The Last of the Plainsmen 



cold and the time must have been very late, for the 

 wind had died down, and I heard not a tinkle from 

 the hobbled horses. The absence of the cowbell 

 music gave me a sense of loneliness, for without it 

 the silence of the great forest was a thing to be felt. 



This oppressiveness, however, was broken by a 

 far-distant cry, unlike any sound I had ever heard. 

 Not sure of myself, I freed my ears from the 

 blanketed hood and listened. It came again, a wild 

 cry, that made me think first of a lost child, and then 

 of the mourning wolf of the north. It must have 

 been a long distance off in the forest. An interval 

 of some moments passed, then it pealed out again, 

 nearer this time, and so human that it startled me. 

 Moze raised his head and growled low in his throat, 

 and sniffed the keen air. 



&quot; Jones, Jones,&quot; I called, reaching over to touch 

 the old hunter. 



He awoke at once, with the clear-headedness of 

 the light sleeper. 



&quot; I heard the cry of some beast,&quot; I said, &quot; and it 

 was so weird, so strange. I want to know what it 

 was.&quot; 



Such a long silence ensued that I began to despair 

 of hearing the cry again, when, with a suddenness 

 which straightened the hair on my head, a wailing 

 shriek, exactly like a despairing woman might give 



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