The hair of his spine stood up like a brush; his fangs gleamed menacingly, and his eyes burned like living coals.
"There is a devil in him," said McTaggart.

"He is wild--born of the wolf.

You must be careful or he will take off a hand, kit sakahet." It was the first time he had called her that lover's name in Cree--SWEETHEART! Her heart pounded.

She bent her head for a moment over her clenched hands, and McTaggart--looking down on what he thought was her confusion--laid his hand caressingly on her hair.

From the door Pierrot had heard the word, and now he saw the caress, and he raised a hand as if to shut out the sight of a sacrilege.
"Mon Dieu!" he breathed.
In the next instant he had given a sharp cry of wonder that mingled with a sudden yell of pain from McTaggart.