the footprints with his fingers, just as a blind man
feels the letters in his book.

He was becoming thoroughly exhausted. Still he plodded on with dogged
perseverance. His knees were grazed and his back was aching, especially
where the rifle was strapped; and at times he even stumbled and fell in
a heap, from which each time he found it more difficult to rise than on
the former occasion.

It was indeed a trial that would have taxed the strength and nerves of
the strongest. When we remember what the boy had already undergone that
day, we have reason to wonder that he endured so long. Still he
persevered. Inch by inch he felt his path in the pitch darkness,
crawling through the bush with only hooting owls and whining wolves for
company, until at last, worn out and dizzy, his muscles gave way, and he
floundered unconscious upon the earth.

CHAPTER XVI

A NIGHT'S TERROR

When Bob reopened his eyes, it was to awake suddenly with the horrible
feeling that he was being watched by some hidden foe.

He started, and as he did so he was conscious of the sound of many
pattering feet--soft, muffled sounds, yet loud enough for him to hear.
He even thought, as he turned over and flung out his arm, that his hand
had touched something that was warm and furry.

He sat up and gripped his rifle as he stared around him.

In the semi-darkness of the rising moon he could see dark figures moving
restlessly all around him, while a score or more of eyes kept twinkling
like stars to indicate how he was being watched.

Just then a wild, long-drawn wail rent the night air beside him. The
boy's blood seemed to run cold at the sound, for he knew that he was
surrounded by a horde of timber wolves who had thought him dead, and
come too soon.

Too soon? Yes. But how long would their moment be delayed?

Bob staggered to his feet and held his rifle in readiness. But the
ghouls of the night kept at some distance, though he could still see
them stirring here and there, as if they were discussing plans among
themselves.

The boy waited--it seemed hours--each moment expecting a dash from the
black spectres. Still they hung back, until Bob actually began to long
for the attack to begin, that the strain of waiting might be broken.

Then something moved behind him. He wheeled about and swung his rifle
like a club, at random. The butt met a soft substance, and a wild howl
followed, as a wolf that had been creeping upon him from the rear n