ing only a real-life dog and not a
fairytale animal. But what he could and did realize was that a mass of
detested Germans was moving toward him, and that he could not hope to
attack them, single-handed; also, that he was not minded to slink
peacefully away and leave his friend unavenged.

Thwarted rage dragged from his furry throat a deep growl; a growl that
resounded eerily through that silent place of stealthy moves. And he
stepped majestically forth from the surrounding long grass, into the
full glare of moonlight.

The deceptive glow made him loom gigantic and black, and tinged his
snowy chest with the phosphorous gleam of a snowfield. His eyes shone
like a wild beast's.

* * * * *

Corporal Rudolph Freund, of the Konigin Luise Regiment, had just
finished his three-word report to his superior. He had merely saluted
and announced

"He is dead!"

Corporal Freund did not thrill, as usual, to the colonel's grunt of
approval. The Corporal was worried. He was a Black Forest peasant; and,
while iron military life had dulled his native superstitions, it had
not dispelled them.

The night was mystic, in its odd blend of moon and shadows. However
hardened one may be, it is a nerve-strain to creep through long grass,
like a red Indian, to the murder of a hostile sentinel. And every
German in the "Pocket" had been under frightful mental and physical
stress, for the past week.

Corporal Rudolph Freund was a brave man and a brute. But that week had
sapped his nerve. And the work of this night had been the climax. The
desolate ground, over which he had crawled to the killing, had suddenly
seemed peopled with evil gnomes and goblins, whose existence no true
Black Forest peasant can doubt. And, on the run back, he had been
certain he heard some unseen monster tearing through the underbrush in
hot pursuit of him. So certain had he been, that he had redoubled his
speed.

There were no wolves or other large wild animals in that region. When
he had wriggled toward the slow-pacing American sentinel, he had seen
and heard no creature of any sort. Yet he was sure that on the way back
he had been pursued by--by Something! And into his scared memory, as he
ran, had flashed the ofttold Black Forest tale of the Werewolf--the
devil--beast that is entered by the soul of a murdered man and which
tracks the murderer to his death.

Glad was the unnerved Corporal Freund when his run ceased and he stood
close