The sun had set. The great shadows came striding
over the forest. In the weird twilight of a late summer day, I saw the path
ahead glide on among the mighty trees and disappear. And I shuddered and
glanced fearfully over my shoulder. Miles behind lay the nearest village--miles
ahead the next.
I looked to left
and to right as I strode on, and anon I looked behind me. And anon I stopped
short, grasping my rapier, as a breaking twig betokened the going of some small
beast. Or was it a beast?
But the path led
on and I followed, because, forsooth, I had naught else to do.
As I went I
bethought me, "My own thoughts will route me, if I be not aware. What is
there in this forest, except perhaps the creatures that roam it, deer and the
like? Tush, the foolish legends of those villagers!"
And so I went and
the twilight faded into dusk. Stars began to blink and the leaves of the trees
murmured in the faint breeze. And then I stopped short, my sword leaping to my
hand, for just ahead, around a curve of the path, someone was singing. The
words I could not distinguish, but the accent was strange, almost barbaric.
I stepped behind
a great tree, and the cold sweat beaded my forehead. Then the singer came in
sight, a tall, thin man, vague in the twilight. I shrugged my shoulders. A man
I did not fear. I sprang out, my point raised.
"Stand!"
He showed no
surprise. "I prithee, handle thy blade with care, friend," he said.
Somewhat ashamed,
I lowered my sword.
"I am new to
this forest," I quoth, apologetically. "I heard talk of bandits. I
crave pardon. Where lies the road to Villefére?"
"Corbleu,
you've missed it," he answered. "You should have branched off to the
right some distance back. I am going there myself. If you may abide my company,
I will direct you."
I hesitated. Yet
why should I hesitate?
"Why,
certainly. My name is de Montour, of Normandy."
"And I am
Carolus le Loup."
"No!" I
started back.
He looked at me
in astonishment.
"Pardon,"
said I; "the name is strange. Does not loup mean wolf?"
"My family
were always great hunters," he answered. He did not offer his hand.
"You will
pardon my staring," said I as we walked down the path, "but I can
hardly see your face in the dusk."
I sensed that he
was laughing, though he made no sound.
"It is
little to look upon," he answered.
I stepped closer
and then leaped away, my hair bristling.
"A
mask!" I exclaimed. "Why do you wear a mask, m'sieu?"
"It is a
vow," he exclaimed. "In fleeing a pack of hounds I vowed that if I
escaped I would wear a mask for a certain time."
"Hounds,
m'sieu?"
"Wolves,"
he answered quickly; "I said wolves."
We walked in
silence for awhile and then my companion said, "I am surprised that you
walk these woods by night. Few people come these ways even in the day."
"I am in
haste to reach the border," I answered. "A treaty has been signed
with the English, and the Duke of Burgundy should know of it. The people at the
village sought to dissuade me. They spoke of--a wolf that was purported to roam
these woods."
"Here the
path branches to Villefére," said he, and I saw a narrow, crooked path
that I had not seen when I passed it before. It led in amid the darkness of the
trees. I shuddered.
"You wish to
return to the village?"
"No!" I
exclaimed. "No, no! Lead on."
So narrow was the
path that we walked single file, he leading. I looked well at him. He was
taller, much taller than I, and thin, wiry. He was dressed in a costume that
smacked of Spain. A long rapier swung at his hip. He walked with long easy
strides, noiselessly.
Then he began to
talk of travel and adventure. He spoke of many lands and seas he had seen and
many strange things. So we talked and went farther and farther into the forest.
I presumed that
he was French, and yet he had a very strange accent, that was neither French
nor Spanish nor English, not like any language I had ever heard. Some words he
slurred strangely and some he could not pronounce at all.
"This path
is often used, is it?" I asked.
"Not by
many," he answered and laughed silently. I shuddered. It was very dark and
the leaves whispered together among the branches.
"A fiend
haunts this forest," I said.
"So the
peasants say," he answered, "but I have roamed it oft and have never
seen his face."
Then he began to
speak of strange creatures of darkness, and the moon rose and shadows glided
among the trees. He looked up at the moon.
"Haste!"
said he. "We must reach our destination before the moon reaches her
zenith."
We hurried along
the trail.
"They
say," said I, "that a werewolf haunts these woodlands."
"It might
be," said he, and we argued much upon the subject.
"The old
women say," said he, "that if a werewolf is slain while a wolf, then
he is slain, but if he is slain as a man, then his half-soul will haunt his
slayer forever. But haste thee, the moon nears her zenith."
We came into a
small moonlit glade and the stranger stopped.
"Let us
pause a while," said he.
"Nay, let us
be gone," I urged; "I like not this place."
He laughed
without sound. "Why," said he, "This is a fair glade. As good as
a banquet hall it is, and many times have I feasted here. Ha, ha, ha! Look ye,
I will show you a dance." And he began bounding here and there, anon
flinging back his head and laughing silently. Thought I, the man is mad.
As he danced his
weird dance I looked about me. The trail went not on but stopped in the glade.
"Come,"
said I "we must on. Do you not smell the rank, hairy scent that hovers
about the glade? Wolves den here. Perhaps they are about us and are gliding
upon us even now."
He dropped upon
all fours, bounded higher than my head, and came toward me with a strange
slinking motion.
"That dance
is called the Dance of the Wolf," said he, and my hair bristled.
"Keep
off!" I stepped back, and with a screech that set the echoes shuddering he
leaped for me, and though a sword hung at his belt he did not draw it. My rapier
was half out when he grasped my arm and flung me headlong. I dragged him with
me and we struck the ground together. Wrenching a hand free I jerked off the
mask. A shriek of horror broke from my lips. Beast eyes glittered beneath that
mask, white fangs flashed in the moonlight. The face was that of a wolf.
In an instant
those fangs were at my throat. Taloned hands tore the sword from my grasp. I
beat at that horrible face with my clenched fists, but his jaws were fastened
on my shoulders, his talons tore at my throat. Then I was on my back. The world
was fading. Blindly I struck out. My hand dropped, then closed automatically
about the hilt of my dagger, which I had been unable to get at. I drew and
stabbed. A terrible, half-bestial bellowing screech. Then I reeled to my feet,
free. At my feet lay the werewolf.
I stooped, raised
the dagger, then paused, looked up. The moon hovered close to her zenith. If I
slew the thing as a man its frightful spirit would haunt me forever. I sat down
waiting. The thing watched me with flaming wolf eyes. The long wiry limbs
seemed to shrink, to crook; hair seemed to grow upon them. Fearing madness, I
snatched up the thing's own sword and hacked it to pieces. Then I flung the sword away and fled.
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