The sound of the waves breaking upon the beach, and
the sighing of the night wind among the neighbouring fir trees, soon
lulled him into a heavy sleep.
It might be that he had slept full four hours when, feeling something
cold against his cheek, he wakened with a start and sprang to his feet.
There was a sharp yelp as of a frightened dog, and he heard the movement
of footsteps upon the heather. Then the footsteps stopped and he saw the
staring eyes of a wolf glaring at him through the black darkness.
Grasping his sword, Allan bounded off in pursuit. The wolf trotted away
at an easy pace towards the woodland. Then as Allan approached nearer,
off again it sped, leading him deep into a quiet dingle to the east of
Loch Quien. But at each time the animal paused Allan came nearer and
nearer than before, until at last it seemed that he had come within
striking distance of the brute. He had not his bow with him, or he might
have made short work of the wolf. But he did not shrink from a close
encounter.
As he heard the low snarling growl before him he raised his weapon,
swinging it round to strike. Lightly the wolf sprang aside and the sword
blade whizzed through the air, striking nothing. And ere Allan,
expecting to find the animal lying dead at his feet, could well
understand how he had missed his aim, the wolf had bounded off and was
lost in the darkness.
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