By this time Ru had forgotten the legends about strange tribes of men. He was remembering tales that old men told on winter evenings beside the firelight—tales of red goblins that danced and sported in the woods at night, with eyes of flame, which could shrivel a man to ashes, and claws of flame, which could strike through the trees like lightning.
As the slow, anxious minutes wore away, Ru caught no glimpse of the dreaded ones, although the weird, wavering light continued to trouble him, and now and then, by straining his ears, he thought he could hear that which sounded suspiciously like a murmuring of voices. But he could not be certain; and, as time went by, the ruddy glow grew dimmer, and at last only the far-off querulous calls of bird and beast disturbed the profound silence of the night. Then gradually the lonely watcher succumbed to the lulling mood of the woods; and forgetting his doubts and solitude and terror, he folded his arms about the limbs of the tree as about a dearly loved friend, and slipped into a delicious dream that he was back again among the comforts of the old familiar cave.
CHAPTER X
The Men of the Woods
When Ru awoke, the mysterious light had disappeared; and in its place the first pale glimmer of day was newly revealing the world. The night's adventures now seemed so extraordinary that Ru wondered vaguely whether he had not merely dreamed them; and when the heartening morning light had filled all things, he could hardly understand why he had been so frightened.
As by degrees his courage returned, he felt the proddings of that slyest of temptresses, curiosity. What had been the meaning of that which he had seen and heard? Would it not be possible to find out, and find out safely? Might he not even make some marvelous discovery? learn of the existence of some people akin to his own? perhaps even find friends among that unknown people?
Realizing his danger, and yet resolved to tread so cautiously that he might seek refuge in the trees at the first suspicious sign, Ru descended from his leafy perch, regained his club, and warily set out in the direction of the night's terrifying sights and sounds.
At first, as he made his way through those shadow-dim woods, treading noiselessly on the thick matting of dead leaves and scrupulously avoiding the dense clumps of underbrush, Ru observed nothing out of the ordinary. Here and there some little bird, rustling unseen among the shrubs and vines, made him stop short in quickly conquered alarm; here and there some squirrel would flash into view and out again, with bright beady eyes alertly glittering. But, except for such harmless creatures, there was no sign of life, and the great wilderness stretched before him, silent and undisturbed.
He was almost convinced that he should discover nothing—that he had taken the wrong direction, or that there was nothing to be found—when his keen eyes caught a telltale mark in the soft soil. Faintly traced in the midst of a narrow open space was the imprint of a foot—a human foot of gigantic proportions!
For a moment Ru stared in surprise and dread. Fearfully he glanced toward the trees, lest one of a race of giants be watching him unseen; then he began to inspect the ground on all sides, and speedily discovered scores of similar footprints! That they had not all been made by one individual was apparent from their difference in size; and that they had not been left by his tribesmen was evident from the fact that several of the unknowns were lacking in one or more toes.