Seconds lengthened into minutes, minutes into hours. The great moon, rising slowly up, no longer flecked the sky with swords of fire, but beamed a flood of soft, silvery light, save when the flying clouds crossed her path, and, like agents of evil, hid her rays from sight.
“We must be near Ke-ne-ha-ha’s village,” muttered Kenton to Boone, after a weary tramp through the pathless wilderness, trailing Lark’s erratic course.
“Putty near,” replied Boone.
Hardly had the words left the lips of the old woodman when, as suddenly as if he had sunk into the earth Lark disappeared from sight.
The woodmen stood aghast. They had followed Lark easily. He had not seemed to notice that the two were near him, and had not attempted to evade them.
“Where on yearth has he gone to?” muttered Boone, in astonishment, and rubbing his eyes as if he doubted the evidence of his own senses.
“Down into the yearth or up into the air,” answered Kenton, who was as much astonished as his companion at the sudden and mysterious disappearance.
Then the two advanced to the spot whereon Lark had stood when they had seen him last.
It was too dark for them to attempt to follow his trail, if he had left one, and so, defeated in their pursuit, they halted to counsel what their next move should be.
“Let’s go on a little way; maybe we’ll find some trace of him ahead,” said Boone, thoughtfully.