"I'm going back and follow the other trail.

If I don't find anything in a mile or so I'll return on the double-quick and overtake you!" Wabi's efforts to dissuade him were futile, and a few minutes later Rod was again at the clearing.

What presentiment was it that caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to come in tense excitement as he stole through the bushes where they had found the silken tress of hair?
What something was it, away down in his soul, that kept urging him on and on, even after he had gone a mile, and then two miles, in fruitless search?
Rod could not have answered these questions had he stopped to ask them of himself.

He was not superstitious.

He did not believe in dreams.