He picked up a stone, and was searching his memory for one of the many formulas that the Indian has in his rituals, when a faint pattering sound attracted his attention.
[Illustration: Looking out from one of the weathered Cave-Rooms of the Snake-Clan] It was as if something glided through brushwood.

He forgot to pray, and listened.

Now it sounded again, at a greater distance from him.

Only some animal could have produced the noise; a human being would either have come up to him if a friend, or kept absolutely still if a foe.

He looked and looked, and at last caught a glimpse of the panther's yellowish fur gliding along the ground.