But this was
a new game, perhaps, of which he knew nothing, and as did the rest, so
did Satan. He picked out one of the white things and fled barking after
it. It was a little fellow that he was after, but little as he was,
Satan might never have caught up, had not the sheep got tangled in some
brush. Satan danced about him in mad glee, giving him a playful nip at
his wool and springing back to give him another nip, and then away
again. Plainly, he was not going to bite back, and when the sheep
struggled itself tired and sank down in a heap, Satan came close and
licked him, and as he was very warm and woolly, he lay down and snuggled
up against him for awhile, listening to the turmoil that was going on
around him. And as he listened, he got frightened.
If this was a new game it was certainly a very peculiar one--the wild
rush, the bleats of terror, gasps of agony, and the fiendish growls of
attack and the sounds of ravenous gluttony. With every hair bristling,
Satan rose and sprang from the woods--and stopped with a fierce tingling
of the nerves that brought him horror and fascination. One of the white
shapes lay still before him. There was a great steaming red splotch on
the snow, and a strange odor in the air that made him dizzy; but only
for a moment.
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