And once, far off in Carboona, he heard the hunting-call of a wolf. Even at that remote distance he knew it was not Kiopo's deep-toned, vibrating bellow.
He was fast asleep when the wolf-call came again. As it rang faintly out, a shadowy form, gliding from under the hemlock, paused to listen. When, receiving no answer, it had died away, the form moved stealthily on.
Dusty Star woke with a start. He knew that something had disturbed him, but could not tell what it was. He listened intently. Over the valley he heard the notes of a pair of night-hawks swooping down from the hill; and between the stones, the stream went with a wandering murmur. That was all.
He lifted himself on his elbow, and looked towards the doorway. A silvery glimmer showed that the moon had not yet set. As he looked out; a man's shape darkened the entrance of the hut.
Dusty Star held his breath. In the absolute stillness, he could hear his heart thump against his ribs.
The man entered the hut. Instantly Dusty Star sprang for the opening. As he did so, he felt arms thrown round him. He struggled frantically, but, in that strong Indian grasp, he was powerless, and the next moment he was dragged mercilessly outside the hut.
Half-a-dozen Indians immediately surrounded him; but not a word was spoken. While two of them held him, a third passed a deer-skin thong round his chest, fastening it securely under his arms.
The thing had been done so rapidly, that from the moment when the Indian's shape darkened the doorway till that when the whole party moved noiselessly down the valley with their captive in their midst, the thin shadow of a rampike falling on the moonlit space in front of the tepee had scarcely shifted its black finger an inch towards the east.
In spite of the fact that it was night, the Indians travelled quickly, owing to the moonlight. It was only under the trees, or in the shadow of some great rock, that the darkness made it necessary to slacken the pace. As they went, Dusty Star kept listening backward along the trail. Suppose, at the last moment, Kiopo should have returned? Finding the hut empty, Dusty Star knew that he would start instantly in pursuit. But suppose he did not come back in time to get the scent before it faded from the trail? Even his fine nose would not serve him on a cold trail. Once only, when they were nearing the end of the valley, Dusty Star caught a faint wolf-howl very far behind; but whether this was Kiopo's voice or not, it was impossible to say.
It was evident that the Indians had some idea that the wolf might follow them, for it was plain, by the speed with which they were travelling, that they were anxious to push on with the least possible delay. They were among the spruce woods now, and the air was full of the unmistakable smell of the trees, with that peculiar tang one could never forget. They travelled in single file. Even when it was so dark that Dusty Star could scarcely see his captors before, or behind, the deer-skin thong about his chest was always there to prove their presence as it tightened or slackened according to the pace, or the unevenness of the ground.