For the third time Philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock at the top of the cliff. Eagerly he faced the north, whence the wailing cry of the wolf-dog had come. Then he turned to the spot where he had dropped the handkerchief, and his heart gave a sudden jump.
There was nothing on the rock. The handkerchief was gone!
VII
Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest sound. Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the handkerchief. Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks. It was possible that he was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly he called his name.
"Pierre—ho, Pierre Couchee!"
There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he had called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the edge of Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far back in the forest. He stopped to locate as nearly as he could the point whence the sound came, for he was certain now that the dog had not returned with Pierre, but had remained with Jeanne, and was howling from their camp.
Gregson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when Philip entered the cabin.
"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded. "I was just trying to make up my mind to go out and hunt for you. Stolen—lost—or something like that?"
"I've been thinking," said Philip, truthfully.