to his grossly solid and rank-scented fellowmen once more. Almost
he was inclined to laugh at his fears of the fabled Werewolf--and
especially at the idea that he had been pursued. He drew a long breath
of relief. He drew the breath in. But he did not at once expel it. For
on his ears came the sound of a hideous menacing growl.

Corporal Freund spun about, in the direction of the mysterious threat.
And there, not thirty feet from him, in the ghostly moonlight, stood
the Werewolf!

This time there could be no question of overstrained nerves and of
imagination. The Thing was THERE!

Horribly visible in every detail, the Werewolf was glaring at him. He
could see the red glow of the gigantic devil-beast's eyes, the white
flash of its teeth, the ghostly shimmering of its snowy chest. The soul
of the man he had slain had taken this traditional form and was hunting
down the slayer! A thousand stories of Freund's childhood verified the
frightful truth. And overwrought human nature's endurance went to
pieces under the shock.

A maniac howl of terror split the midnight stillness. Shriek after
shriek rent the air. Freund tumbled convulsively to the ground at his
colonel's feet, gripping the officer's booted knees and screeching for
protection. The colonel, raging that the surprise attack should be
imperiled by such a racket, beat the frantic man over the mouth with
his heavy fist, kicking ferociously at his upturned writhing face, and
snarling to him to be silent.

The shower of blows brought Freund back to sanity, to the extent of
changing his craven terror into Fear's secondary phase--the impulse to
strike back at the thing that had caused the fright. Rolling over and
over on the ground, under the impact of his superior's fist blows and
kicks, Freund somehow regained his feet.

Reeling up to the nearest soldier, the panic-crazed corporal snatched
the private's rifle and fired three times, blindly, at Bruce. Then,
foaming at the mouth, Freund fell heavily to earth again, chattering
and twitching in a fit.

Bruce, at the second shot, leaped high in the air, and collapsed, in an
inert furry heap, among the bushes. There he lay,--his career as a
courier-dog forever ended.

Corporal Rudolph Freund was perhaps the best sniper in his regiment.
Wildly though he had fired, marksman-instinct had guided his bullets.
And at such close range there was no missing. Bruce went to earth with
one rifle ball through his body, and anothe