The greenish fire in his eyes grew brighter.
"Ze poleece," he said.

"KA, ze poleece--like kam from Churchill an' ze wolve keel!" Philip's hand was fumbling in his pocket.

The wolves were behind him and he dared not turn to look.

It was their ominous silence that filled him with dread.

They were waiting--watching--their animal instinct telling them that the command for which they yearned was already trembling on the thick lips of their master.