opening the cabin door. The
second time he raised himself upon his elbows and quietly watched the
old warrior. It was a brilliantly clear night and a flood of moonlight
was pouring into the camp. He could hear Mukoki chuckling and grunting,
as though communicating with himself, and at last, his curiosity getting
the better of him, he wrapped his blanket about him and joined the
Indian at the door.

Mukoki was peering up into space. Rod followed his gaze. The moon was
directly above the cabin. The sky was clear of clouds and so bright was
the light that objects on the farther side of the lake were plainly
visible.

Besides, it was bitter cold--so cold that his face began to tingle as he
stood there. These things he noticed, but he could see nothing to hold
Mukoki's vision in the sky above unless it was the glorious beauty of
the night.

"What is it, Mukoki?" he asked.

The old Indian looked silently at him for a moment, some mysterious,
all-absorbing joy revealed in every lineament of his face.

"Wolf night!" he whispered.

He looked back to where Wabi was sleeping.

"Wolf night!" he repeated, and slipped like a shadow to the side of the
unconscious young hunter. Rod regarded his actions with growing wonder.
He saw him bend over Wabi, shake him by the shoulders, and heard him
repeat again, "Wolf night! Wolf night!"

Wabi awoke and sat up in his blankets, and Mukoki came back to the door.
He had dressed himself before this, and now, with his rifle, slipped out
into the night. The young Indian had joined Rod at the open door and
together they watched Mukoki's gaunt figure as it sped swiftly across
the lake, up the hill and over into the wilderness desolation beyond.

When Rod looked at Wabi he saw that the Indian boy's eyes were wide and
staring, with an expression in them that was something between fright
and horror. Without speaking he went to the table and lighted the
candles and then dressed. When he was done his face still bore traces of
suppressed excitement.

He ran back to the door and whistled loudly. From his shelter beside the
cabin the captive wolf responded with a snarling whine. Again he
whistled, a dozen times, twenty, but there came no reply. More swiftly
than Mukoki the Indian youth sped across the lake and to the summit of
the hill. Mukoki had completely disappeared in the white, brilliant
vastness of the wilderness that stretched away at his feet.

When Wabi returned to the cabin Rod had a