Initial commit of ebook 77868 filesHEAD main

author: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-02-05 10:35:39 -0800
committer: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-02-05 10:35:39 -0800
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+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1">
+    <title>
+      Loup-Garou | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
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+    <style>
+
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+    margin: auto;
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+
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+/* Transcriber's notes */
+.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA;
+    color: black;
+    font-size:small;
+    padding:0.5em;
+    margin-bottom:5em;
+    font-family:sans-serif, serif;
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+/* Illustration classes */
+.illowe103_0000 {width: 103.0000em;}
+.illowe43_7500 {width: 43.7500em;}
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<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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author	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-02-05 10:35:39 -0800
committer	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-02-05 10:35:39 -0800
commit	64e7638b439eb2b46d9a88987f92890599b29fe9 (patch)
tree	4bec416ed4e82381728e60feec7a556021c1d94b /77868-h