It was this dream-cry that roused him.
He sat up, and his face and hands were damp.

It was black in the tent.
Outside even the bit of wind had died away.

He reached out a hand, groping for Jean.

The half-breed's blankets had not been disturbed.
Then for a few moments he sat very still, listening, and wondering if the cry had been real.

As he sat tense and still in the half daze of the sleep it came again.