KAZAN lay mute and motionless, his gray nose between his forepaws, his eyes half closed.
A rock could have appeared scarcely less lifeless than he; not a muscle twitched; not a hair moved; not an eyelid quivered.
Yet every drop of the wild blood in his splendid body was racing in a ferment of excitement that Kazan had never before experienced. Every nerve and fiber of his wonderful muscles was tense as steel wire.
Quarter-strain wolf, three-quarters ‘husky,’ he had lived the four years of his life in the wilderness.
He had felt the pangs of starvation. He knew what it meant to freeze. He had listened to the wailing winds of the long Arctic night over the barrens. He had heard the thunder of the torrent and the cataract, and had cowered under the mighty crash of the storm. His throat and sides were scarred by battle, and his eyes were red with the blister of the snows.
He was called Kazan, the Wolf Dog, because he was a giant among his kind and as fearless, even, as the men who drove him through the perils of a frozen world.
He had never known fear–until now. He had never felt in him before the desire to <irun–</inot even on that terrible day in the forest when he had fought and killed the big gray lynx. He did not know what it was that frightened him, but he knew that he was in another world, and that many things in it startled and alarmed him.
It was his first glimpse of civilization.
He wished that his master would come back into the strange room where he had left him. It was a room filled with hideous things. There were great human faces on the wall, but they did not move or speak, but stared at him in a way he had never seen people look before. He remembered having looked on a master who lay very quiet and very cold in the snow, and he had sat back on his haunches and wailed forth the death song. But these people on the walls looked alive, and yet seemed dead.
Suddenly Kazan’s ears became erect. He heard steps, then low voices. One of them was his master’s voice. But the other–it sent a little tremor through him! Once, so long ago that it must have been in his puppy-hood days, he seemed to have had a dream of a laugh that was like the girl’s laugh–a laugh that was all at once filled with a wonderful happiness, the thrill of a wonderful love, and a sweetness that made Kazan now lift his head as the man and woman came in.
He looked straight at them, his red eyes gleaming. At once he knew that the girl must be dear to his master, for his arm was about her. In the glow of the light he saw that her hair was very bright, and that there was the color of the crimson in her face and the blue of the in her shining eyes. Suddenly she saw him, and with a little cry darted toward him.
‘Stop!’ shouted the man. ‘He’s dangerous! Kazan-‘