The dog's mistress was calling to him now. She was pulling at his shaggy neck. But he would not loose his hold--not for a long time. When he did, his mistress looked down once upon the man and covered her face with her hands. Then she sank down upon the blankets. She was very still. Her face and hands were cold, and Kazan muzzled them tenderly. Her eyes were closed. He snuggled up close against her, with his ready jaws turned toward the dead man. Why was she so still, he wondered? A long time passed, and then she moved. Her eyes opened. Her hand touched him. Then he heard a step outside. It was his master, and with that old thrill of fear--fear of the club--he went swiftly to the door. Yes, there was his master in the firelight--and in his hand he held the club. He was coming slowly, almost falling at each step, and his face was red with blood. But he had _the club_! He would beat him again--beat him terribly for hurting McCready; so Kazan slipped quietly under the tent-flap and stole off into the shadows. From out the gloom of the thick spruce he looked back, and a low whine of love and grief rose and died softly in his throat. They would beat him always now--after _that_. Even _she_ would beat him. They would hunt him down, and beat him when they found him. From out of the glow of the fire he turned his wolfish head to the depths of the forest. There were no clubs or stinging lashes out in that gloom. They would never find him there. For another moment he wavered. And then, as silently as one of the wild creatures whose blood was partly his, he stole away into the blackness of the night. CHAPTER IV FREE FROM BONDS There was a low moaning of the wind in the spruce-tops as Kazan slunk off into the blackness and mystery of the forest. For hours he lay near the camp, his red and blistered eyes gazing steadily at the tent wherein the terrible thing had happened a little while before. He knew now what death was. He could tell it farther than man. He could smell it in the air. And he knew that there was death all about him, and that he was the cause of it. He lay on his belly in the deep snow and shivered, and the three-quarters of him that was dog whined in a grief-stricken way, while the quarter that was wolf still revealed itself menacingly in his fangs, and in the vengeful glare of his eyes. Three times the man--his master--came out of the tent, and shouted loudly, "Kazan--Kazan--Kazan!"