In the gloom of the cabin his eyes remained fixed steadily upon the open door, and for a long time he listened only for the returning footsteps of Jolly Roger and Nada.  Twice he made efforts to drag himself to the edge of the bunk, but the movement sent such a cutting pain through him that he did not make a third.  And outside, after a time, he heard the Night People rousing themselves.  They were very cautious, these Night People, for unlike the creatures of the dawn, waking to greet the sun with song and happiness, most of them were sharp-fanged and long-clawed-rovers and pirates of the great wilderness, ready to kill.  And this, too, Peter sensed through the generations of northland dog that was in him.  He heard a wolf howl, coming faintly through the night from miles away, and something told him it was not a dog.  From nearer came the call of a moose, and that same sense told him he had heard a monster bear which his eyes had never seen.  He did not know of the soft-footed, night-eyed creatures of prey—­the fox, the lynx, the fisher-cat, the mink and the ermine, nor of the round-eyed, feathered murderers in the tree-tops—­yet that same something told him they were out there among the shadows, under the luring glow of the moon.  And a thing happened, all at once, to stab the truth home to him.  A baby snowshoe rabbit, a third grown, hopped out into the open close to the cabin door, and as it nibbled at the green grass, a gray catapult of claw and feathers shot out of the air, and Peter heard the crying agony of the rabbit as the owl bore it off into the thick spruce tops.  Even then—­unafraid—­Peter wanted to go out into the moon glow!

At last, there was an end to his wait.  He heard footsteps, and Jolly Roger came from out of the yellow moon-mist of the night and stopped in front of the door.  There he stood, making no sound, and looking into the west, where the sky was ablaze with stars over the tree-tops.  There was a glad little yip in Peter’s throat, but he choked it back.  Jolly Roger was strangely quiet, and Peter could not hear Nada, and as he sniffed, and gulped the lump in his throat, he seemed to catch the breath of something impending in the air.  Then Jolly Roger came in, and sat down in darkness near the table, and for a long time Peter kept his eyes fixed on the shadowy blotch of him there in the gloom, and listened to his breathing, until he could stand it no longer, and whined.

The sound stirred Jolly Roger.  He got up, struck a match—­and then blew the match out, and came and sat down beside Peter, and stroked him with his hand.

“Peter,” he said in a low voice, “I guess we’ve got a job on our hands.  You began it today—­and I’ve got to finish it.  We’re goin’ to kill Jed Hawkins!”

Peter snuggled closer.

“Mebby I’m bad, and mebby the law ought to have me,” Jolly Roger went on in the darkness, “but until tonight I never made up my mind to kill a man.  I’m ready—­now.  If Jed Hawkins hurts her again we’re goin’ to kill him!  Understand, Pied-Bot?”