After it there fell a deeper silence than before, and the owl, like a noiseless snowflake, drifted out over the frozen lake.

After a few moments it came again, more faintly than before.

One versed in woodcraft would have slunk deeper into the rim of blackness, and listened, and wondered, and watched; for in the sound he would have recognized the wild, half-conquered note of a wounded beast's suffering and agony.
Slowly, with all the caution born of that day's experience, a huge bull moose walked out into the glow of the moon.

His magnificent head, drooping under the weight of massive antlers, was turned inquisitively across the lake to the north.

His nostrils were distended, his eyes glaring, and he left behind a trail of blood.