howled—a wild quavering cry of agony. In an instant the milling gray mob around Awi Agwa melted as every wolf leaped clear. For some seconds they stood watching the she-wolf, long white teeth gleaming in snarling jaws, eyes aglitter with savage expectation. Then, apparently for the first time, they saw the dying beast that Awi Agwa had disembowelled dragging himself across the ground fifteen feet to the right.
Three of them made a rush for him, but the rest still waited as though transfixed, their pitiless eyes fixed upon the she-wolf which had uttered that quavering howl. She stood motionless except for the slight swaying of her body; but suddenly she lurched forward and began to run in circles, her head bent sharply to one side. Round and round she ran, faster and faster, the fierce expectant eyes following her with strange intensity. Then down she went as though a shot had bowled her over, and in an instant a dozen sets of fangs were rending her carcass.
Awi Agwa, motionless in his tracks, watched the bloody orgy. Instinct kept him where he was, warned him not to leave his position of vantage in the shallow pocket of the hillside. For more than an hour after the feast was over he still stood there facing his foes, while they sat on their haunches in a semi-circle in front of him, unwilling to attack
