“The blood is fresh, too!” cried Boone. “Lark must have been killed by this monster immediately after we missed him in the thicket.”
“It looks like it,” said Kenton, solemnly.
“Let us look for the body.”
But as they were about to commence their search, the sound of footfalls approaching through the wood fell upon their ears.
“Hush!” cried Boone, grasping Kenton by the arm as he spoke; “do you hear that?”
“It’s some one coming through the wood.”
“Yes, and hyer all comers are enemies and not friends; let’s to cover,” said Boone.
A second after the two woodmen were snugly concealed in the bushes.
The steps came nearer and nearer, and then, through the gloom of the night, the watching eyes of the two saw the fearful form of the terrible Wolf Demon approaching.
He walked not now with stealthy tread but his step was heavy and slow. His head was bent down, low upon his breast. Slowly he came on, passed by the ambush of the scouts, then crossed the moonlit glade and entered the thicket on the opposite side. He was bending his steps in the direction of the Indian village of Chillicothe.