"I've got the stuff that beats blizzards!" He turned to his tea making, now pausing to examine the great black seam, and again going to the cave entrance to whistle for his dogs.
As he stood listening to the soft whishing roar of the storm, he thought he heard the deep bay of Queen's voice.

Holding his breath, he listened again.

In the pause of the storm he heard, and distinctly this time, that deep musical note.
"They're digging out a wolf," he said.

"They'll get tired and come back soon." He drank his tea, struggled down the steep slope, the descent made more difficult by the covering of soft snow upon it, and drew another pail of water for evening use.

Still the dogs did not appear.