Stella wondered who he was. Evidently the mask concealed a horrible
mystery. Could he talk, and would not? Was that eerie, bubbling laugh of
his the only articulate sound he could make?
Stella wished she knew more about him, and that he would talk to her.
The night was growing on, but Stella did not feel like sleeping.
Occasionally Silver Face arose and replenished the fire with resinous
pine logs, and for a while the flames leaped high, filling the woods
with strange shadows and ghostly, wavering spots of light.
Then afar, it seemed, there sounded the night cries of wild animals,
timber wolves, those dreaded monsters of the lupus tribe, and
occasionally the scream of the cougar, like a woman in agony. Then,
close behind her shelter, there sounded a horrible, snarling shriek. It
was the night cry of a bobcat close at hand, attracted to the camp by
the scent of the meat which had been cooked for supper.
It was so near and clear that for a moment Stella's heart seemed to stop
beating altogether, and she felt as if she would suffocate, and buried
her face in her hands, expecting every moment to feel the claws of the
terrible animal sink into the flesh of her back.
But at the sound Silver Face leaped to his feet, and was coming swiftly
around the fire.
Through the silver mask his eyes were gleaming wickedly.
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