spreading hair of her tail, and one eye, half opened, resting upon
her lord.

Two hours later, Warrigal rose softly and went out to inspect the
night. She found the world bathed in a shining glory of silken
moonlight; bright as day, but infinitely more alluring and
mysteriously beautiful. After gazing out at this wonderful panorama
for a few minutes and drawing in information through her nostrils
of the doings of the wild, Warrigal sat down on her haunches and
raised her not very melodious voice in the curious dingo cry, which
is a sort of growling howl. Next instant Finn was beside her, with
lolling tongue and sensitively questioning nostrils. She gave him
one sidelong look which seemed to say, "You here? Why, what an odd
coincidence that you also should have waked and come out here! I
wonder why you came!" Not but what, of course, she knew perfectly
well what had brought the Wolfhound to her side. She had called of
good set purpose, but, in her feminine way, she preferred to let it
appear that Finn joined her of his own volition. It may be assumed
that the remark she made to him at this point was a comment upon
the fineness of the night and the undoubted beauty of that
glamorous silvern sheen through which the pair of them gazed out at
Tinnaburra.

In the next minute the two began to play together like young cats,
there on the sandy ledge of moon-kissed stone that stretched for
yards on either side of the den's mouth. Perhaps it was then,
rather than in the afternoon hours which came earlier, that Finn
courted Warrigal. The stinging of his wounds, caused by the rapid,
sinuous movements with which he danced about his mate, seemed only
to add zest to his love-making. They were, after all, no more than
love-tokens, these fang-marks and scratches, and Finn rejoiced in
them as such. He had fought for Warrigal, and was ready and willing
to fight for her again. And this his mate was most sweet to him; so
deft, so agile, and so swift; so strong and supple, and withal so
instant in response to his gallantries. The night air was sweet,
too, to headiness, and the moonlight seemed to run like quicksilver
in Finn's veins. Certainly, he told himself, this new life in the
wild, this life of matehood, was a good thing.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PACK AND ITS MASTERS

When Finn took up his abode in the den of his mate, Warrigal, he
entered what was to him an entirely new world, and this new world
was in fact