To do this, owing to the necessity of travelling back along the ravine, took him so long that darkness had fallen before he would reach a place where the descent would be possible. After wandering about for some time, he became completely lost, and it was not till the morning of the following day that he was at length able to make his way back to the camp.
During all his wanderings, he was comforted by a vague hope that Kiopo might, after all, have miraculously escaped with his life, and have reached the camp before him. But when he came in sight of the familiar landmarks, and arrived at last to find the place wholly deserted, a terrible loneliness settled down upon him. The night passed, and the following day. Still there was no sign of Kiopo. Dusty Star did not like to leave the camp, in case the wolf should return in his absence and not find him there to welcome him. He kept hoping against hope that the worst had not happened. The thought that Kiopo was killed, that he had seen his faithful companion for the last time, was unthinkable. Kiopo must come back! He had told himself that he had been injured in the fall from the precipice, and was in hiding somewhere till his wounds should heal; Or that he had lost his way, and was wandering in the forest; Or, being hungry, that he had followed the trail of some far-travelling buck, and would not return till he had gorged himself with his kill! Any of these things! But not that other unthinkable thing, in the black throat of the gorge!
And all round the little valley that now seemed so deserted, the forest stood gigantically silent, as if it knew.
Not far from the camp, grew an immense hemlock. Over its dusky summit a thousand moons had waxed and waned. The shadow of its boughs was the darkness that had followed the dead moons. Several times, Dusty Star had seen Kiopo re-appear from its gloomy shade after he had been away on some of his long hunting expeditions. Now, he found himself continually turning his anxious gaze in its direction.
Suddenly, as he looked, he thought he saw something move. He was not sure. The space under the tree was very dark. Anything might crouch there and be invisible, even at high noon. What was it?—animal or human? He could not tell. The great old tree looked as if it had known no motion within the circle of its shade for a thousand years. Yet Dusty Star was not to be deceived. He knew that he had seen!
Yet for all his looking at the tree, he saw nothing more. The movement, whatever had made it, had been very slight. He would have thought nothing was there if it had not been for the instinct which continual dwelling among the wild creatures had developed in him: he felt he was being watched.
For some time, he could not make up his mind what to do. He knew that his smallest movement would not escape the unseen watcher. As the time went on, the suspense became unbearable. He felt he must do something definite. Gathering all his courage, he advanced deliberately towards the tree.
Except his hunting knife, he carried no weapon. But Dusty Star was no coward. Even though his heart was pounding, and his body tingling, he did not falter. Without pausing for an instant, he stooped beneath the sweepings boughs, gripping his knife.
To his astonishment, there was nothing to be seen. He went round the trunk to the farther side and gazed up into the overhanging gloom. Still, nothing! He examined the ground all about with the minutest care. Whatever had lurked there a minute before had left small trace of its presence yet slight though the traces were, he detected them. Something had been there.
He remained where he was for a long time. He preferred to be the eyes under the tree rather than allow the tree to get eyes again so that it might keep watch on him!