto, the big white wolf had had no rival. His sway was recognized over a range of wide extent to the north-west. None had ever dared to dispute his overlordship. Far and near his fame had travelled as the white wolf-king of the north.
Yet here was an animal, who, in point of mere size stood even higher at the shoulders than the white giant. A hundred pairs of gleaming eyes glared at the intruder with a hostile light.
With his own eyes shining, and every hair on his body bristling, so as to make him seem even larger than he was, Kiopo advanced steadily towards the leader. The White wolf rose from his haunches, growling low. He, too, bristled, as if in resentment at the intrusion. With a common impulse, the pack edged nearer, waiting expectantly for the coming fight.
Dusty Star, meanwhile, remained where he was on the outer circle of the ring, motionless as a stone, for he had received a sign from Kiopo, warning him to stay behind.
Fear clutched at his heart, and made his pulses throb, but it was not fear for himself. The dread was for Kiopo, lest he should do something rash. In single combat he was not afraid of the result, even with the white wolf for an adversary. But with the pack in their present temper, Dusty Star knew that a single fight would not long be possible. With the fine sense that felt the wolfish mind about him, he knew that, at the first smell of blood, all control would vanish, and that even though Kiopo was the most magnificent fighter in the world, his fate would be sealed.
Hardly daring to breathe, he watched the two wolves draw closer in the centre of the ring. Now they were within a few feet of each other.
He prepared himself for the sudden leap, the lightning slash, the jagged rip, the manoeuvering for the deadly ham-stringing which meant the beginning of the end.