about, and Peter sensed a significance in the
silence, and lay very quietly watching the light in the cabin, and the
shadowy form of his master. Also he knew that somewhere in the distance
a storm was gathering. The breath of it was in the air, though the sky
was clear of cloud overhead, except for the haze of a gray and ghostly
mist that lay between them and the yellow stars. Jolly Roger counted
the seconds between then and moonrise. It seemed hours before the
golden rim of it rose in the east. Shadows grew swiftly after that.
Grotesque things took shape. The rock-caps of the ridge began to light
up, like timid signal-fires. Black spruce and balsam and cedar
glistened as if bathed in enamel. And the moon came on, and mellow
floods of light played in the valleys and plains, and danced over the
forest-tops, and in voice-less and soundless miracle called upon all
living things to look upon the glory of God. In his soul Jolly Roger
McKay felt the urge and the call of that voiceless Master Power, and
through his lips came an unconscious whisper of prayer--of gratitude.

And he watched the light in Jed Hawkins' cabin, and strained his ears
to hear a sound of footsteps coming through the moonlight.

But there was no change. The light did not move. A door did not open or
close. There was no sound, except the growing whisper of the wind, the
call of a night bird, and the howl of the old gray wolf that always
cried out to the moon from the tangled depths of Indian Tom's swamp.

A thrill of nervousness swept through Jolly Roger. He waited half an
hour, three-quarters, an hour--after the moon had risen. And Nada did
not come. The nervousness grew in him, and he moved out into the
moon-glow, and slowly and watchfully followed the edge of the
rock-shadows until he came to the fringe of cedars and spruce behind
the cabin. Peter, careful not to snap a twig under his paws, followed
closely. They came to the cabin, and there--very distinctly--Jolly
Roger McKay heard the low moaning of a voice.

He edged his way to the window, and looked in.

Crouched beside a chair in the middle of the floor was Jed Hawkins's
woman. She was moaning, and her thin body was rocking back and forth,
and with her hands clasped at her bony breast she was staring at the
open door. With a shock Jolly Roger saw that except for the strangely
crying old woman the cabin was empty. Sudden fear chilled his blood--a
fear that scarcely took form before he was at the