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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77868 ***
+Transcribed from Weird Tales, October 1927 (Vol. 10, No. 4.).
+
+
+
+
+                               Loup-Garou
+
+                            by Wallace West
+
+[Illustration: “He turned toward the wolf and stood staring, for a
+monstrous change was taking place.”]
+
+
+
+
+Gil Couteau sat in the warm sunlight of the courtyard industriously
+polishing his long, straight sword. It was a good sword, he ruminated,
+scraping industriously at the dark stain which insisted on sticking
+in the crevices of the scrollwork hilt, but it was becoming thirsty
+from lack of use. His superstitious eye seemed to detect some subtle
+lessening of the keenness of the edge; some slight dullness in the
+polish of the blade since he had used it almost daily against the
+cursed Saracens in Palestine.
+
+With the sword across his knees he leaned back against the wall and
+relaxed into sleepy comfort. It was good, he decided, to be done with
+wars, and with slicing heads from infidels; it was good to be in Merrie
+England, where nothing much had happened since his arrival; it was good
+to have the stout walls of Castle Randall about him, and a real bed to
+sleep on once more.
+
+With half-closed eyes he watched the golden flash of flies across the
+sunlight and listened to the hum of wasps who had their nest somewhere
+up the tower. Two grooms were asleep against the stable wall. Two
+more were trying to work up interest in a desultory cockfight near
+the portcullis. Ho hum! Life was good. His head nodded forward on his
+breast.
+
+He was awakened by a ragged thunder of hoofs upon the lowered
+drawbridge. He leaped to his feet, all his sleepy content shattered,
+as a wild-eyed horse charged into the courtyard and plunged to a stop
+before him, in a great lather of sweat. From its back slid a bleeding
+bundle of a man whom he recognized as the serf Gomar. “Oh, sir,”
+gabbled this one, in a mixture of Saxon and English which Gil still
+found hard to understand, “oh, sir; Lady Constance! I must to Lord
+Robert. Gray Henry, the Wolf, has stolen----”
+
+Without pausing to finish, the serf started into the castle at a
+slouching, staggering run, and Couteau followed him, sword in hand.
+
+They found Sir Robert Fitzgerald, lord of the castle, in an alcove off
+the main hall. He was dressed in a dust-colored robe, like the priest
+of some occult order, and, surrounded by an array of test-tubes and
+retorts, was poring over a huge volume as they rushed in. He leaped
+to his feet, however, and strode forward with a step which belied his
+sixty-five years.
+
+“Oh, sir,” cried the serf, throwing himself at the old man’s feet,
+“your daughter, Lady Constance, has been stolen----”
+
+“By whom?” thundered Sir Robert, jerking him to his feet as though the
+burly Saxon had been a feather.
+
+“By your foster-brother, Gray Henry,” sobbed the man.
+
+“Henry the Wolf,” whispered the old man, his face growing pale beneath
+his long beard. “But that’s impossible,” he cried, shaking the serf
+savagely. “She had three men-at-arms with her. Where are they?”
+
+“Dead! We were put upon in the forest,” came the answer.
+
+Sir Robert returned slowly to his seat behind the test-tubes. He seemed
+older--grayer. “Call my son Brian,” he commanded at length. “This
+matter will require fighting, methinks. Couteau, stay with me.”
+
+He busied himself arranging his apparatus as the others departed.
+“You have heard of my foster-brother since you returned with us from
+Palestine?” he finally inquired.
+
+“Merely his name, sir,” replied the other, “and that he holds Castle
+Barnecan, up the river.”
+
+“There is more to it than that,” said Sir Robert. “Henry has an evil
+reputation. He dabbles in sorcery as I do in alchemy. Perhaps he has
+had more success than I. So ’tis said by the country-folk.”
+
+He paused, paced back and forth for some moments, then resumed: “You
+have heard of the gray wolf of Barnecan?”
+
+“Aye, sir, I have even thought a little of a hunt to kill it, since
+there is nothing else to do here, and the wolf’s deviltries are so
+numerous.”
+
+“’Tis lucky you haven’t tried, Gil,” retorted the old man fiercely. “He
+killed my uncle, you know, and people say--well I must out with it--the
+people say that my cursed foster-brother is----”
+
+They were interrupted by a clatter of spurs on the flagstones. Young
+Brian, heir and only son of Sir Robert, rushed in.
+
+“I have heard, Father,” he cried. “Constance has been stolen by that
+fiend. Why do you stand there so quietly? Come! We must find her; we
+must storm Castle Barnecan at once.”
+
+He looked very handsome as he stood in his hunting clothes, for he
+was tall and blond and very, very young, or at least so it seemed to
+Couteau, who had fought seven weary years in Palestine.
+
+“Sir Henry is too strong for us, boy,” reasoned his father. “We could
+never capture the castle. We must try other measures. Let us ride at
+once, and try to reason with him. I have known for years that he wished
+to marry Constance so that he might have a claim on my lands at my
+death, but I never thought he would try this scurvy trick. If parley
+fails then we shall try other measures.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Young Brian fumed and raged at this, but he was no fool, so that
+afternoon the three of them, with fifty yeomen at their backs, rode
+through the dense forests which separated the two fiefs. Toward sunset
+they halted before the drawbridge of Castle Barnecan. In answer to a
+trumpet-blast Sir Henry himself appeared at a turret, but made no offer
+to lower the bridge.
+
+“We have come to demand Lady Constance of you,” shouted Brian. “I know
+naught of her,” came the answer in a deep, resonant voice. “I would ask
+you to enter, but the drawbridge is never lowered here after sunset;
+and the sun is almost down.” He turned to face the sinking orb, which
+was gilding him and the castle with a lurid glow.
+
+“Then you refuse to give us news of our lady?” shouted Brian.
+
+“I have said I know naught of her. Is not that enough, young sir? Let
+you come again tomorrow. You may examine Castle Barnecan from turret
+to dungeon. But tonight, I regret to say, dear nephew, that you can
+not enter. Tomorrow I will send men into the forest to search for her,
+since I greatly admire Constance, as you well know. But tonight we can
+do nothing in the dark.”
+
+As he finished speaking the sun sank slowly out of sight. At the same
+time Sir Henry turned and strode from the turret without a farewell,
+leaving his visitors hesitating on the edge of the moat.
+
+Brian cursed and fumed as they rode back through the dark woods. His
+horse, which felt the distress of his rider, plunged and fretted.
+
+At last Brian pulled to a halt. “Father,” he said firmly, “I am
+remaining here tonight to watch the castle. God knows what Gray Henry
+may try to do. I will keep Gomar with me, since he knows the country
+roundabout. We will keep a watch together. Come,” he called to the
+serf. Together they wheeled and disappeared into the dusk.
+
+The others rode in silence. The path under the trees grew darker at
+each moment. Besides the shuffle of the horses over the fallen leaves
+there was no sound except now and then the twitter of a sleeping bird,
+or the far-off howling of a lonely wolf.
+
+“I like it not, Gil,” said the knight, drawing his horse close to that
+of the Frenchman. “I would that I had not let him stay, but he is his
+father’s son. Ah, I wish I were twenty years younger! Sir Henry would
+not have bearded me thus. Aye!” he cried fiercely, “and he shall not,
+even today. I’m not a dotard yet.”
+
+They were interrupted by the concerted baying of several wolves which
+had closed in upon the cavalcade. “A pack of them--and in September,
+too,” murmured the old man, noting the gleaming eyes back among the
+trees. “Note how bold they are. Truly, this means a bleak winter,
+unless--unless----” He grew silent.
+
+They rode on, the horses nervous and shivering as the quavering call of
+the pack rose about them, the men-at-arms whispering among themselves;
+the wolves following them at a judicious distance, until the gray
+towers of Randall showed against the stars.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was no sleep in the castle that night, but a hurried preparation
+for battle. Sir Robert realized there was no use appealing to the king
+in far-away London, and prepared to take the law into his own hands,
+although he well knew that Castle Barnecan was better garrisoned than
+his own stronghold. Weapons were overhauled, equipment inspected and
+the fighting men given instructions.
+
+The castle had sunk into comparative quiet at sunrise, but was
+immediately roused by a shouting at the drawbridge. Rushing to a turret
+they saw Gomar, his clothes again in ribbons, clinging to his horse’s
+neck to steady himself and doing his best to attract the attention of
+the guards.
+
+The bridge was lowered and he stumbled over, a pitiful figure, his body
+covered with long scratches and jagged rents; his horse a lather of
+sweat and blood, almost spent.
+
+“Oh, sir,” he babbled, sinking down at the knight’s feet, “again I
+bring bad news. Your son Brian is dead.”
+
+“How?” croaked Sir Robert.
+
+“By the wolves,” wailed the man, shuddering and covering his face with
+his hands. “Hundreds of them. Gray devils! We had no chance, though we
+killed scores. And the great gray wolf of Barnecan led them. Oh sir,
+it is true Gray Henry is a werewolf, or a devil! The great wolf killed
+Brian, dragged down his horse, and tore the lad’s throat out as I
+watched. I fled--they followed--miles and miles. Oh God!” He collapsed
+in a dead faint.
+
+There was a hush in the castle that day. All had loved Brian. Now they
+waited for some action from Sir Robert. But he sat, old and gray, in
+his alcove, slowly thumbing the pages of his books on alchemy and
+staring at his impotent retorts. At last he roused himself and sent for
+Couteau.
+
+“My friend,” he said gently, when the latter appeared. “I saved your
+life once in Palestine. I have treated you as my foster-son since that
+day. You swore eternal devotion to me then. You are the only hope I
+have now, and I ask your aid.”
+
+“Sir,” replied Gil, “I will give my life gladly to help you. Also
+you must know that I have loved Lady Constance since first we met.
+Therefore I am doubly bound. Command me.” He stood, tall and dark,
+before Sir Robert.
+
+“I would that we might storm that cursed castle,” continued the old
+man, “but we are not strong enough to try, except as a last resort.
+Besides, many whom I love would be killed. Therefore, let us use
+strategy. Do you know aught of werewolves?”
+
+“A little,” replied Gil briefly. “They are called _loups-garoux_ in my
+country.”
+
+“Then from what you have seen and heard, you must know that my
+foster-brother seems to have discovered that devilish art of changing
+himself into a wolf at will.”
+
+“I feared as much.”
+
+“Listen carefully, then. The nature of werewolves is such that they
+are allied to the powers of darkness. Therefore they can never appear
+in the light. One imbued with such powers, therefore, can, and at last
+must, change into the wolfish form at sundown--but--and here is what I
+wish you to remember, my son--he must change back into his normal shape
+again at sunrise.”
+
+“So I have heard.”
+
+“One thing more. Gray Henry had the fingers of his right hand injured
+years ago in the wars. This makes it hard for him to wield a sword,
+though on account of his giant stature no man could stand against him
+in his youth.
+
+“Think well over these things, my boy, and do as you think best, but
+remember that the werewolf has killed my uncle and now my son, two of
+the best swordsmen of the country.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That afternoon Gil Couteau sat again in the courtyard with his sword
+across his knees while the people of the castle stared wonderingly at
+his set face and fixed expression.
+
+At sunset, when the shadows were creeping out of the forest and when
+the howling of the wolves, with which the countryside seemed alive,
+had set the teeth of every man in the castle chattering with vague but
+awful horror, he strapped his long sword across his back, untied a
+skiff at the riverside and rowed slowly away toward Barnecan.
+
+Dawn was faintly streaking the sky when he reached his destination. The
+fortress rose steeply out of the river on one side, but the stones of
+which it was built were so roughly laid that it was easy for him to tie
+the boat securely. Feeling his way inch by inch, he crept up the steep
+wall. There were ivy and a few window-slits to help him, but many times
+he was forced to retrace part of his way, thinking each move would be
+his last.
+
+His fingers were torn and bleeding; his limbs ached as though he had
+been on a torture-rack, when at last he arrived at an embrasure for
+which he had been making since he had seen a light gleaming dully there
+as he approached the stronghold.
+
+Carefully he raised his eyes above the bottom of the slit and peered
+within. What he saw there set his heart thumping, half with terror,
+half anger. On a stool in one corner of a small bare room crouched
+Lady Constance, her clothing torn and disheveled; her blond curls
+bloodsmeared and tangled.
+
+At the other side of the room, before the door, crouched a gigantic
+gray wolf. Couteau felt his scalp stir as he looked, for this was
+something uncanny; something dreadful that chilled his French blood,
+though he had heard of such horrors since his childhood.
+
+Occasionally the beast would rise and pace stealthily back and forth
+before the door, walking with a slight limp of the right front leg,
+he noticed, and at such times its head was fully five feet above the
+floor. Then it would stop, and, sitting on its haunches, leer wickedly
+at the crouching girl, but never approach her.
+
+Wondering at this, Gil looked at her again, and saw that she held
+against her breast a needlelike dagger, ready to press it home, should
+the beast come nearer. He felt his heart swell with pride in her, at
+her brave spirit and fearless courage.
+
+It was quite light now, and daring to wait no longer, Gil loosened his
+sword and squeezed himself through the embrasure as quickly as the
+narrow space permitted. Quick as he was, the monster had heard him,
+and was upon him instantly as he leaped to the floor. Then began a
+struggle, the remembrance of which would sometimes, even years later,
+wake Couteau from sleep, sweating with terror.
+
+It was like no fight he had ever had, nor was it like the wolf-hunts
+and boar-stickings in which he had taken part. The _loup-garou_ fought
+with human intelligence, dodging Gil’s swordthrusts with the speed of
+light, and always, always, parrying for a leap at his throat, which, if
+successful, would mean an instant end to the battle.
+
+Gil’s long sword was almost an impediment in that crowded space. He
+longed for a dagger as he felt himself slowly but surely giving ground
+before the plunges of the werewolf. Then, almost before he was aware,
+the end came. He aimed a slashing stroke at the animal’s neck, just
+where it joined the shoulders, but the other, with an almost impossible
+contortion, jerked itself out of the way, and the already-battered
+blade, striking the tiles of the floor, snapped short off.
+
+In the same breath the devil was on him, hurling him to the floor and
+worrying at his arm, which he had flung up to protect his throat. The
+slavering fangs were but a few inches away; he knew that his time was
+short and that sunrise would come too late.
+
+At that moment he heard a wild scream. Lady Constance, who had been
+crouched paralyzed with fear, in a corner, sprang forward, and picking
+up the stool, brought it down upon the beast’s head with all her force.
+
+The animal howled with pain, and reeled away, allowing Gil to retain
+his feet and--the first rays of the sun passed through the embrasure,
+splashing the chamber-wall with pale gold--like a blessing--like an
+aureole--Gil thought.
+
+He turned toward the wolf and stood staring, for a monstrous change
+was taking place. The animal’s outline seemed to blur, just as when
+strong sunlight strikes a translucent vase and changes its color
+and structure. The thing’s fur disappeared, its snout shortened and
+ran together, it staggered upright, and, as the Frenchman watched
+spellbound, the blur again coalesced into the figure of Gray Henry, the
+knight whom he had seen at the turret two days before. But a Gray Henry
+naked and unarmed, still almost stunned by the blow and the agony of
+his metamorphosis.
+
+Gil did not wait for him to recover but grappled again. This time the
+fight was not unequal. Gray Henry, although strong and agile, was no
+match for the younger man, who had spent much of his spare time in
+Palestine wrestling, and who now gave thanks for some things he had
+learned from Saracen prisoners.
+
+Shifting from grip to grip on the writhing body, he at last slipped
+both his arms under his antagonist’s arms from behind, and, clasping
+his hands behind the other’s head, exerted a steady, ever-growing
+pressure. The werewolf fought valiantly, but could not break the hold.
+At last he tried to shout for help, but Gil forced his head forward,
+so that only a low moaning was heard. Another effort! There was a
+loud crack, like the snapping of a dry stick, and his opponent rolled
+loosely to the floor, his neck broken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Of how Gil rescued Lady Constance and returned with her to Castle
+Randall, there is little more to tell. They arrived safely, and that
+ladies in distress are always gracious toward their protectors is well
+known.
+
+Gil Couteau one day became master of Castle Randall, and a very worthy
+knight in his own right, but his greatest feat, so he sometimes said,
+was a certain battle with the devil.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s note:
+
+
+ This etext was transcribed from Weird Tales, October 1927 (Vol. 10,
+No. 4.).
+
+ Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor
+inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77868 ***
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77868 ***</div>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowe103_0000" id="cover">
+  <img class="w20" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+Transcribed from Weird Tales, October 1927 (Vol. 10, No. 4.).
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter">
+  <h1>
+    Loup-Garou
+  </h1>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center f15">by <strong>Wallace West</strong></p>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowe43_7500" id="069">
+  <img class="w30" src="images/069.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+       “He turned toward the wolf and stood staring, for a monstrous change was taking place.”
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+
+<p>Gil Couteau sat in the warm sunlight of the courtyard industriously
+polishing his long, straight sword. It was a good sword, he ruminated,
+scraping industriously at the dark stain which insisted on sticking
+in the crevices of the scrollwork hilt, but it was becoming thirsty
+from lack of use. His superstitious eye seemed to detect some subtle
+lessening of the keenness of the edge; some slight dullness in the
+polish of the blade since he had used it almost daily against the
+cursed Saracens in Palestine.</p>
+
+<p>With the sword across his knees he
+leaned back against the wall and relaxed into sleepy comfort. It was
+good, he decided, to be done with wars, and with slicing heads from
+infidels; it was good to be in Merrie England, where nothing much
+had happened since his arrival; it was good to have the stout walls
+of Castle Randall about him, and a real bed to sleep on once more.</p>
+
+<p>With half-closed eyes he watched the golden flash of flies across the
+sunlight and listened to the hum of wasps who had their nest somewhere
+up the tower. Two grooms were asleep against the stable wall. Two
+more were trying to work up interest in a desultory
+cockfight near the portcullis. Ho hum! Life was good. His head nodded
+forward on his breast.</p>
+
+<p>He was awakened by a ragged thunder of hoofs
+upon the lowered drawbridge. He leaped to his feet, all his sleepy
+content shattered, as a wild-eyed horse charged into the courtyard and
+plunged to a stop before him, in a great lather of sweat. From its
+back slid a bleeding bundle of a man whom he recognized as the serf
+Gomar. “Oh, sir,” gabbled this one, in a mixture of Saxon and English
+which Gil still found hard to understand, “oh, sir; Lady Constance!
+I must to Lord Robert. Gray Henry, the Wolf, has stolen——”</p>
+
+<p>Without
+pausing to finish, the serf started into the castle at a slouching,
+staggering run, and Couteau followed him, sword in hand.</p>
+
+<p>They found
+Sir Robert Fitzgerald, lord of the castle, in an alcove off the main
+hall. He was dressed in a dust-colored robe, like the priest of some
+occult order, and, surrounded by an array of test-tubes and retorts,
+was poring over a huge volume as they rushed in. He leaped to his feet,
+however, and strode forward with a step which belied his sixty-five
+years.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, sir,” cried the serf, throwing himself at the old man’s
+feet, “your daughter, Lady Constance, has been stolen——”</p>
+
+<p>“By whom?” thundered Sir Robert, jerking him to his feet as though
+the burly Saxon had been a feather.</p>
+
+<p>“By your foster-brother, Gray Henry,” sobbed
+the man.</p>
+
+<p>“Henry the Wolf,” whispered the old man, his face growing pale
+beneath his long beard. “But that’s impossible,” he cried, shaking
+the serf savagely. “She had three men-at-arms with her. Where are they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dead! We were put upon in the forest,” came the answer.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Robert
+returned slowly to his seat behind the test-tubes. He seemed older—grayer.
+“Call my son Brian,” he commanded at length. “This matter will
+require fighting, methinks. Couteau, stay with me.”</p>
+
+<p>He busied himself
+arranging his apparatus as the others departed. “You have heard of my
+foster-brother since you returned with us from Palestine?” he finally
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Merely his name, sir,” replied the other, “and that he holds
+Castle Barnecan, up the river.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is more to it than that,” said Sir Robert. “Henry has an evil
+reputation. He dabbles in sorcery as I do in alchemy. Perhaps he has
+had more success than I. So ’tis
+said by the country-folk.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused, paced back and forth for some
+moments, then resumed: “You have heard of the gray wolf of Barnecan?”</p>
+
+<p>“Aye, sir, I have even thought a little of a hunt to kill it, since
+there is nothing else to do here, and the wolf’s deviltries are so
+numerous.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Tis lucky you haven’t tried, Gil,” retorted the old man
+fiercely. “He killed my uncle, you know, and people say—well I must
+out with it—the people say that my cursed foster-brother is——”</p>
+
+<p>They were interrupted by a clatter of spurs on the flagstones. Young Brian,
+heir and only son of Sir Robert, rushed in.</p>
+
+<p>“I have heard, Father,” he
+cried. “Constance has been stolen by that fiend. Why do you stand there
+so quietly? Come! We must find her; we must storm Castle Barnecan at
+once.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked very handsome as he stood in his hunting clothes, for
+he was tall and blond and very, very young, or at least so it seemed
+to Couteau, who had fought seven weary years in Palestine.</p>
+
+<p>“Sir Henry
+is too strong for us, boy,” reasoned his father. “We could never
+capture the castle. We must try other measures. Let us
+ride at once, and try to reason with him. I have known for years that
+he wished to marry Constance so that he might have a claim on my lands
+at my death, but I never thought he would try this scurvy trick. If
+parley fails then we shall try other measures.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Young Brian fumed
+and raged at this, but he was no fool, so that afternoon the three of
+them, with fifty yeomen at their backs, rode through the dense forests
+which separated the two fiefs. Toward sunset they halted before the
+drawbridge of Castle Barnecan. In answer to a trumpet-blast Sir Henry
+himself appeared at a turret, but made no offer to lower the bridge.</p>
+
+<p>“We have come to demand Lady Constance of you,” shouted Brian.
+“I know naught of her,” came the answer in a deep, resonant voice.
+“I would ask you to enter, but the drawbridge is never lowered here
+after sunset; and the sun is almost down.” He turned to face the
+sinking orb, which was gilding him and the castle with a lurid glow.</p>
+
+<p>“Then you refuse to give us news of our lady?” shouted Brian.</p>
+
+<p>“I have said I know naught of her. Is not that enough, young sir? Let
+you come again tomorrow. You may examine Castle Barnecan from turret
+to dungeon. But tonight, I regret to say, dear nephew, that you can
+not enter. Tomorrow I will send men into the forest to search for her,
+since I greatly admire Constance, as you well know. But tonight we can
+do nothing in the dark.”</p>
+
+<p>As he finished speaking the sun sank slowly
+out of sight. At the same time Sir Henry turned and strode from the
+turret without a farewell, leaving his visitors hesitating on the
+edge of the moat.</p>
+
+<p>Brian cursed and fumed as they rode back through the
+dark woods. His horse, which felt the distress of his rider, plunged
+and fretted.</p>
+
+<p>At last Brian pulled to a halt. “Father,” he said firmly,
+“I am remaining here tonight to watch the castle. God knows what Gray
+Henry may try to do. I will keep Gomar with me, since he knows the
+country roundabout. We will keep a watch together. Come,” he called to
+the serf. Together they wheeled and disappeared into the dusk.</p>
+
+<p>The
+others rode in silence. The path under the trees grew darker at each
+moment. Besides the shuffle of the horses over the fallen leaves there
+was no sound except now and then the twitter of a sleeping bird, or
+the far-off howling of a lonely wolf.</p>
+
+<p>“I like it not, Gil,” said the
+knight, drawing his horse close to that of the Frenchman. “I would
+that I had not let him stay, but he is his father’s son. Ah, I wish I
+were twenty years younger! Sir Henry would not have bearded me thus.
+Aye!” he cried fiercely, “and he shall not, even today. I’m not a
+dotard yet.”</p>
+
+<p>They were interrupted by the concerted baying of
+several wolves which had closed in upon the cavalcade. “A pack of them—and
+in September, too,” murmured the old man, noting the gleaming
+eyes back among the trees. “Note how bold they are. Truly, this means
+a bleak winter, unless—unless——” He grew silent.</p>
+
+<p>They rode on, the
+horses nervous and shivering as the quavering call of the pack rose
+about them, the men-at-arms whispering among themselves; the wolves
+following them at a judicious distance, until the gray towers of
+Randall showed against the stars.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>There was no sleep in the castle that
+night, but a hurried preparation for battle. Sir Robert realized
+there was no use appealing to the king in far-away
+London, and prepared to take the law into his own hands, although he
+well knew that Castle Barnecan was better garrisoned than his own
+stronghold. Weapons were overhauled, equipment inspected and the
+fighting men given instructions.</p>
+
+<p>The castle had sunk into comparative
+quiet at sunrise, but was immediately roused by a shouting at the
+drawbridge. Rushing to a turret they saw Gomar, his clothes again in
+ribbons, clinging to his horse’s neck to steady himself and doing his
+best to attract the attention of the guards.</p>
+
+<p>The bridge was lowered
+and he stumbled over, a pitiful figure, his body covered with long
+scratches and jagged rents; his horse a lather of sweat and blood,
+almost spent.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, sir,” he babbled, sinking down at the knight’s
+feet, “again I bring bad news. Your son Brian is dead.”</p>
+
+<p>“How?” croaked Sir Robert.</p>
+
+<p>“By the wolves,” wailed the man, shuddering and covering
+his face with his hands. “Hundreds of them. Gray devils! We had no
+chance, though we killed scores. And the great gray wolf of Barnecan
+led them. Oh sir, it is true Gray Henry is a werewolf, or a devil! The
+great wolf killed Brian, dragged down his horse, and tore the lad’s
+throat out as I watched. I fled—they followed—miles and miles. Oh
+God!” He collapsed in a dead faint.</p>
+
+<p>There was a hush in the castle
+that day. All had loved Brian. Now they waited for some action from
+Sir Robert. But he sat, old and gray, in his alcove, slowly thumbing
+the pages of his books on alchemy and staring at his impotent retorts.
+At last he roused himself and sent for Couteau.</p>
+
+<p>“My friend,” he said
+gently, when the latter appeared. “I saved your life once in Palestine.
+I have treated you as my foster-son since that day. You swore eternal
+devotion to me then. You are the only hope I have now, and I ask your
+aid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sir,” replied Gil, “I will give my life gladly to help you.
+Also you must know that I have loved Lady Constance since first we
+met. Therefore I am doubly bound. Command me.” He stood, tall and
+dark, before Sir Robert.</p>
+
+<p>“I would that we might storm that cursed
+castle,” continued the old man, “but we are not strong enough to try,
+except as a last resort. Besides, many whom I love would be killed.
+Therefore, let us use strategy. Do you know aught of werewolves?”</p>
+
+<p>“A little,” replied Gil briefly. “They are called <i>loups-garoux</i> in
+my country.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then from what you have seen and heard, you must know
+that my foster-brother seems to have discovered that devilish art
+of changing himself into a wolf at will.”</p>
+
+<p>“I feared as much.”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen carefully, then. The nature of werewolves is such that they are allied
+to the powers of darkness. Therefore they can never appear in the
+light. One imbued with such powers, therefore, can, and at last must,
+change into the wolfish form at sundown—but—and here is what I wish
+you to remember, my son—he must change back into his normal shape
+again at sunrise.”</p>
+
+<p>“So I have heard.”</p>
+
+<p>“One thing more. Gray Henry had
+the fingers of his right hand injured years ago in the wars. This
+makes it hard for him to wield a sword, though on account of his giant
+stature no man could stand against him in his youth.</p>
+
+<p>“Think well over
+these things, my boy, and do as you think best, but remember that the
+werewolf has killed my uncle and now my son, two of the best swordsmen
+of the country.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>That afternoon Gil Couteau sat again
+in the courtyard with his sword across his knees while the people of
+the castle stared wonderingly at his set face and fixed expression.</p>
+
+<p>At
+sunset, when the shadows were creeping out of the forest and when the
+howling of the wolves, with which the countryside seemed alive, had set
+the teeth of every man in the castle chattering with vague but awful
+horror, he strapped his long sword across his back, untied a skiff at
+the riverside and rowed slowly away toward Barnecan.</p>
+
+<p>Dawn was faintly
+streaking the sky when he reached his destination. The fortress rose
+steeply out of the river on one side, but the stones of which it was
+built were so roughly laid that it was easy for him to tie the boat
+securely. Feeling his way inch by inch, he crept up the steep wall.
+There were ivy and a few window-slits to help him, but many times he
+was forced to retrace part of his way, thinking each move would be his
+last.</p>
+
+<p>His fingers were torn and bleeding; his limbs ached as though
+he had been on a torture-rack, when at last he arrived at an embrasure
+for which he had been making since he had seen a light gleaming dully
+there as he approached the stronghold.</p>
+
+<p>Carefully he raised his eyes
+above the bottom of the slit and peered within. What he saw there set
+his heart thumping, half with terror, half anger. On a stool in one
+corner of a small bare room crouched Lady Constance, her clothing torn
+and disheveled; her blond curls bloodsmeared and tangled.</p>
+
+<p>At the
+other side of the room, before the door, crouched a gigantic gray
+wolf. Couteau felt his scalp stir as he looked, for this was something
+uncanny; something dreadful that chilled his French blood, though
+he had heard of such horrors since his childhood.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally the
+beast would rise and pace stealthily back and forth before the door,
+walking with a slight limp of the right front leg, he noticed, and at
+such times its head was fully five feet above the floor. Then it would
+stop, and, sitting on its haunches, leer wickedly at the crouching
+girl, but never approach her.</p>
+
+<p>Wondering at this, Gil looked at her
+again, and saw that she held against her breast a needlelike dagger,
+ready to press it home, should the beast come nearer. He felt his heart
+swell with pride in her, at her brave spirit and fearless courage.</p>
+
+<p>It
+was quite light now, and daring to wait no longer, Gil loosened his
+sword and squeezed himself through the embrasure as quickly as the
+narrow space permitted. Quick as he was, the monster had heard him,
+and was upon him instantly as he leaped to the floor. Then began a
+struggle, the remembrance of which would sometimes, even years later,
+wake Couteau from sleep, sweating with terror.</p>
+
+<p>It was like no fight he
+had ever had, nor was it like the wolf-hunts and boar-stickings in
+which he had taken part. The <i>loup-garou</i> fought with human intelligence,
+dodging Gil’s swordthrusts with the speed of light, and always, always,
+parrying for a leap at his throat, which, if successful, would mean an
+instant end to the battle.</p>
+
+<p>Gil’s long sword was almost an impediment
+in that crowded space. He longed for a dagger as he felt himself slowly
+but surely giving ground before the plunges of the werewolf. Then,
+almost before he was aware, the end came. He aimed a slashing stroke at
+the animal’s neck, just where it joined the shoulders, but the other,
+with an almost impossible contortion, jerked itself out of the way,
+and the already-battered blade, striking the tiles of
+the floor, snapped short off.</p>
+
+<p>In the same breath the devil was on him,
+hurling him to the floor and worrying at his arm, which he had flung up
+to protect his throat. The slavering fangs were but a few inches away;
+he knew that his time was short and that sunrise would come too late.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment he heard a wild scream. Lady Constance, who had been
+crouched paralyzed with fear, in a corner, sprang forward, and picking
+up the stool, brought it down upon the beast’s head with all her force.</p>
+
+<p>The animal howled with pain, and reeled away, allowing Gil to retain
+his feet and—the first rays of the sun passed through the embrasure,
+splashing the chamber-wall with pale gold—like a blessing—like
+an aureole—Gil thought.</p>
+
+<p>He turned toward the wolf and stood staring,
+for a monstrous change was taking place. The animal’s outline seemed
+to blur, just as when strong sunlight strikes a translucent vase and
+changes its color and structure. The thing’s fur disappeared, its
+snout shortened and ran together, it staggered upright, and, as the
+Frenchman watched spellbound, the blur again coalesced into the figure
+of Gray Henry, the knight whom he had seen at the turret two days before.
+But a Gray Henry naked and unarmed, still almost stunned by the
+blow and the agony of his metamorphosis.</p>
+
+<p>Gil did not wait for him to
+recover but grappled again. This time the fight was not unequal. Gray
+Henry, although strong and agile, was no match for the younger man, who
+had spent much of his spare time in Palestine wrestling, and who
+now gave thanks for some things he had learned from Saracen prisoners.</p>
+
+<p>Shifting from grip to grip on the writhing body, he at last slipped
+both his arms under his antagonist’s arms from behind, and, clasping
+his hands behind the other’s head, exerted a steady, ever-growing
+pressure. The werewolf fought valiantly, but could not break the hold.
+At last he tried to shout for help, but Gil forced his head forward,
+so that only a low moaning was heard. Another effort! There was a loud
+crack, like the snapping of a dry stick, and his opponent rolled
+loosely to the floor, his neck broken.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Of how Gil rescued Lady Constance and returned
+with her to Castle Randall, there is little more
+to tell. They arrived safely, and that ladies in distress are always
+gracious toward their protectors is well known.</p>
+
+<p>Gil Couteau one day
+became master of Castle Randall, and a very worthy knight in his own
+right, but his greatest feat, so he sometimes said, was a certain
+battle with the devil.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="transnote">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note">
+    Transcriber’s note:
+  </h2>
+<p>This etext was transcribed from Weird Tales, October 1927 (Vol. 10, No. 4.).</p>
+
+<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor
+inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p>
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77868 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77868
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77868)