It began deep in Bram's cavernous chest, like the rolling of a great drum, and ended in a wailing shriek that must have carried for miles over the open plain--the call of the master to his pack, of the man-beast to his brothers.

It may be that even before the cry was finished some super-instinct had warned Bram Johnson of a danger which he had not seen.

The cry was cut short.

It ended in a hissing gasp, as steam is cut off by a valve.

Before Philip's startled senses had adjusted themselves to action Bram was off, and as his huge strides carried him swiftly through the starlight the cry that had been on his lips was replaced by the strange, mad laugh that Pierre Breault had described with a shiver of fear.
Without moving, Philip called after him: "Bram--Bram Johnson--stop! In the name of the King--" It was the old formula, the words that carried with them the majesty and power of Law throughout the northland.