A dozen paces and it paused and turned back toward the black wall of spruce.
"Are you coming, Wabi ?" A voice answered from the woods.

"Yes.

Hurry up--run!" Thus urged, the other turned his face once more across the lake.

He was a youth of not more than eighteen.

In his right hand he carried a club.
His left arm, as if badly injured, was done up in a sling improvised from a lumberman's heavy scarf.