Get up from here!Willock commanded himself.He obeyed rather stiffly,but when he was on his feet,ax in hand,he made the trip to the wagon nimbly enough.As he drew near,he saw gray shadows slipping away--they were wolves.He shouted at them disdainfully,and without pause began removing the canvas from over the wagon.When that was done,his terrific blows resolved the wagon-bed to separated boards,somewhat splintered hut practically intact.By means of the wrench he removed the wheels and separated the parts of the wagon-frame.Always,when he had obtained enough for a load,he made that toilsome journey to his retreat.He took the four wheels at one time,rolling them one by one,lifting them singly from ledge to ledge.
The last of his work was made easier because the darkness had begun to lift.Suddenly a glow appeared at the rim of the world,to he followed,as it seemed,almost immediately by the dazzling edge of an immense silver shield.The moon rolled over the desert waste and rested like a solid wheel of fire on the sand.Instantly for miles and miles there was not a shadow on the earth.The level shafts of light bathed with grotesque luminous distinction the countless prairie-dogs which,squatting before the mouths of their retreats,barked at the quick betrayal.Coyotes,as if taken by surprise,swung swiftly toward remote mountain fastnesses,their backs to the light.