or, the long drawn howl of a wolf.

Chapter XIII. Equal Payment

They knew what it meant; even Joan had heard the cry of the lone wolf
hunting in the lean time of winter, and of all things sad, all things
lonely, all things demoniacal, the howl of a wolf stands alone. Lee
Haines reached for his gun, little Joan stood up silent on the hearth,
but Kate and Buck Daniels sat listening with a sort of hungry terror,
as the cry sobbed away to quiet. Then out of the mountains and the night
came an answer so thin, so eerie, one might have said it was the voice
of the mountains and white stars grown audible; it stole on the ear as
the pulse of a heart comes to the consciousness.

Truly it was an answer to the cry of the wolf-dog, for in the slender
compass it carried the same wail, the same unearthly quality with this
great difference, that a thrilling happiness went through it, as if some
one walked through the mountains and rejoiced in the unknown terrors. A
sob formed in the throat of Kate and the wolf turned its head and looked
at her, and the yellow of things that see in the night swam in its eyes.
Lee Haines struck the arm of Buck Daniels.

"Buck, let's get clear of this. Let's start. He's coming."

At the whisper Buck turned a livid face; one could see him gather his
strength.

"I stick," he said with difficulty, as though his lips were numb.
"She'll need me now."

Lee Haines stood in a moment's indecision but then settled back in his
chair and gripped his hands together. They both sat watching the door as
if the darkness were a magnet of inescapable horror. Only Joan, of
all in that room, showed no fear after the first moment. Her face was
blanched indeed, but she tilted it up now, smiling; she stole towards
the door, but Kate caught the child and gathered her close with
strangling force. Joan made no attempt to escape. "S-sh!" she cautioned,
and raised a plump little forefinger. "Munner, don't you hear? Don't you
like it?"

As if the sound had turned a corner, it broke all at once clearly over
them in a rain of music; a man's whistling. It went out; it flooded
about them again like beautiful, cold light. Once again it stopped, and
now they sensed, rather than heard, a light, rapid, padding step that
approached the cabin. Dan Barry stood in the door and in that shadowy
place his eyes seemed luminous. He no longer whistled, but a spirit went
from him which carried the same sense of the untamed, the wild happin