With a savage kick one turned the still quivering body of the wolf upon its back. The grey hide fell from an emaciated brown face, twitching with the agony of death.
It was Little Wolf!
XIV
DREAMS ARE WISER THAN MEN
RAIN WALKER lay upon the brown grass without the circle of the village; and it was the time when the maize is gathered—the brown, drear time. He lay with ear pressed to the earth.
“What are you doing?” asked one who walked there.
“I?” said Rain Walker; and his eyes and face were not good to see as he raised his head. The dying time seemed also in his face. “The growers are coming up, and I am listening to their breathing,” he said.
And the questioner walked on with a strange smile; for it was not the time of the coming of the growers.