The moon was directly above the cabin.

The sky was clear of clouds and so bright was the light that objects on the farther side of the lake were plainly visible.
Besides, it was bitter cold--so cold that his face began to tingle as he stood there.

These things he noticed, but he could see nothing to hold Mukoki's vision in the sky above unless it was the glorious beauty of the night.
"What is it, Mukoki ?" he asked.
The old Indian looked silently at him for a moment, some mysterious, all-absorbing joy revealed in every lineament of his face.
"Wolf night!" he whispered.
He looked back to where Wabi was sleeping.
"Wolf night!" he repeated, and slipped like a shadow to the side of the unconscious young hunter.

Rod regarded his actions with growing wonder.
He saw him bend over Wabi, shake him by the shoulders, and heard him repeat again, "Wolf night! Wolf night!" Wabi awoke and sat up in his blankets, and Mukoki came back to the door.
He had dressed himself before this, and now, with his rifle, slipped out into the night.

The young Indian had joined Rod at the open door and together they watched Mukoki's gaunt figure as it sped swiftly across the lake, up the hill and over into the wilderness desolation beyond.
When Rod looked at Wabi he saw that the Indian boy's eyes were wide and staring, with an expression in them that was something between fright and horror.