thing to see nor hear. They strained to catch some
interruption of the silence and immobility of nature. They were appalled
by inaction and by the feel of something terrible impending.

He gave a great start of fright. A colossal and formless something was
rushing across the field of his vision. It was a tree-shadow flung by
the moon, from whose face the clouds had been brushed away. Reassured,
he whimpered softly; then he suppressed the whimper for fear that it
might attract the attention of the lurking dangers.

A tree, contracting in the cool of the night, made a loud noise. It was
directly above him. He yelped in his fright. A panic seized him, and he
ran madly toward the village. He knew an overpowering desire for the
protection and companionship of man. In his nostrils was the smell of
the camp-smoke. In his ears the camp-sounds and cries were ringing loud.
He passed out of the forest and into the moonlit open where were no
shadows nor darknesses. But no village greeted his eyes. He had
forgotten. The village had gone away.

His wild flight ceased abruptly. There was no place to which to flee. He
slunk forlornly through the deserted camp, smelling the rubbish-heaps and
the discarded rags and tags of the gods. He would have been glad for the
rattle of stones about him, flung by an angry squaw, glad for the hand of
Grey Beaver descending upon him in wrath; while he would have welcomed
with delight Lip-lip and the whole snarling, cowardly pack.

He came to where Grey Beaver's tepee had stood. In the centre of the
space it had occupied, he sat down. He pointed his nose at the moon. His
throat was afflicted by rigid spasms, his mouth opened, and in a heart-
broken cry bubbled up his loneliness and fear, his grief for Kiche, all
his past sorrows and miseries as well as his apprehension of sufferings
and dangers to come. It was the long wolf-howl, full-throated and
mournful, the first howl he had ever uttered.

The coming of daylight dispelled his fears but increased his loneliness.
The naked earth, which so shortly before had been so populous; thrust his
loneliness more forcibly upon him. It did not take him long to make up
his mind. He plunged into the forest and followed the river bank down
the stream. All day he ran. He did not rest. He seemed made to run on
for ever. His iron-like body ignored fatigue. And even after fatigue
came, his heritage of endurance braced him to endless endeavo