Rolf drew a blunt arrow to
the head and speedily had the pigeon in hand for some future meal.
As he prepared it, he noticed that its crop was crammed with the
winged seed of the slippery elm, so he put them all back again
into the body when it was cleaned, knowing well that they are a
delicious food and in this case would furnish a welcome variant
to the bird itself.
An hour crawled by. Rolf had to go out to the far fire, for it
was nearly dead. Instinctively he sought a stout stick to help
him; then remembered how Hoag had managed with one leg and two
crutches. "Ho!" he exclaimed. "That is the answer -- this is the
'way."'
Now his attention was fixed on all the possible crutches. The
trees seemed full of them, but all at impossible heights. It was
long before he found one that he could cut with his knife.
Certainly he was an hour working at it; then he heard a sound
that made his blood jump.
From far away in the north it came, faint but reaching;
"Ye-hoo-o."
Rolf dropped his knife and listened with the instinctively open
mouth that takes all pressure from the eardrums and makes them
keen.
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