At last, in spite of all his efforts to keep awake, the weary child was dropping off to sleep, when his ear, as yet but half closed, was caught by a dog-trot sort of a noise in the leaves quite near at hand. Rousing with a start and looking out, the boy saw there a wolf—gray, grim and gaunt, with eyes that glared upon him through the dusky shades, like balls of red fire, rather than eyes. Sprigg was on the point of screaming again to pap for help, when he bethought him of the moccasins, and glancing down and perceiving that they had turned their toes toward the monster, he choked himself into silence. Though he still feared them, he had, by this time, learned to trust the red moccasins, and now felt assured that they would defend him against the wolf as they had done against the bull and the cat. Nor was he mistaken. Just as Wild Tray of the Woods would have made his spring and sprang on the boy, the moccasins made their spring and sprang on the wolf, driving directly at his ugly eyes, with a kick into each, which brought the red fire flashing out into the darkness. Back, with a terrified howl, cowered the monster, and spinning swiftly 'round, vanished like the bison and the wild-cat, with a blind leap over the precipice. But this time, when the moccasins came back, a voice came with them; a new voice, whose tones, gentle and kind, reminded the poor boy of his mother's, and thus the new voice spoke:
"Now our Sprigg must feel assured he may trust us. Then sleep, poor boy! You are weary, faint and sick at heart, and have but too much need of rest! A friend is here, who will watch over you and keep you safe from harm. Then, sleep, poor child, sleep!" And with these words the forlorn little castaway felt a tiny hand laid upon his head, and with a touch so gentle that a gush of soft, warm, grateful tears came welling up from his overburdened heart; and straightway a sense of rest and slumber stole over his spirit, and he sank into a deep sleep. Just then the moon wheeled up from behind the forest-bound East, and shot her first silver arrows, long-and level, against the shaggy breast of the giant hill. Round-faced, she was, and as bright as moon could well be, not to make day of night; for, be it borne in mind, that it was still the first of June, though gone the joyous sun, who had been blazing the thing to the world the livelong day.
The boy had slept but an hour or so, when he was aroused by a voice, whose tones seemed those of his father's, which said:
"Up, Sprigg! Up! They come!" as if he who spoke were in haste. With a wild start the boy sprang to his feet, and the first thing he knew he was standing bolt upright, looking straight down the vista, which ran along the crest of the ridge, as if his head had been turned by him that had spoken on purpose that way, that he might see what there he saw. And had Sprigg seen the bison, the wild-cat, the wolf, all there in a row, the sight could hardly have daunted him more than did that of the object which now met his eyes. A sight, it was, which brought to his memory all that his mother had told him concerning that terrible thing of the wilderness—the Indian mystery—Jibbenainesy, called by the white men, Nick of the Woods.
Yes, fancy it out as you please—it was a bear, with black hair, so shaggy and long that his legs could scarcely be seen, and his tail not at all.
Sprigg's first thought, after the hundred thoughts which the object before him had awakened, was to reassure himself that the moccasins still stood guard. He looked! Dire to relate, the red moccasins had deserted their post—abandoned their trust! Nothing—no one left him to look to now for help! Down he crouched again at the foot of the old oak tree, hiding himself in its deepest shadow, in the forlorn hope that the monster might pass by without discovering his presence. On came the huge bulk of shaggy blackness—now in the shadow of a tree, now in the belt of moonlight, slowly, steadily, trudged he along—his head bent down with the air of one who, while he walked, is absorbed in profound thought. When his deliberate pace had brought the bear to the third or fourth belt of light, Sprigg spied an object, which, for the moment, in spite of the terror he felt, caused his young heart to burn with indignation, reminding him, as it did, how he had been made a fool of, by something, or somebody, he had not fairly decided yet what or who. But the moment after, remembering the voice, which, so like his mother's, had lulled him to sleep with words of rest and peace—this feeling gave place to one of joy and trusting reassurance.
Side by side with the bear, and keeping exact step with his sloomy pace, Sprigg saw his cast-off moccasins, coming quietly on, as if with the sole intent of guiding the monster directly up to the tree, in whose dark shadow he had trusted to find a hiding place. Thus leading, thus led, composedly on they came together, step for step—now the three right feet, now the three left feet—each as pat to the other's movement as were they walking arm in arm. The next broad patch of moonlight gained, brought them square abreast with the boy; and here, within easy speaking distance, they came to a dead halt—the red moccasins and the bear.