Totally unprepared for the fate awaiting them, the Yellow Dogs came on. When they were about half-a-mile from the camp, they stopped; for it was understood that the attack was not to be delivered until the moon had risen.
In the north-east, an increasing brightness showed that her appearance was very near. About them the prairies began to take on a pallid glimmer, in which objects wore mysterious shapes. As the light increased, the ponies became more and more restless. Their riders dreaded lest the sounds of their growing uneasiness should be carried to some sharply-listening ear in the camp which they were waiting to surprise. They began to be certain that animals of some sort, wolves, or bison, must be somewhere in the locality. The nervousness of the ponies communicated itself to their masters. A whisper ran that it would be better to move at once, without waiting for the moon. Only that their chiefs remained firm, they would have advanced to the attack.
At length, the edge of the moon's disc rose into sight above the eastern hills. Instantly there was a movement of expectation in the Indian's ranks. They only waited now for the signal from their leader to launch the long-delayed attack. But before that signal came, another was heard.
The moon had barely raised herself clear of the hills when a deep, long-drawn howl broke the intense stillness to the west. The waiting Indians recognized it as the mustering call of the hunting wolf when he summons the pack. The note carried for an infinite distance. Hardly had it died away, when it was answered from the east. Then, silence as before. And the moon began to cast long shadows—shadows that seemed to move!
Out from the thickets, up from the hollows, down the dark slopes of the bluffs, the shadows crept.
The wolves were closing in!
In the camp, Spotted Eagle stood uncertain what to do. He had distinctly heard the wolf-calls, but could not be sure whether they were signals from Dusty Star or not. The camp, hushed with suspense, was very still. A subdued murmur, rising here and there at intervals, was all that could be heard. Now and then a woman's figure would step softly from one tepee to another, or a husky would slink across a moonlit space. There was no other movement.
Suddenly, a dull sound like distant thunder came from the north. It grew louder moment by moment. As all listening ears knew well, it was the beat of galloping hoofs. A series of savage shouts now broke into it—the mingled war-cries of the Yellow Dogs, and their Allies.
There was no time now to wait for the promised signal from Dusty Star. In an instant, Spotted Eagle's heart was black with rage and fear. There would be no sign from the wolves. The wolf-boy had betrayed them. His promise, like his name, was a puff-ball after all!