There were no other preparations to make. He stuffed his flashlight into his pocket as an after thought, left the lamp burning as though he had just stepped out for a moment, and walked casually out of the cabin toward the wood pile. If Dawson were passing, it would be just as well that he did not see him walking down the trail. Once in the shadow of the woods he stopped and listened intently for some minutes. If there was any one else around he must have been doing the same thing for he could hear nothing. He circled around by the corral at the risk of a nicker from Jed and struck the trail once more well below the cabin. He walked carefully, avoiding the noisy gravel and arrived at the chute without accident.
Scott crawled into a little clump of aspens and settled down to wait. He had been doing so much of this hiding in the past few days that he began to feel like a sneak thief. It was a beautifully clear starlit night and cool as the nights in that high altitude always were. Scott missed the myriad night noises of the North, especially the incessant hum of the mosquitoes and other insects. Here there was not the buzz of a single wing. What few noises there were sounded strange to his Northern ear. The sharp yap of the coyote replaced the full throated bass of the timber wolf. He missed the weird cry of the loon and the sullen squawk of the blue heron. An almost imperceptible breeze set the aspen leaves to whispering softly.
Scott loved these night noises. Several nights at the cabin he had sat out in the open and listened to them a while before going to bed. Now they served to while away the time and break the monotony of his anxious vigil. He kept a sharp lookout on the junction of the trails and listened intently for he wanted to make certain whether Dawson had come by the cabin.
He was listening to the far away barking cry of a pack of coyotes on the trail of game, probably a rabbit. The sound rose and fell as the quarry led them up onto a ridge or down behind a hill, and almost died away altogether when the trail doubled back into some deep, spruce-filled cañon. He could almost see the chase and could tell whether they were gaining on their prey or losing ground. They were gaining now, gaining fast, probably with their victim in plain sight. The yaps were coming fast and furious and he expected them momentarily to break off with a snarl of triumph which he probably could not hear but would know was there.