When they finished skinning and quartering the deer the twilight shadows were falling upon the forest, and they decided to spend the night beside the stream. As they were some distance from the river, they believed it might be safe to make a tiny fire and dry some of the meat to take with them. They worked at the task until long after darkness had fallen. Then, as they wrapped themselves in their robes, and were preparing to sleep, Spotted Deer suddenly sat up and listened anxiously.
“What is that?” he asked Running Fox.
For a moment or so they heard only the gentle murmuring of the breeze through the tree-tops. Then, far away in the night, they heard a sound that thrilled them. It was the hunting cry of the wolf-pack. They had heard it more than once in the winter near the Delaware village, and they recognized it immediately.
“Timmeu has found the blood trail,” said Running Fox.
The sounds came from somewhere beyond the swamp, and the lads had little doubt that the wolves were following the trail of the wounded buck. The thought stirred them, for they believed that they were about to have an encounter with the savage brutes about which they had heard so many wonderful tales. The sounds soon united in a wild babel that grew louder and more distinct each moment.
“They are coming fast,” said Spotted Deer.
“Well, we will wait for them,” declared Running Fox. “Come, we will bring in some brush for the fire, so that we can see them.”
They hurried to gather several armfuls of dry wood. Then they raked together the embers of their fire, and fanned them into a flame. By that time it was evident that the wolves were almost through the swamp. They were making a great din, and it seemed as if there were many animals in the pack. The eyes of the Delawares flashed as the wild baying drew nearer.
“Now they are getting close,” cried Spotted Deer.
“Yes, they have come out of the swamp,” replied Running Fox.