that, at the
first smell of blood, all control would vanish, and that even though
Kiopo was the most magnificent fighter in the world, his fate would be
sealed.

Hardly daring to breathe, he watched the two wolves draw closer in the
centre of the ring. Now they were within a few feet of each other.

He prepared himself for the sudden leap, the lightning slash, the jagged
rip, the manoeuvering for the deadly ham-stringing which meant the
beginning of the end.

It was one of those great moments in which anything might happen, and
when the merest accident might decide. Dusty Star was fully aware that
the lives of Kiopo and himself hung trembling in the balance.

Bristling with excitement, the wolves drew nearer in. And still, rigid
and motionless, Kiopo and the White Wolf faced each other with defiance
in their eyes.

Suddenly there was a sound, half-howl, half-cry, and in the tense moment
something seemed to snap. Partly running, partly leaping, with his body
crouched, Dusty Star, as he gave tongue, flung himself into the centre
of the ring.

The White Wolf bared his teeth and snarled with his eyes upon him. Kiopo
also started in astonishment. Was the Little Brother gone mad?

If what followed was madness, it was the most amazing madness the wolves
had ever seen. Leaping, bending, running, turning his body in every
direction, Dusty Star danced a wolf-dance the like of which the Bad
Lands had never known. What mysterious impulse at the very last moment,
and in the nick of time, had suddenly come upon him, and taught him what
to do, he could have told no more than the wild creatures themselves.
And as he danced, he barked short sharp wolf-notes that stabbed the air
like knives.

They watched him. He wanted them to watch. They had never seen a human
being dance the wolf-dance before; nor were they likely to again. It was
the wolf-dance, and yet it was not the wolf-dance. It was something
more. What the something more was, Dusty Star himself could not have
explained. But he knew that the power that was secretly hidden within
him was coming out. It was that strange thing which had been with him as
a child, and which, during the long days and nights in the Carboona, had
grown stronger moon by moon.

He danced now, as he had danced once before in his grandmother's tepee
when she had been ill. There were the same wild antics; the same cunning
movements of his feet and hands. Only then he had danced as a splendid
joke.