He was fat and sleek from a month's feasting on fish.
His shiny coat was like black velvet in the moonlight, and he walked with a curious rolling motion with his head hung low.

The horror grew when he stopped broadside in the carpet of sand not more than ten feet from the rock under which Baree was shivering.
It was quite evident that Wakayoo had caught scent of him in the air.
Baree could hear him sniff--could hear his breathing--caught the starlight flashing in his reddish-brown eyes as they swung suspiciously toward the big boulder.

If Baree could have known then that he--his insignificant little self--was making that monster actually nervous and uneasy, he would have given a yelp of joy.

For Wakayoo, in spite of his size, was somewhat of a coward when it came to wolves.

And Baree carried the wolf scent.