White Otter had gone a long distance from the ravine when he suddenly heard the long, dismal wail of a prairie wolf rising through the night. The cry had sounded somewhere near the ridge upon which the Sioux had passed the day. White Otter smiled as he realized that his prophecy about the scouts had been verified.
"They did not find us," he murmured.
As the call was not repeated, he continued toward the grove. He believed that the scouts were notifying their comrades that the country was free of foes. White Otter found keen satisfaction in the thought of outwitting them. He had little doubt that they were his hated foes, the Pawnees, and he felt certain that they were on a war expedition.
As he approached the grove, White Otter slackened his pace and became as alert and cautious as To-ka-la, the little gray fox. He knew that if a war party had taken possession of the grove, sentinels had been stationed on the plain to watch for foes.
"Now I must be cautious," he told himself.
Soon afterward he saw the grim, black outlines of the grove directly ahead of him. It was a number of arrow flights away, however, and he stopped to listen. He heard nothing. Then he advanced. Slowly, cautiously, he moved through the darkness, listening and watching for the sentinels who he feared were close at hand. Then he heard a pony snort. He stopped and waited in breathless suspense. He decided that the sound had come from the grove. He advanced still more cautiously. When he finally came within bowshot of the trees, he suddenly realized his peril. Alone and on foot, he knew that once discovered there would be little chance of escape. Still he was unafraid. Familiarity with danger had given him confidence.
"I will get away," he kept telling himself.
Then he suddenly heard the murmur of voices. For an instant the sound alarmed him. He had approached nearer the grove than he had supposed. He sank noiselessly to the plain. He lay there some time, endeavoring to identify the speakers. It was hopeless. The voices were low and indistinct, and he could not distinguish the words. He realized that he must go nearer. He crept slowly forward, a bow length at a time. Then he stopped to listen. The voices had ceased. His heart beat wildly. An alarming possibility flashed through his mind. Had he been discovered? It seemed impossible. He banished the thought. The silence, however, made him suspicious.
"Perhaps they are listening," he whispered.
The silence continued. White Otter was perplexed. He was less than half a bowshot from the cottonwoods. He heard the leaves trembling. He moistened his finger, and found the direction of the breeze. It was stirring toward the grove. He felt relieved. It seemed less likely that he had been discovered. Still he was uneasy. The sudden hush alarmed him.