Tandakora, veteran of a hundred battles, one of the fiercest warriors that ever ranged the woods, shook.

His blood turned to water, ice water at that, and the bones of his gigantic frame seemed to crumble.

He knew, as all the Indians knew, that the souls of dead warriors, usually those who had been wicked in life, dwelled for a while in the bodies of animals, preferably those of wolves, and the wolves about him were certainly inhabited by the worst warriors that had ever lived.

In every growl and snap and bark there was a threat.

He could hear it, and he knew it was meant for him.