CHAPTER XVI.
When the waning moon rose high enough to shed a pale light over forest and field, two dark figures, moving silently from the shade of the trees, crossed the moonlit patches of ground, out to the open plain where low on the grass hung silver mists.
A timber wolf, gray and gaunt, came loping along with lowered nose.
A new scent brought the animal to a standstill.

His nose went up, his fiery eyes scanned the plain.

Two men had invaded his domain, and, with a short, dismal bark, he dashed away.
Like spectres, gliding swiftly with noiseless tread, the two vanished.

The long grass had swallowed them.
Deserted once again seemed the plain.

It became unutterably lonely.
No stir, no sound, no life; nothing but a wide expanse bathed in sad, gray light.
The moon shone steadily; the silver radiance mellowed; the stars paled before this brighter glory.
Slowly the night hours wore away.
On the other side of the plain, near where the adjoining forest loomed darkling, the tall grass parted to disclose a black form.