through it, and stopped in the black shadow of a great rock, with
Jed Hawkins' cabin half a rifle-shot away. Here Nada was to come
to them with the first rising of the moon.

It was very still all about, and Peter sensed a significance in
the silence, and lay very quietly watching the light in the cabin,
and the shadowy form of his master. Also he knew that somewhere in
the distance a storm was gathering. The breath of it was in the
air, though the sky was clear of cloud overhead, except for the
haze of a gray and ghostly mist that lay between them and the
yellow stars. Jolly Roger counted the seconds between then and
moonrise. It seemed hours before the golden rim of it rose in the
east. Shadows grew swiftly after that. Grotesque things took
shape. The rock-caps of the ridge began to light up, like timid
signal-fires. Black spruce and balsam and cedar glistened as if
bathed in enamel. And the moon came on, and mellow floods of light
played in the valleys and plains, and danced over the forest-tops,
and in voice-less and soundless miracle called upon all living
things to look upon the glory of God. In his soul Jolly Roger
McKay felt the urge and the call of that voiceless Master Power,
and through his lips came an unconscious whisper of prayer--of
gratitude.

And he watched the light in Jed Hawkins' cabin, and strained his
ears to hear a sound of footsteps coming through the moonlight.

But there was no change. The light did not move. A door did not
open or close. There was no sound, except the growing whisper of
the wind, the call of a night bird, and the howl of the old gray
wolf that always cried out to the moon from the tangled depths of