To Roderick the minutes passed like so many hours.

His ears were keyed to the highest tension of expectancy, his eyes stared into the gloom beyond them until they ached with his efforts to see.

At every instant he expected to hear again that terrible scream, this time very near, and he prepared himself to meet it.

But the seconds passed, and then the minutes, and still there came no quick running of mad footsteps, no repetition of the cry.

Had the madman turned the other way?
Was he plunging deeper into the blackness of this mysterious world of his between the mountains?
"I guess I was mistaken," he whispered softly to Wabigoon.