In the thick forest it was like the beginning of night. The deep
shadows and darkly growing caverns of gloom seemed to give birth to new
sounds. He heard the _whit_, _whit_, _whit_, of something close to him,
and the next moment a great snow owl flitted like a ghostly apparition
over his head; he heard the patter of snow as it fell from the bending
limbs; from out of a patch of darkness two trees, rubbing slightly
against each other, emitted a shivering wail that startled him--it had
seemed so like the cry of a child. He was straining his ears so tensely
to hear, and his eyes to see, that he forgot the soreness of his knees
and ankles. Now and then the dogs stopped while Mukoki and the Missioner
dragged a log or a bit of brushwood from their path. During one of these
intervals there came to them, from a great distance, a long, mournful
howl.
"A wolf!" said Father Roland, his face a gray shadow as he nodded at
David. "Listen!"
From behind them came another cry. It was Baree.
They went on, circling around the edge of a great windfall. A low wind
was beginning to move in the tops of the spruce and cedar, and soft
splashes of snow fell on their heads and shoulders, as if unseen and
playful hands were pelting them from above.
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