“Come up beside me,” he whispered.
Helen crawled on, and presently Bo was beside her panting, with pale face and great, staring eyes, plain to be seen in the wan light.
“Moon's comin' up. We're just in time. The old grizzly's not there yet, but I see coyotes. Look.”
Dale pointed across the open neck of park to a dim blurred patch standing apart some little distance from the black wall.
“That's the dead horse,” whispered Dale. “An' if you watch close you can see the coyotes. They're gray an' they move.... Can't you hear them?”
Helen's excited ears, so full of throbs and imaginings, presently registered low snaps and snarls. Bo gave her arm a squeeze.
“I hear them. They're fighting. Oh, gee!” she panted, and drew a long, full breath of unutterable excitement.
“Keep quiet now an' watch an' listen,” said the hunter.
Slowly the black, ragged forest-line seemed to grow blacker and lift; slowly the gray neck of park lightened under some invisible influence; slowly the stars paled and the sky filled over. Somewhere the moon was rising. And slowly that vague blurred patch grew a little clearer.
Through the tips of the spruce, now seen to be rather close at hand, shone a slender, silver crescent moon, darkening, hiding, shining again, climbing until its exquisite sickle-point topped the trees, and then, magically, it cleared them, radiant and cold. While the eastern black wall shaded still blacker, the park blanched and the border-line opposite began to stand out as trees.