The Wolf Hunters by James Oliver Curwood — Read

To Rod the blazing pine seemed to be but a short distance away -- a mile, perhaps a little more. In the silence of the two Indians as they contemplated the strange fire he read an ominous meaning. In Mukoki's eyes was a dull sullen glare, not unlike that which fills the orbs of a wild beast in a moment of deadly anger. Wabi's face was filled with an eager flush, and three times, Rod observed, he turned eyes strangely burning with some unnatural passion upon Mukoki.

Slowly, even as the instincts of his race had aroused the latent, brutish love of slaughter and the chase in the tamed wolf, the long smothered instincts of these human children of the forest began to betray themselves in their bronzed countenances. Rod watched, and he was thrilled to the soul. Back at the old cabin they had declared war upon the Woongas. Both Mukoki and Wabigoon had slipped the leashes that had long restrained them from meting first vengeance upon their enemies. Now the opportunity had come. For five minutes the great pine blazed, and then died away until it was only a smoldering tower of light. Still Mukoki gazed, speechless and grim, out into the distance of the night. At last Wabi broke the silence.