They ranged themselves in a ring, as men gather about a fistic battle; and there they waited, their jaws drooling, their fangs clicking, a low and eager whining smothered in their throats.

And then the thing happened.

One of the fighting wolves went down.

He was on his back--and the end came.
The twelve wolves were upon him as one, and, like those Pierrot had seen, he was torn to pieces, and his flesh devoured.

After that the thirteen went on deeper into Le Beau's country.
Miki heard them again, after that hour's interval of silence.