At Towatano Creek the trail went into the air; at least it was no longer of the earth. Straight to the south bank it had led, but on the north there was nothing; nothing but the hoot of a frightened Arctic Owl that swirled off into the forest because of their impetuous blood cry.
"They are not wet to their death," cried the Wolf, "for here is little water."
It was as though the Bisons had crawled into a cave, only there was no burrow in sight—nothing. A'tim was confused.
"Surely thou art a Dog," cried the Wolf disdainfully; "they have gone up the water, or they have gone down the water. This is no young Bull we follow, for he has the wisdom which comes with age; that, or this Cow has the duplicity of a Mother guarding her Calf."
"I will search up, and do you seek down," said A'tim.
"Not so," replied the Wolf; "we will stay here together while my Pups pick up the trail, be it up or down."
Very close to A'tim the huge Wolf sat while his two Sons searched the opposite bank for the coming out of Shag. Soon a "Hi, yi—he, he, he-voh-ooh!" came floating dismally up the tortuous stretch of winding stream. "Come; they have found it," said the Wolf.
On again, faster and faster, flitted the Gray Shadows in the waning of the day. All vain had been the precautions of the Cow; the twisting and doubling, and walking in the water to kill the scent—all in vain. Nothing would turn these blood-thirsters from the trail.
"Hurry a little," panted the Wolf from behind. "Gallop, Lone Dog; gallop, brave Pups; the scent grows strong, and we need light for our work."
A'tim stretched his thin limbs in eager chase; at his shoulder now raced the Wolf Pups; the blood fever crept stronger and stronger into the hot hearts of the Gray Runners. Short yelps of hungry exultation broke from their dry throats; it was like the tolling of a death bell; first one and then the other, "Oo-oo-ooh-ooh!" The dry leaves scurried under their feet, swirled up by the wind from their rushing bodies. Poplar bluff, and jack-pine knoll, and spruce thicket, and open patch of rosebush-matted plain flitted by like the tide of a landscape through which an express speeds.