One Eye caught sight of a dim movement of white in the midst of the white.

His sliding gait had been deceptively swift, but it was as nothing to the speed at which he now ran.

Before him was bounding the faint patch of white he had discovered.
They were running along a narrow alley flanked on either side by a growth of young spruce.

Through the trees the mouth of the alley could be seen, opening out on a moonlit glade.

Old One Eye was rapidly overhauling the fleeing shape of white.