He moved noiselessly backward and disappeared. With him gone, Helen felt a palpitating of her heart and a prickling of her skin. “Oh, my! Nell! Look!” whispered Bo, in fright. “I know I saw something.” On top of the little ridge a round object moved slowly, getting farther out into the light. Helen watched with suspended breath. It moved out to be silhouetted against the sky--apparently a huge, round, bristling animal, frosty in color. One instant it seemed huge--the next small--then close at hand--and far away. It swerved to come directly toward them. Suddenly Helen realized that the beast was not a dozen yards distant. She was just beginning a new experience--a real and horrifying terror in which her blood curdled, her heart gave a tremendous leap and then stood still, and she wanted to fly, but was rooted to the spot--when Dale returned to her side. “That's a pesky porcupine,” he whispered. “Almost crawled over you. He sure would have stuck you full of quills.” Whereupon he threw a stick at the animal. It bounced straight up to turn round with startling quickness, and it gave forth a rattling sound; then it crawled out of sight. “Por--cu--pine!” whispered Bo, pantingly. “It might--as well--have been--an elephant!” Helen uttered a long, eloquent sigh. She would not have cared to describe her emotions at sight of a harmless hedgehog. “Listen!” warned Dale, very low. His big hand closed over Helen's gauntleted one. “There you have--the real cry of the wild.” Sharp and cold on the night air split the cry of a wolf, distant, yet wonderfully distinct. How wild and mournful and hungry! How marvelously pure! Helen shuddered through all her frame with the thrill of its music, the wild and unutterable and deep emotions it aroused. Again a sound of this forest had pierced beyond her life, back into the dim remote past from which she had come. The cry was not repeated. The coyotes were still. And silence fell, absolutely unbroken. Dale nudged Helen, and then reached over to give Bo a tap. He was peering keenly ahead and his strained intensity could be felt. Helen looked with all her might and she saw the shadowy gray forms of the coyotes skulk away, out of the moonlight into the gloom of the woods, where they disappeared. Not only Dale's intensity, but the very silence, the wildness of the moment and place, seemed fraught with wonderful potency. Bo must have felt it, too, for she was trembling all over, and holding tightly to Helen, and breathing quick and fast. “A-huh!” muttered Dale, under his breath. Helen caught the relief and certainty in his exclamation, and she divined, then, something of what the moment must have been to a hunter.