In his wolves he possessed not
only an advantage but a certainty. If Philip had doubted this, as
he waited for another moment with the muzzle of his revolver close
to the opening, his uncertainty was swept away by the appearance
thirty feet in front of his tunnel of three of Bram's wolves. They
were giants of their kind, and as the three faced his refuge he
could see the snarling gleam of their long fangs. A fourth and a
fifth joined them, and after that they came within his vision in
twos and threes until a score of them were huddled straight in
front of him. They were restless and whining, and the snap of
their jaws was like the clicking of castanets. He caught the glare
of twenty pairs of eyes fastened on his retreat and involuntarily
he shrank back that they might not see him. He knew that it was
Bram who was holding them back, and yet he had heard no word, no
command. Even as he stared a long snakelike shadow uncurled itself
swiftly in the air and the twenty foot lash of Bram's caribou-gut
whip cracked viciously over the heads of the pack.
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