The Were-Wolf eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 66 pages of information about The Were-Wolf.

The Were-Wolf eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 66 pages of information about The Were-Wolf.

White Fell had not uncovered her head, only knotted the pendant fur loosely behind her neck.  Rol reached up his hand towards it, whispering her name to himself, “White Fell, White Fell,” then slid his arms round her neck, and kissed her—­once—­twice.  She laughed delightedly, and kissed him again.

“The child plagues you?” said Sweyn.

“No, indeed,” she answered, with an earnestness so intense as to seem disproportionate to the occasion.

Rol settled himself again on her lap, and began to unwind the bandage bound round his hand.  He paused a little when he saw where the blood had soaked through; then went on till his hand was bare and the cut displayed, gaping and long, though only skin deep.  He held it up towards White Fell, desirous of her pity and sympathy.

At sight of it, and the blood-stained linen, she drew in her breath suddenly, clasped Rol to her—­hard, hard—­till he began to struggle.  Her face was hidden behind the boy, so that none could see its expression.  It had lighted up with a most awful glee.

Afar, beyond the fir-grove, beyond the low hill behind, the absent Christian was hastening his return.  From daybreak he had been afoot, carrying notice of a bear hunt to all the best hunters of the farms and hamlets that lay within a radius of twelve miles.  Nevertheless, having been detained till a late hour, he now broke into a run, going with a long smooth stride of apparent ease that fast made the miles diminish.

He entered the midnight blackness of the fir-grove with scarcely slackened pace, though the path was invisible; and passing through into the open again, sighted the farm lying a furlong off down the slope.  Then he sprang out freely, and almost on the instant gave one great sideways leap, and stood still.  There in the snow was the track of a great wolf.

His hand went to his knife, his only weapon.  He stooped, knelt down, to bring his eyes to the level of a beast, and peered about; his teeth set, his heart beat a little harder than the pace of his running insisted on.  A solitary wolf, nearly always savage and of large size, is a formidable beast that will not hesitate to attack a single man.  This wolf-track was the largest Christian had ever seen, and, so far as he could judge, recently made.  It led from under the fir-trees down the slope.  Well for him, he thought, was the delay that had so vexed him before:  well for him that he had not passed through the dark fir-grove when that danger of jaws lurked there.  Going warily, he followed the track.

It led down the slope, across a broad ice-bound stream, along the level beyond, making towards the farm.  A less precise knowledge had doubted, and guessed that here might have come straying big Tyr or his like; but Christian was sure, knowing better than to mistake between footmark of dog and wolf.

Straight on—­straight on towards the farm.

Surprised and anxious grew Christian, that a prowling wolf should dare so near.  He drew his knife and pressed on, more hastily, more keen-eyed.  Oh that Tyr were with him!

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The Were-Wolf from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.