I went outside to sniff the air, and stood upright.  A curious impression that something was astir in the Camp came over me, and when I glanced across at Sangree’s tent, some twenty feet away, I saw that it was moving.  He too, then, was awake and restless, for I saw the canvas sides bulge this way and that as he moved within.

The flap pushed forward.  He was coming out, like myself, to sniff the air; and I was not surprised, for its sweetness after the rain was intoxicating.  And he came on all fours, just as I had done.  I saw a head thrust round the edge of the tent.

And then I saw that it was not Sangree at all.  It was an animal.  And the same instant I realised something else too—­it was the animal; and its whole presentment for some unaccountable reason was unutterably malefic.

A cry I was quite unable to suppress escaped me, and the creature turned on the instant and stared at me with baleful eyes.  I could have dropped on the spot, for the strength all ran out of my body with a rush.  Something about it touched in me the living terror that grips and paralyses.  If the mind requires but the tenth of a second to form an impression, I must have stood there stockstill for several seconds while I seized the ropes for support and stared.  Many and vivid impressions flashed through my mind, but not one of them resulted in action, because I was in instant dread that the beast any moment would leap in my direction and be upon me.  Instead, however, after what seemed a vast period, it slowly turned its eyes from my face, uttered a low whining sound, and came out altogether into the open.

Then, for the first time, I saw it in its entirety and noted two things:  it was about the size of a large dog, but at the same time it was utterly unlike any animal that I had ever seen.  Also, that the quality that had impressed me first as being malefic was really only its singular and original strangeness.  Foolish as it may sound, and impossible as it is for me to adduce proof, I can only say that the animal seemed to me then to be—­not real.

But all this passed through my mind in a flash, almost subconsciously, and before I had time to check my impressions, or even properly verify them, I made an involuntary movement, catching the tight rope in my hand so that it twanged like a banjo string, and in that instant the creature turned the corner of Sangree’s tent and was gone into the darkness.

Then, of course, my senses in some measure returned to me, and I realised only one thing:  it had been inside his tent!

I dashed out, reached the door in half a dozen strides, and looked in.  The Canadian, thank God! lay upon his bed of branches.  His arm was stretched outside, across the blankets, the fist tightly clenched, and the body had an appearance of unusual rigidity that was alarming.  On his face there was an expression of effort, almost of painful effort, so far as the uncertain light permitted me to see, and his sleep seemed to be very profound.  He looked, I thought, so stiff, so unnaturally stiff, and in some indefinable way, too, he looked smaller—­shrunken.