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Updated: June 10, 2025
And following the cry there rose above the tumult of the storm the howling of Bram Johnson's wolves. For a space Philip thought that the cry must have come from Bram Johnson himself that the wolf-man had returned in the pit of the storm. Against his breast Celie had apparently ceased to breathe. Both listened for a repetition of the sound, or for a signal at the barred door.
He seized his head between his hands and beat his knuckles against the corrugated flesh of his forehead. She had thought that! Desire for action, action, action, beset him like thirst. To close with this devil, this wolf-man, to set his big fingers in the smooth, almost girlish throat, to choke the yellow light out of those eyes or else to die, but like a man proving his manhood before the girl.
Well, now, I think that this wolf-man, this axe-man, this warrior, Umslopogaas should be a good fellow to you on your journey to visit the white witch, Queen another woman by the way, Macumazahn, and therefore one of whom you should be careful. Oh! yes, he will come with you because of a man called Lousta and a woman named Monazi, a wife of his who hates him and does not hate Lousta.
The last of the Kogmollocks disappeared into the edge of the forest. After them went the wolf-man and his pack. Philip faced his companion. His gun was hot and empty. The old grin was in Olaf's face. In spite of it he shuddered. "We won't follow," he said. "Bram and his wolves will attend to the trimmings, and he'll come back when the job is finished.
The wolf-man stood erect again, and the dreamer heard it addressing the light. The words were gentle, in contrast with the manner in which it had spoken to him, and the softness of its tones held him fascinated. "He's better, eh? Coming round," he said. And somehow the dreamer thought that he laughed, and the invisible coyotes laughed with him.
He believed that Bram was nearing the end of his trail. The wolves were dead tired. The wolf-man himself was lagging, and since midnight had ridden more frequently on the sledge. Still he drove on, and Philip searched with increasing eagerness the trail ahead of them.
The case of Bram Johnson, the mad wolf-man of the Upper Country, happened to be one of them, and filed away in the archives of the Department is a big envelope filled with official and personal documents, signed and sworn to by various people.
He would not have known then that the wolf-man was mad, and impulsively he reached out a hand. "Bram, she's starving," he cried. "I know now why you wanted that stuff! But why didn't you tell me! Why don't you talk, and let me know who she is, and why she is here, and what you want me to do?" He waited, and Bram stared at him without a sound. "I tell you I'm a friend," he went on.
He could see it in the quick intake of her breath and the sudden expression of relief that swept over her face. She had been afraid he would attack the wolf-man. And now she was glad that he understood he was not to harm him. If the situation had seemed fairly clear to him a few minutes before it had become more deeply mysterious than ever now.
Philip looked at the girl. She was looking at him now. Her hands were clutched at her breast, and in her face and attitude there was a wordless entreaty for him to understand. The truth came to him like a flash. For some reason she had forced herself to appear that way to the wolf-man. She had forced herself to smile, forced the look of gladness into her face, and the words from her lips.
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