cry of the wolf again. As before, it seemed to be wonderfully distinct and
full of character, but it was nearer now. Francisco Alvarez raised
himself on his elbow, and heard it a second and then a third and fourth
time. After that only the heavy silence of the forest.

"The same as before," murmured the Spaniard to himself. "The wolf howled
four times. What a coincidence! Bah, I'm becoming a superstitious fool!"

He resolutely closed his eyes and sought slumber once more. It was far
past midnight now, and weary nature began at last her task. His nerves
were soothed. A soft breeze fanned his eyelids with drowsy wing, the
forest wavered, swam away, and he slept.

Red dawn was coming when Francisco Alvarez awoke. The fire was dead and
cold, and the men around it yet slumbered. The two sentinels, one to the
right and one to the left, still sat on the logs, backs toward him. He
took one glance to see if the prisoner, too, slept, and then he leaped to
his feet with a cry. The prisoner was not there! Nor was he anywhere in
the camp.

"Up! up! you rascals!" shouted the Spaniard. "The boy is gone! escaped.
Luiz, Pedro, in what manner have you watched!"

He rushed to the sentinel on the right, Luiz, and struck him sharply
across the back with the flat of his sword.

"Wretch!" he cried, "you have slept!" and he struck him again.

Luiz did not stir, even under the sharp blow. He remained, sitting on the
log, back to his chief, shoulders bent forward, as if he were in a