Bram Johnson, a Murderer?

Philip dug himself quickly from his sleeping bag through the aperture. Now another sound, the yearning whine of beasts. He could not hear bram. The muzzle of his revolver was at the aperture when he heard bram's voice. Monsieur, ze revolver, ze knife, or i must kill yo ze wolve plenty. His voice was low and guttural. Almost instantly his head disappeared from the opening. There came to him. What a rat in a trap he would be if bram loosed his wolves. But what sport for the pack and perhaps for the master himself.

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