noon
Again a gray wolf cantered on his trail , and the runner laughed , without a thought of fear . He seemed to know the creature better now ; knew it as a brother , for it gave no hostile sound , but only seemed to trot , trot , for the small joy of running with a runner , as a swallow or an antelope will skim along by a speeding train . For an hour or more it matched his pace , then left as though its pleasant stroll was done , and Rolf kept on and on and on . The spring sun soared on high , the day grew warm at noon . Schroon River just above the lake was in his path , and here he stopped to rest . Here , with the last of his oatcake and a little tea , he made his final meal ; thirty eight miles had he covered since he rose ; his clothes were torn , his moccasins worn , but his legs were strong , his purpose sure ; only twenty-two miles now , and his duty would be done ; his honours won . What should he do , push on at once ?