Fierce, savage, and justly feared though he was physically, Lupus
was mentally a sluggish beast, and not over and above intelligent.
In this he favoured his sire, who was slow-moving, sluggish, and,
withal, as fierce as any weasel, and immensely powerful. When Lupus
caught his first glimpse of the creature he had come to slay, he
had a momentary thrill of uneasiness, but it was no more than
momentary. Finn's towering form stood out clearly in the moonlight,
as he stood, with tail curved upward and hackles erect, on the
stone ledge outside the den. Lupus was scaling an extremely steep
section of the trail at the moment, and, seen against the sky-line,
Finn seemed monstrous. But, in justice, one should say that Lupus
knew nothing of fear. It was only that for a moment, as he dragged
his full-fed weight upward over the stones, the thought passed
through his dull mind that this was surely a strange sort of dingo
and extraordinarily tall. Finn was, as a matter of fact, ten inches
taller than any other dingo on that range except Lupus, and four
inches taller than he. Lupus was half as heavy again as any other
dingo on the range, but, though he knew it not, Finn was twenty
pounds heavier than he. But Lupus always had killed every animal
that he had met in combat, and it did not for an instant occur to
him that he might fail to kill this new-comer. And then there was
Warrigal--he got her scent now as she emerged, crouching, from the
den--he wanted Warrigal for his mate and he would have her.