"Oh, Hathi, it was dreadful, dreadful.
"'Let me in, Tom; I am Jack,' pleaded the Huntman who had come so far through the snow; and, just beyond, we of the Wolf Pack waited, waited, waited.
"Sa'-zada, the cry of the lone Wolf is not so dreadful as the yelpings of the Man who was mad. Even we of the Wolf Pack moved back a little when he called with a fierce voice. And he always answered: 'Go away! You are an evil spirit. Jack is dead! But I did not kill him—Go away!' And, Sa'-zada, though it is dreadful, yet it is true, he struck with his Firestick full through the door, and killed the Man who was Jack. And in the end he, too, died, and the Wolves buried them both after the manner of Wolves."
"Chee-hough! it's a terrible tale," said Magh.
"It is true," answered White Wolf; "and all that is the way of my land which is the Northland.
"In the Hot Time sometimes there are the little red flowers that are roses, but in the long Cold Time it is as I have said, cold and a land of much hunger. But it is my land—the Northland."
"Engh-h-hu!" sighed Sher Abi, opening his eyes as though just coming out of a dream; "I had an experience one time very much like that, Brother Wolf."
"'LET ME IN, TOM; I AM JACK,' PLEADED THE HUNT MAN."