Then he crouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemed to be on his hands and knees.
"He can hear them, but he can't see them!" breathed Wabigoon.

"See! He places his ear to the ground! Now he has got his bearings again--as straight as a die! Good old Muky!" The old Indian crept on.

In his excitement Rod clenched his hands and he seemed to live without breathing.

Would Mukoki never shoot?
Would he _never_ shoot?
He seemed now to be within a stone's throw of the herd.
"How far, Wabi ?" "Four hundred yards, perhaps five," replied the Indian.

"It's a long shot! He can't see them yet." Rod gripped his companion's arm.
Mukoki had stopped.