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He lost completely
that sense of vague regret which had remained with him, and he forgot the
Stewarts. And suddenly he felt absolutely free, alone, with nothing behind to
remember, with wild, thrilling, nameless life before him. Just then the long
mourn of a timber wolf wailed in with the wind. Seldom had he heard the cry of
one of those night wanderers. There was nothing like it--no sound like it to
fix in the lone camper's heart the great solitude and the wild.

CHAPTER V
In the early morning when all was gray and the big, dark pines were shadowy
specters, Slone was awakened by the cold. His hands were so numb that he had
difficulty starting a fire. He stood over the blaze, warming them. The air was
nipping, clear and thin, and sweet with frosty fragrance.
Daylight came while he was in the midst of his morning meal. A white frost
covered the ground and crackled under his feet as he went out to bring in the
horses. He saw fresh deer tracks. Then he went back to camp for his rifle.
Keeping a sharp lookout for game, he continued his search for the horses.


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