A long and distant howl seemed to reply to her remark.
It was answered by a series of short, sharp yelps nearer at hand.
"Coyote," she said disdainfully, for she had learned to despise the cowardly prairie wolf.
But again that long distant howl.

In spite of herself she shuddered.
That was no coyote, but a gray timber wolf.
"I wish Allan would come," she said again, thinking of wakening the Indian.

But her nurse's instincts forbade her breaking his heavy sleep.
"Poor boy, he needs the rest! I'll wait a while longer." She took her ax and went bravely at some dead wood lying near, cutting it for the fire.

The Indian never made a sound.

He lay dead in sleep.
She piled the wood on the fire till the flames leaped high, shining ruddily upon the golden and yellow leaves of the surrounding trees.
But again that long-drawn howl, and quite near, pierced the silence like the thrust of a spear.