Roger sat patiently with his gun across his knees, waiting for the birds to come. He had been sitting perhaps for a quarter of an hour, when a very faint "Coo-ee" was heard and he stiffened to attention. The men, he thought, must be beginning to drive the birds from cover. The night wind was chill on the edge of the marsh, and Roger, expecting every minute that the birds would begin to come into the circle of light, dared not move. His left foot became numb, but he did not rise to his feet until the numbness became unendurable, and then, as softly and silently as he could, he stood up. The scene was even more lonely, viewed standing up. There was not a light to be seen, not a sound to be heard, save the hoarse croaking of the frogs and the booming of a bittern in the far distance. The minutes passed into hours, until it became agony to refrain from sleep, but Roger felt that he would be forever disgraced in the eyes of his comrades if he were found asleep at his post on the very first occasion they had given him a trial of endurance, and he promised himself that he would stay awake, no matter what it cost him. Then a faint mist began to wreathe upwards from the lake and took all sorts of fantastic shapes before the boy's tired eyes, and while, for a little time, it afforded him occupation to watch their curling gyrations, at the last this but added to the dreariness of the place. Once his eyes had closed and he dozed for a few seconds, when he was aroused, and not only aroused but startled, by the far-off howl of a wolf. Roger was no coward, and had all the boy's contempt for the coyote of the prairies, but he was woodsman enough to know that the coyote troubles timbered lands but little, and that the call was from the throat of the dreaded timber wolf. What would not the boy have given for one of his rifles? But there he was at the edge of a slough, not even knowing in what direction he could retreat should flight prove necessary, with no weapon but a shotgun loaded with small bird-shot, and a timber wolf prowling near. Once, indeed he thought of shooting in order to attract attention, but the morbid fear of being thought timid and old-womanish restrained his hand from the trigger. Again came the call, clear and unmistakable this time, and drawing nearer. All the wolf stories that he had read beside the fire at home rushed across his memory now--the Siberian wolves who chased across the steppes that traveler who saved his unworthy life by sacrificing to the beasts successively the three children intrusted to his care; the wolves who picked clean the bones of all the inhabitants in the Siberian village who refused to help escaping prisoners; the were-wolf, who, half-maiden and half-brute, lives on the blood of men; until, in spite of his courage, Roger found himself feeling far from at ease and deeply wishing that some of the others in the party were there to keep him company.