y; he had three. The survivors of the first shot would
immediately seek shelter--probably returning shot for shot--and that
would insert an element of uncertainty into the venture. At the distance
he would be obliged to shoot, he would possibly only succeed in wounding
one of his enemies, and he might miss him altogether. Such a plan as
this was wholly too uncertain for adoption.

There must be no sporting chances in his strategy. The way of the wolf
is to cover every opening, to prepare for every contingency that his
brute mind can foresee. He would give and receive no quarter, and the
ancient fairness and honor must be likewise forgotten. He must take no
risk with his own life until the last of the three was down. What
happened thereafter did not greatly concern him. The world could shatter
to atoms after that for all he would care. He was a son of forest
solitude; and he had but one dream left in life.

It was not his aim to give his foes the least chance to fight back, the
slightest hope of battle. He would use any advantage, descend to any
wile. This was not to be a sportsmen's war, but a grim battle to the
death, inexorable and merciless.

These things were all fully known to him before ever he left the
hillside, and like a man asleep, walked down to his camp. The fire had
burned down to coals--sullen and angry--but he heaped on fuel, and they
broke into a blaze. Then, Fenris at his side, he squatted on the ground
beside the dancing flame.

He watched it, fascinated; mostly silent but sometimes muttering and
whispering half-enunciated words. His red eyes and the black hair,
matted about his lips and shadowing the backs of his hands, gave him a
wild, fierce look; and it was as if the primal blood-lust and hatred
that seared him had literally swept him back into the forgotten
centuries,--the first, savage human hunter at the edge of the retreating
glaciers. The scene had not changed: dark spruce and the red glow of
fire; and there was atavism in his very posture. The first men had
squatted beside their camp fires this same way, their wolfine pets
beside them, as they made their battle plans.

The eager flames held Ben's fascinated gaze as a crystal ball might hold
the eyes of a seer. They seemed to have a message for him if he could
just grasp it, a course whereby he might achieve success. Oh, they could
be cruel, relentless--mercilessly eating their way into sensitive flesh.
They were no respecters of persons,