TWO DAYS LATER NERO KILLED his first roe-deer. The killing occurred at dusk. The victim was a doe.
Made bold by the truce that reigned in the woods, she was seeking a fragment of fresh vegetation that might not be completely covered by snow.
The hackles on Nero’s neck rose when he saw her. The growl died in his throat. He stalked her mercilessly, in perfect silence.
After the kill, the howl that grew and swelled in his great throat filled the forest with the threat of doom.
Every living creature that heard it trembled.
Nero attacked the dead doe savagely. Then, satisfied, he lay panting in the snow to rest.
The twilight deepened.
Suddenly a quiver ran from the great dog’s nose to the last hair of his pluming tail. He began to hear now the call of home. Before him lay the mangled body of his prey. The shudder shook him again. Remorse flattened his ears. His tail sank between his legs.
Silently, secretly, oppressed by a sure sense of guilt, he slunk from the shadows of the trees.
That night his master called him to the bedside. Nero went crouching, his belly close to the floor. Of one thing he was absolutely certain: that his master knew everything.
But the sick man did not know of Nero’s misdeeds.
“What is it, old fellow?” he inquired, scratching the spot behind the velvet ears. “What’s got into you?” Then he called to his wife, “Has this dog been into any mischief?”
Nero cringed; but the master’s wife spoke up for him.
“He’s been out most of the day,” she said, “moping around.”
The master cradled Nero’s muzzle in his hand.
“Well,” he chuckled, “you can’t tell me animals don’t know what’s going on! I’m not so sick as that, old fellow. I’ll be up and around before you know it.”
The master spoke without knowledge. He could not get up to take Nero on his customary walks. Again the dog was left to his own devices.
Another doe died.
The forest rang again with the death howl.
The third time the wolf-dog felt the ancient call, Rolla was feeding sparsely on a bed of moss sheltered by the gigantic trunk of a fallen elm. Her leg had mended reasonably well. If she did not exert it beyond a certain point, it did not bother her. She moved easily, chipping away with one forehoof at the lacy scale of ice that grew above the moss. Nero moved silently into position behind her.
Lana and Boso were wandering close at hand, seeking some morsel of food. It was Boso who glanced up and saw that great, gray shadow slinking through the underbrush.
“Mother,” he cried in panic. “Run, Mother!”
Rolla threw up her head exactly as the wolf-dog sprang. She leaped forward in the nick of time.
Her eyes wide with fright, Rolla threw herself forward with a tremendous burst of speed. Hard on her heels came the wolf-dog.
The twisting chase was against Rolla from the start. Her first burst of speed was the reflex action of her kind. Soon the stiffness of her leg acted on her as a brake.
Boso and Lana made off at an angle. The last Lana saw was her mother’s desperate attempt to shake the wolf-dog off by taking to the denser trees.
It was a foolish move. The heavy snow made the writhing turns impossible to take at speed. In a race of this kind Rolla’s game leg hampered her badly.
Fortunately the trees ended. Rolla bounded into a clearing which seemed vaguely familiar to her, even in her state of terror. But the wolf-dog was still gaining slowly.