Kazan | Page 8

knew what a club meant!
McCready's face was terrible now. It was like a beast's. He was hatless.
Kazan slunk deeper in his shadow at the low horrible laugh that fell
from his lips--for the man still held the club. In a moment he dropped
that, and approached the tent. He drew back the flap and peered in.
Thorpe's wife was sleeping, and as quietly as a cat he entered and hung
the lantern on a nail in the tent-pole. His movement did not awaken her,
and for a few moments he stood there, staring--staring.

Outside, crouching in the deep shadow, Kazan tried to fathom the
meaning of these strange things that were happening. Why had his
master and McCready gone out into the forest? Why had not his master
returned? It was his master, and not McCready, who belonged in that
tent. Then why was McCready there? He watched McCready as he
entered, and suddenly the dog was on his feet, his back tense and
bristling, his limbs rigid. He saw McCready's huge shadow on the
canvas, and a moment later there came a strange piercing cry. In the
wild terror of that cry he recognized her voice--and he leaped toward
the tent. The leash stopped him, choking the snarl in his throat. He saw
the shadows struggling now, and there came cry after cry. She was
calling to his master, and with his master's name she was calling him!
"Kazan--Kazan--"
He leaped again, and was thrown upon his back. A second and a third
time he sprang the length of the leash into the night, and the babiche
cord about his neck cut into his flesh like a knife. He stopped for an
instant, gasping for breath. The shadows were still fighting. Now they
were upright! Now they were crumpling down! With a fierce snarl he
flung his whole weight once more at the end of the chain. There was a
snap, as the thong about his neck gave way.
In half a dozen bounds Kazan made the tent and rushed under the flap.
With a snarl he was at McCready's throat. The first snap of his
powerful jaws was death, but he did not know that. He knew only that
his mistress was there, and that he was fighting for her. There came one
choking gasping cry that ended with a terrible sob; it was McCready.
The man sank from his knees upon his back, and Kazan thrust his fangs
deeper into his enemy's throat; he felt the warm blood.
The dog's mistress was calling to him now. She was pulling at his
shaggy neck. But he would not loose his hold--not for a long time.
When he did, his mistress looked down once upon the man and covered
her face with her hands. Then she sank down upon the blankets. She
was very still. Her face and hands were cold, and Kazan muzzled them
tenderly. Her eyes were closed. He snuggled up close against her, with
his ready jaws turned toward the dead man. Why was she so still, he

wondered?
A long time passed, and then she moved. Her eyes opened. Her hand
touched him.
Then he heard a step outside.
It was his master, and with that old thrill of fear--fear of the club--he
went swiftly to the door. Yes, there was his master in the firelight--and
in his hand he held the club. He was coming slowly, almost falling at
each step, and his face was red with blood. But he had the club! He
would beat him again--beat him terribly for hurting McCready; so
Kazan slipped quietly under the tent-flap and stole off into the shadows.
From out the gloom of the thick spruce he looked back, and a low
whine of love and grief rose and died softly in his throat. They would
beat him always now--after that. Even she would beat him. They would
hunt him down, and beat him when they found him.
From out of the glow of the fire he turned his wolfish head to the
depths of the forest. There were no clubs or stinging lashes out in that
gloom. They would never find him there.
For another moment he wavered. And then, as silently as one of the
wild creatures whose blood was partly his, he stole away into the
blackness of the night.
CHAPTER IV
FREE FROM BONDS
There was a low moaning of the wind in the spruce-tops as Kazan slunk
off into the blackness and mystery of the forest. For hours he lay near
the camp, his red and blistered eyes gazing steadily at the tent wherein
the terrible thing had happened a little while before.
He knew now what death was. He could tell it farther than man. He
could smell it in