It grew cold and dark and there was a singing in Strong Hand’s ears so that he could distinguish no longer any but the most pronounced sounds of the forest; for instance, the plat-plat of soft padded feet on the fallen leaves.
The sound of these feet were very near and all around him. As it grew darker he occasionally saw fiery eyes regarding him.
There was a whole circle of them, and the singing grew stronger and more loud in his ears. All at once from the place where he had left the body of No Man, arose whines, snarls, snappings, coughing, barking, and all the noises that wolves make when they quarrel over their meat.
“NOT TILL I AM DEAD”
“Not till I am dead,” said Strong Hand. “Not till I am dead,” and his eyes became mysterious and plaintive like those of a child that is in trouble and he turned them upward and saw where The Cause into which he was returning had cast a scarf-of-stars across the sable shoulders of the night.