XIV WOLF

On the anniversary of the night Mescal disappeared the mysterious voice which had called to Hare so often and so strangely again pierced his slumber, and brought him bolt upright in his bed shuddering and listening.  The dark room was as quiet as a tomb.  He fell back into his blankets trembling with emotion.  Sleep did not close his eyes again that night; he lay in a fever waiting for the dawn, and when the gray gloom lightened he knew what he must do.

After breakfast he sought August Naab.  “May I go across the river?” he asked.

The old man looked up from his carpenter’s task and fastened his glance on Hare.  “Mescal?”

“Yes.”

“I saw it long ago.”  He shook his head and spread his great hands.  “There’s no use for me to say what the desert is.  If you ever come back you’ll bring her.  Yes, you may go.  It’s a man’s deed.  God keep you!”

Hare spoke to no other person; he filled one saddle-bag with grain, another with meat, bread, and dried fruits, strapped a five-gallon leather water-sack back of Silvermane’s saddle, and set out toward the river.  At the crossing-bar he removed Silvermane’s equipments and placed them in the boat.  At that moment a long howl, as of a dog baying the moon, startled him from his musings, and his eyes sought the river-bank, up and down, and then the opposite side.  An animal, which at first he took to be a gray timber-wolf, was running along the sand-bar of the landing.

“Pretty white for a wolf,” he muttered.  “Might be a Navajo dog.”

The beast sat down on his haunches and, lifting a lean head, sent up a doleful howl.  Then he began trotting along the bar, every few paces stepping to the edge of the water.  Presently he spied Hare, and he began to bark furiously.

“It’s a dog all right; wants to get across,” said Hare.  “Where have I seen him?”

Suddenly he sprang to his feet, almost upsetting the boat.  “He’s like Mescal’s Wolf!” He looked closer, his heart beginning to thump, and then he yelled:  “Ki-yi!  Wolf!  Hyer!  Hyer!”

The dog leaped straight up in the air, and coming down, began to dash back and forth along the sand with piercing yelps.

“It’s Wolf!  Mescal must be near,” cried Hare.  A veil obscured his sight, and every vein was like a hot cord.  “Wolf!  Wolf!  I’m coming!”

With trembling hands he tied Silvermane’s bridle to the stern seat of the boat and pushed off.  In his eagerness he rowed too hard, dragging Silvermane’s nose under water, and he had to check himself.  Time and again he turned to call to the dog.  At length the bow grated on the sand, and Silvermane emerged with a splash and a snort.

“Wolf, old fellow!” cried Hare.  “Where’s Mescal?  Wolf, where is she?” He threw his arms around the dog.  Wolf whined, licked Hare’s face, and breaking away, ran up the sandy trail, and back again.  But he barked no more; he waited to see if Hare was following.