he had
started to say good-bye, meant with him that the departure had already
begun. There was no need to go back for Kiopo. Before leaving he had
made the wolf clearly understand that they were going upon a long
journey; also, that although he expected him to remain near at hand, he
did not wish him to be too close while he paid his good-bye visits to
the foxes and the bear. And Kiopo did what was expected of him, and kept
discreetly out of sight.

So now, Dusty Star went on swiftly through the forest, not in the least
doubting that, although Kiopo was out of sight, he was within earshot in
case of need, and that the great pads of his feet carried him softly
along the trail.

When the last glimmer of twilight departed, Dusty Star camped for the
night. The camping was very simple. It only meant finding a sheltered
place among the tree-roots, eating some of the food he had brought with
him, and settling himself for sleep. And as he settled down, he felt
rather than saw the big wolf-shape that stole softly into camp and lay
down within reach of his arm.

In spite of their journey having begun, the travellers lay still within
the edges of Carboona--the strange and lonely land. Voices out of
Carboona travelled to them darkly, at long intervals, like voices of
departing and farewell. There was the far-off bark of a fox, signalling
to its mate; or the dreary hooting of an owl. But Dusty Star slept
soundly, and if the voices reached him, it was only in his dreams. Once
only he woke, and that was not because of a sound, but of a touch. A
cold nose touched his cheek. Instantly he was wide-awake, thinking it
was Kiopo warning him of some danger. But the wolf was sleeping where he
had lain down, and had not stirred. Dusty Star waited expectantly. But
though he kept absolutely still, his mysterious visitor made no other
sign. Once only a twig cracked faintly under the pressure of a stealthy
foot; but the darkness was too dense for Dusty Star to detect the secret
movement of the black robe with the silver tips, as it drifted softly
away. But long, long afterwards, when countless moons had come and gone,
Dusty Star, remembering, was sure that it was Baltook who had brought
his cold nose to him as a token of farewell.

The morning song of little Kilooleet, the white-throated sparrow, was
already trickling through the maple leaves, when the travellers started
again upon their way. As on their first coming into the region, so now,