He tried to persuade himself that the fear displayed by the savage was only superstition, and that that moan was but the sigh of the night wind.
The Indian sentinel stood as if paralyzed an instant after that weird cry, and then, swift as a flash, and as noiseless, he was gone into the gloomy forest.

He had fled without awakening his companions.
Once more the moaning cry arose and swelled mournfully on the still night air.

It was close at hand! "The Wind of Death," whispered Joe.
He was shaken and unnerved by the events of the past two days, and dazed from his wound.

His strength deserted him, and he lost consciousness..