Then the leader, the largest and most terrible of the pack would stretch himself upon the tree trunk, and claw at the scorched bark, but the food he craved was still out of reach.
They noticed that the strange creatures in the tree began to move oftener, and to draw their limbs up as if they were growing stiff, and then their long-drawn howl grew longer and more ferocious than ever; the game, tired out, would soon drop into their mouths.

But it did not, the two creatures made sounds as if they were again encouraging each other, and the hearts of the wolves filled with rage and impatience that they should be cheated so long.
The night advanced; the moonlight faded again and the dark hours that come before the dawn were at hand.

The forest became black and misty like a haunted wood, and the dim forms of the wolves were the ghosts that lived in it.

But to their sharp red eyes the dark was nothing; they saw the two beings in the tree do a very queer thing; they tore strips from themselves, so it seemed to the wolves, from their clothing in fact, and wound it about their bodies and a bough of the tree against which they rested.

But the wolves did not understand, only they knew that the creatures did not stir again or make any kind of noise for a long time.
When the darkness was thickest the wolves grew hot with impatience.
Already they smelled the dawn and in the light their courage would ooze.
Could it be that the food they coveted would not fall into their mouths?
The dread suspicion filled every vein of the old leader with wrath, and he uttered a long terrible howl of doubt and anger; the pack took up the note and the lonely forest became alive with its echoes.