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 the open fields under the starry sky and his friends would change to cave men and women, with long arms and short legs, with bodies partly covered with hair, and they would all be crouching about the feeble campfire looking fearfully into the darkness at the gray wolf sitting upon his haunches watching them.

Then the man would pick up a firebrand and throw it at the gray prowler and he would slink away into the darkness. Or Silversheene would dream that he again heard his wild brother, the wolf, calling to him in that thin, weird, high-keyed, wolf howl, the call of the wolf to the dog.

At such times he would stir uneasily in his sleep and his legs would twitch, and if they did not awaken him he would at last spring up with an angry bark or a pitiful whimper and look fearfully about him for the gray shape, the shade of the wolf that he had been.

Then he would see all his beloved family and the cheerful room and the bright fire