There was no doubt about it! The great wolf-dog was slinking towards her on his belly, still trailing the wounded foreleg.

There was something snakelike in that slow approach, so silent and so gradual.
And yet she waited, moving neither hand nor foot.
A sort of nightmare paralysis held her, as when we flee from some horror in our dreams and find that our limbs have grown numb.

Behind us races the deadly thing, closer and closer; before us is the door of safety--only a step to reach it--and yet we cannot move a foot! It was not all pure terror.

There was an incredible excitement as well--her will against the will of the dumb brute--which would conquer?
She heard a faint rustling of the sand beside her and could hardly keep from turning her head again.

But she succeeded.