Right in front of him, with its back to the moon, a great form, larger than a coyote, seemed to have risen out of the ground. As he looked, the creature, lifting its head, let out a long melancholy howl.
Dusty Star held his breath. Could it be?—was it possible?—Kiopo at last?
He was too excited to wait in order to be sure. Springing to his feet, he darted forward with a cry.
The wolf leaped swiftly aside, and was gone.
The creature's disappearance seemed a signal. There was a general movement on the butte. The next moment dusky bodies melted soundlessly down its furrows into the grey vastness of the prairies, and Dusty Star found himself alone.
He was bitterly disappointed. Now, when it was too late, he knew that he done the wrong thing. All his wisdom of prairie-craft and wood-craft had left him in one fatal moment: he had moved at the very instant when he should have remained still. Now he would never know if he had been face to face with Kiopo or not. A sob rose in his throat; a mist swam over the moon: he could hardly see for tears, as he went recklessly down the hill.
CHAPTER VIII
HOW KIOPO CAME BACK
One night, when all the camp was in deep sleep, and nothing could be heard but the gentle flapping of the lodge-ears in the breeze, or the occasional bark of a hunting coyote, Dusty Star woke suddenly.