Was some tiny drop of Dusty Star's body-scent mixed among them—sending out its wordless message through the enormous space? For all the keen searching of Kiopo's nostrils, the drop, if it were there, escaped them. But if the trails of the air were lost in the wilderness of the wind, the trails of the earth remained, and still the one he had hitherto followed went plainly through the grass. Once again Kiopo took it up, following it steadily till at length he came to the spot where the Indians had taken to the canoe. In the marshy ground under the willows, he lost it completely. It was as if it was sucked into the marsh. In vain he searched the whole neighbourhood, and ran backwards and forwards in a desperate effort to find some vestige of the broken trail, always returning with the same result to the roots of the willows among the black ooze.
Now Kiopo's faultless wood-craft taught him, without the slightest uncertainty, that there had been no back trail. If, therefore, the trail ended at the water, those who had made it must have gone through the water. There was no other way. Once he had made up his mind, Kiopo did not hesitate. He plunged into the lake.
When once in the water, Kiopo, like all wolves, was a powerful swimmer; but he had never before had any experience of such an immense expanse of it. The further he went out, the wider it seemed to become. He swam on and on. As he swam, the shores receded further and further on either side. He found himself out in that whispering vastness, alone in a world of waters, with no sign of any human being, nor the faintest trace of a trail. After a while, he grew disheartened. The great water gave him a sense of loneliness and fear which he had never felt before. In the dark silences of the woods, you could smell the good smells of the travelling folk, hunting or being hunted, which you could not even see. But here there was no hunting, nor good smells; only a wet, uneasy movement, and a watery smell which his growing fear made hateful to his nose. And the sound of its wetness beat unceasingly on his ears like a din of unintelligible voices bewildering his brain. The only living things that he could see were two fish-hawks sailing overhead. In their annoyance at his appearance, they gave piercing cries of disapproval; for they knew well that no fish was likely to come to the surface while this great hulk of wolfishness went churning up the water in that unwieldy way. And if they had only dared, they would have swooped down to strike at him savagely with the terrible talons which made their feet such formidable weapons.
At last Kiopo grew tired of battling against that vast wetness, with its loneliness, and voices that rang against his head; and so he turned and swam straight towards the shore.
The distance was much further than he expected. He found himself swimming more and more slowly. In spite of all his efforts the shore seemed still very far away, while always that great weight of water seemed to push itself continually in between him and the trees, as if it were a living thing which had determined that he should never land. His strength and power of endurance were enormous, even after they had been weakened by his recent injuries; yet for the most powerful wild creature there is a limit to its strength. And now Kiopo knew that his capacity was being taxed to the utmost. Gradually, but surely, his great strength was ebbing. But he also knew that, unless he could reach the shore before his force gave out, all hope of once more joining the little brother would be for ever lost. His strong fore paws worked valiantly, beating down the water which seemed rising and rising in spite of all his efforts. The trees were nearer now. He could see that, even though his eyes were dimmed by the splashing of the ripples. And yet they seemed so terribly far away for the effort he knew he must put forth, if he were to reach them before his strength was done. He swam more and more slowly, his breath coming in short gasping sobs that quivered through him from head to tail. The fish-hawks, circling above him, came sloping down, with triumph in their shining eyes. They needed no explanation of the tragedy that was taking place beneath them. They knew that the hated intruder was slowly but surely being dragged down to a watery death, and their wild hawk-hearts approved.
Slowly, and still more slowly! Kiopo felt now as if the heavy wetness of the water had developed long tentacles that seized him and sucked him down. His head was becoming too heavy to hold above the water. There were moments of terror when it swirled about his nose, and when the fish-hawks, screaming with excitement, would hover, as if about to swoop. And then, once again, the big head would force itself up and, choking, spluttering, gasping, the struggle would continue.
When at length, Kiopo, beating his last desperate strokes, felt his feet touch ground, he could scarcely stand. Fortunately for him, a sandy spit of land at this very point thrust itself out for some distance into the lake. The sensation of ground under his feet gave him courage. With a last supreme effort, he dragged himself above the water-line, and sank exhausted on the sand.
If any watchful enemy had attacked him now, the big wolf would have offered an all but resistless prey. Even the fish-hawks, in their exultation might have safely swooped upon him and threatened his eyes; but now that the detested intruder had shown sufficient strength to drag himself out of the lake, they became more wary, and as they knew that a wolf ashore was a far more formidable foe than a wolf afloat, they thought better of their rashness, and once more climbed up the steep afternoon to sit again in the wind.
Other eyes besides the fish-hawks' noted the dark shape that lay on the sand-spit, motionless as a log. Log-like though it appeared, there was something about its dusky bulk that, to their wary gaze, looked remarkably like a wolf asleep, or possibly even dead. But even a dead wolf is not beloved by the wilderness folk; and a buck who had pushed his way warily through the willow shoots to drink, when he saw the sinister form on the sand-spit, stopped, threw up his head suspiciously, and blew his breath angrily from his nostrils. The wolf never stirred. The buck looked longingly at the water, looked again at the shape on the sand-spit, drew back softly into the shelter of the willows, and went to quench his thirst elsewhere.
The buck had scarcely disappeared, when a fox, also thirsty, came down the trail, placing his slender feet delicately one after the other so as not to disturb the slumber of the afternoon. When he caught sight of the sand-spit, he stopped instantly, and wrinkled his nose to feel the wind. As the wind did not help him, he advanced a few steps further with extreme caution, ready at the slightest warning to leap back upon his trail. He observed that the great body was stretched out flat as if lifeless; the head resting between the paws. But there is flatness and flatness. The fox noted with disapproval that this particular flatness breathed! Drawing back his lips, he disclosed his teeth in a low snarl of hatred against the hereditary foe of his tribe. Then he doubled his flexible body till his nose nearly touched his brush, and slunk back into the woods.