"Hark!" cried Dick, clapping his hand on my arm. "Did you hear that? Listen!"
We stood silent for a moment, and then, far off in the direction from which we had come, I heard a curious whimpering sound, the nature of which I could not understand.
"What is it?" I whispered, involuntarily sinking my voice.
"Wolves—hunting."
"Hunting what?"
"I don't know; but we'll move away from here, anyhow. Come on."
Dick's manner, more than his words, made me feel a little uneasy and I followed him very willingly as he set off at a smart walk through the timber.
"You don't suppose they are hunting us, Dick, do you?" I asked, as we strode along side by side.
"I can't tell yet. It seems hardly likely—in daylight, and at this time of year. I could understand it if it were winter. If they are hunting us, it is probably because they, like the deer, are unacquainted with men, and never having been shot at, they don't know what danger they are running into. Still, I feel a little suspicious that it is our trail they are following. They are coming down right on the line we took, at any rate. We shall be able to decide, though, in a minute or two. Look ahead. Do you see how the trees are thinning out? We are coming to another open space, a big one, I think; I noticed it when we were up on the ridge just now."