He seemed to know, again, that he had found his ordained sphere.  He knew this breed,—­this savage, blood-mad, fierce-eyed creature that turned, snarling, at his approach.  He had something in common with the breed, knowing their blood-lusts and their mighty moods; and dim, dreamlike memory reminded him that he had mastered them in a long war that went down to the roots of time.  Fenris was only a fellow wilderness creature, a pack brother of the dark forests, and he had no further cause for fear.

“Fenris!” he ordered sharply.  “Come here!” His voice was commanding and clear above the animal’s snarls.

There followed a curious, long instant of utter silence and infinite suspense.  The girl’s scream died on her lips:  the wolf stood tense, wholly motionless.  Morris, who had drawn his knife and had prepared to leap with magnificent daring upon the wolf, turned with widening eyes, instinctively aware of impending miracle.  Ben’s eyes met those of the wolf, commanding and unafraid.

“Down, Fenris,” Ben said again.  “Down!”

Then slowly, steadily, Ben moved toward him.  Watching unbelieving, Morris saw the fierce eyes begin to lose their fire.  The stiff hair on the shoulders fell into place, tense muscle relaxed.  He saw in wonder that the animal was trembling all over.

Ben stood beside him now, his hand reaching.  “Down, down,” he cautioned quietly.  Suddenly the wolf crouched, cowering, at his feet.

X

Ben straightened to find himself under a wondering scrutiny by both Morris and the girl.  “Good Lord, Darby!” the former exclaimed.  “How did you do it—­”

Now that the suspense was over, Ben himself stood smiling, quite at ease.  “Can’t say just how.  I just felt that I could—­I’ve always been able to handle animals.  He’s tame, anyway.”

“Tame, is he?  You ought to have had to care for him the last few weeks, and you’d think tame.  Not once have I dared go in reach of his rope.  And there he is, crouched at your feet!  I was always dreading he’d get away—­” Morris paused, evidently remembering the girl.  “Beatrice, are you hurt?”

The girl moved toward them.  “No.  He didn’t touch me.  But you came just in time—­” The girl’s voice wavered; and Ben stepped to her side.  “I’m all right now—­”

“But you’d better sit down,” Ben advised quietly.  “It was enough to scare any one to death—­”

“Any one—­but you—­” the girl replied, her voice still unsteady.  But she paused when she saw the warm color spread over Ben’s rugged, brown face.  And his embarrassment was real.  Naturally shy and unassuming, such effusive praise as this always disturbed him—­just as it would have embarrassed any really masculine man alive.  Women, more extravagant in speech and loving flattery with a higher ardor, would have found it hard to believe how really distressed he was; but Morris, an outdoor man to the core, understood