Slowly, and with painful effort, he rose as far as his knees; and
then, with a groan, drooped down to earth again on his side. The
crows cocked their heads sideways at him. They seemed full of
brightness and life. But the sun himself was not more pitiless than
the question they seemed to be putting to the man, as they perked
their heads from side to side while considering his last move.
Warrigal and her mates saw clearly the conclusion the crows had
arrived at. They, also, held that the man was down for good at
last. At length, it seemed to them, he was practically nothing else
than food; the man-mastery, whose emblem is man's erectness, or
power to stand erect, was gone for ever, they thought. The crows
were safe guides, and one of them was hopping gravely towards the
back of the man. Warrigal, followed by five of her mates, crept
slowly forward through the scrub; and saliva was hanging like
icicles from their parted jaws.

Finn saw Warrigal's movement, and knew precisely what it portended
with as much certainty as though his mate had explained it all to
him. And now Finn was possessed by two opposing inclinations, both
terribly strong. Upon the one hand, instinctive respect for man's
authority and acquired dislike of man and all his works bade the
great Wolfhound remain where he was. Upon the other hand, two
forces impelled him to rise and join his mate, and those two forces
were the greatest hunger he had ever known, and the assertive pride
of his leadership of the pack. There before his eyes his section of
the pack was advancing, preparing for a kill for food, there in
that bitter desert of starvation. And he, the unquestioned master
and leader of the pack, master of all the wild kindred that he
knew; he, Finn, was----Three seconds later, and the Wolfhound had
bounded forward, his great shoulders thrusting angrily between
Warrigal and the big male dingo who had dared to usurp his, Finn's,
place there as leader in concerted action.

For an instant the pack paused, no more than a score of paces
distant from the man's shoulders, glaring uneasily. Then the man
moved, raising his body slightly upon one elbow. The dingoes drew
back a pace, even Warrigal moving back with them, though she
snarled savagely in doing so. Finn did not move. Warrigal's snarl
it was which told the man of his danger, and, with an effort, he
rose upon his knees, and grabbed at his long stick where it lay on
the ground. Again Warrigal snarled, le