So much the better. He'd kill the beast in the sight of Loren and the farm wenches and old Lester.
He clenched his teeth and kept running. The wolf looked back at him, bared its mouthful of yellow daggers, snarled. Its blue fur seemed to glitter in the bright morning sunlight.
Kesley's breath was starting to come hard as he ascended the steep hill that led to the farmhouse. He slackened just a bit; he'd need to conserve his strength for the battle to come.
As he reached the crest of the hill, he saw Loren stick his head out of the second floor of the farmhouse.
"Hey, Dale!"
Kesley pointed up ahead. "Wolf!" he grunted.
The animal was drawing close to the poultry yard now. Kesley stepped up his clip again. He wanted to catch it just as it passed the door of the farmhouse. He wanted to nail it there, to plunge the knife into its heart and—
Abruptly, a strange figure stepped out of the farmhouse door. In one smooth motion, the figure put hand to hip, drew forth a blaster, fired. The wolf paused in mid-stride as if frozen, shuddered once, and dropped. There was the sickening smell of burning fur in the air.
Kesley felt a quick burst of hot anger. He looked down at the smouldering ruin of the wolf huddled darkly against the ground, then to the stranger, who was smiling as he reholstered the blaster.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Kesley demanded hotly. "Who asked you to shoot? What are you doing here, anyway?"