Through the aperture there came to him now another sound, the yearning whine of beasts.

He could not hear Bram.

In spite of the confidence which his first look at Bram had given him he felt a sudden shiver run up his spine as he faced the end of the tunnel on his hands and knees, his revolver in his hand.
What a rat in a trap he would be if Bram loosed his wolves! What sport for the pack--and perhaps for the master himself! He could kill two or three--and that would be all.

They would be in on him like a whirlwind, diving through his snow walls as easily as a swimmer might cut through water.

Had he twice made a fool of himself?
Should he have winged Bram Johnson, three times a murderer, in place of offering him a greeting?
He began crawling toward the opening, and again he heard the snarl and whine of the beasts.