The wolves retreated, but only a few steps. Again John leaped toward them and this time also sent a heavy, half-rotten limb from the old log flying after them. Made bold by hunger, however, the brutes only growled the more fiercely.
“Looks as if I’d have to give one of you a little lead,” the boy remarked, and calmly sat down on the fallen tree trunk. Still he hesitated to shoot, disliking both to waste the powder and to attract attention toward himself. He was still rather nervous from the shock received at the “lick.”
“Almost daylight, anyhow,” John reflected. “I’ll get an early start.” He sat quiet, therefore, calmly eyeing the shining balls which gleamed at him until the first peep of light. Even then the wolves lingered near; but, paying little further attention to them, the lad set off at a rapid pace, once more on the homeward way and thankful for it.
Before the morning was far advanced Jerome found himself among familiar scenes. With boyish pleasure he greeted each fresh object that he recognized. A gnarled old oak, whose oddly twisted branches he had noticed more than once, seemed like an old friend. A tall stub of an ash, long since dead, but plainly marked by the claws of bears, was likewise a friendly landmark and he whispered, “Hello, there, you look natural!” as he might have done in greeting a fellow creature.
Making rapid progress now, for he hoped Ree would be waiting at the hollow whitewood, the returned explorer arrived in the vicinity of that rendezvous somewhat before noon. As his custom was, he made a wide circuit to reconnoiter before going to the tree itself, taking every step with care and keeping eyes wide open in all directions.
John did not expect to see anyone or to find anything unusual in thus spying out “the lay of the land.” He never had found the coast otherwise than clear; still he had no intention of revealing the fine hiding place in the old poplar by lack of reasonable prudence and so walked guardedly and with every sense alert. Something like a shadow moved among the trees and bushes a hundred yards ahead. It might be only a bird, or a squirrel or some larger animal, but John sheltered himself behind a tree and looked again more carefully.
“Lone-Elk!”
The name he thought, but did not utter, and the sight of its owner sent a thrill through Little Paleface that made him hold his breath. The Indian was moving through the woods with an easy, natural stealth, so light, so silent, that if he had had the power of making himself all but invisible it could not have seemed more wonderful.
John’s first thought was that the Seneca was looking for him; but he quickly saw that this could not be, for his eyes were turned steadily and keenly in another direction.
“The lead mine! He is stealing up to the secret lead mine just like a ghost!” was the boy’s second mental exclamation.