It was midnight before he went into his own tent.
In the warmth of the fire, Kazan's eyes slowly closed.

He slumbered uneasily, and his brain was filled with troubled pictures.

At times he was fighting, and his jaws snapped.

At others he was straining at the end of his chain, with McCready or his mistress just out of reach.

He felt the gentle touch of the girl's hand again and heard the wonderful sweetness of her voice as she sang to him and his master, and his body trembled and twitched with the thrills that had filled him that night.
And then the picture changed.