He brought his senses to the finest focus, trying hard to understand.  He was aware only of the strained silence at first.  Then here and there, about the dimmining circle of firelight, he heard the soft rustle of little feet, the subdued crack of a twig or the scratch of a dead leaf.  The forest smells—­of which there is no category in heaven or earth—­reached him with incredible clarity.  These were faint, vaguely exciting smells, some of them the exquisite fragrances of summer flowers, others beyond his ken.  And presently two small, bright circles appeared in a distant covert, glowed once, and then went out.

By peering closely, with unwinking eyes, he began to see other twin-circles of green and yellow light.  Yet they were furtive little radiances—­vanishing swiftly—­and they were nothing of which to be afraid.

“They are out to-night,” he murmured.  “No wonder you’re excited, Fenris.  What is it—­some celebration in the forest?”

There was no possible explanation.  Foresters know that on certain nights the wilderness seems simply to teem with life—­scratchings and rustlings in every covert—­and on other nights it is still and lifeless as a desert.  The wild folk were abroad to-night and were simply paying casual, curious visits to Ben’s fire.

Once more Ben glanced at the wolf.  The animal no longer crouched.  Rather he was standing rigid, his head half-turned and lifted, gazing away toward a distant ridge behind the lake.  A wilderness message had reached him, clear as a voice.

But presently Ben understood.  Throbbing through the night he heard a weird, far-carrying call—­a long-drawn note, broken by half-sobs—­the mysterious, plaintive utterance of the wild itself.  Yet it was not an inanimate voice.  He recognized it at once as the howl of a wolf, one of Fenris’ wild brethren.

The creature at his feet started as if from a blow.  Then he stood motionless, listening, and the cry came the second time.  He took two leaps into the darkness.

Deeply moved, Ben watched him.  The wolf halted, then stole back to his master’s side.  He licked the man’s hand with his warm tongue, whining softly.

“What is it, boy?” Ben asked.  “What do you want me to do?”

The wolf whined louder, his eyes luminous with ineffable appeal.  Once more he leaped into the shadows, pausing as if to see if Ben would follow him.

The man shook his head, rather soberly.  A curious, excited light was in his eyes.  “I can’t go, old boy,” he said.  “This is my place—­here.  Fenris, I can’t leave the cave.”

For a moment they looked eyes into eyes—­in the glory of that moon as strange a picture as the wood gods ever beheld.  Once more the wolf call sounded.  Fenris whimpered softly.

“Go ahead if you like,” Ben told him.  “God knows it’s your destiny.”

The wolf seemed to understand.  With a glad bark he sped away and almost instantly vanished into the gloom.