with an Indian's doggedness to begin the argument all over again. But in
the morning, something happened. Kiopo came back.

He had been out hunting, and as soon as he set his eyes on Lone Chief,
he showed his teeth in a threatening snarl.

By this time the wolf had every reason to distrust human beings. Dusty
Star was the one great exception. In the Indian before him, Kiopo saw an
enemy. If Dusty Star had not held him back, he would have flown at him.

And the wolf's return seemed to make the boy all the firmer in his
refusal. Faced by the pair of them, Lone Chief realized at last that he
was powerless. He knew that he would be forced to return to the tribe,
and confess the failure of his mission. Whatever the coveted
wolf-medicine might perform, it was not for them. They had lost it in
the moons. And in spite of his great wisdom, and his ancient cunning, he
was uneasy. He felt that he was in the presence of a great and peculiar
power. In all of his wide experience he had never come across anything
like it before. There was something about the wolf that seemed more than
the mere animal. There was something in Dusty Star that seemed uncannily
related to the wolves. He was relieved when at length he turned from the
camp, and found himself out of sight of it once more, among the endless
ranks of the trees.

CHAPTER XXIV

EVIL DAYS

The Maple leaves were yellowing in the Fall. The hollow seed-cups of the
wild parsley were turning old and grey. Up the slopes of the northern
buttes, the shumack flared like a shout of flame. Over a thousand
leagues of prairie the days carried the warmth and stillness of that
mysterious season called the Indian Summer; but the nights had cold in
them, and the middle sky had voices. For the geese were coming
now--driving out of the north in great arrow-heads of flight--and the
nightwind passed with a dry whisper, like the running of antelope
through dead grasses, over a thousand leagues.

The camp of Dusty Star's people was feverishly astir. The air was filled
with rumours. Scouts coming from the north-east brought disquieting
tidings. There was a great movement among the Yellow Dogs. Scattered
bands were coming in daily to join the main body. It could mean only one
thing--the gathering for the final attack.

And still Lone Chief did not come back.

Day after day, scouts watched from the summit of Look-out Bluff,
scanning the western prairie eagerly for signs of the returning