Far away he heard a series of little chirps, faint but unmistakable. He was alert in an instant. Yes, that was the snowbirds, and they were coming. He wondered if Fat heard them and was ready. Where was Fat, anyway? How strange he felt, now he was almost afraid, for he was sure something was watching him. He shaded his eyes and peered into the gloom, but could see nothing. Far away in the timber it seemed to him he heard brush snapping--still he knew there was nothing bigger than a skunk or a rabbit in the whole valley. Still--and his breath came shorter; had not a mountain lion been killed on Black Mountain just day before yesterday? His imagination suggested hungry kittens searching for a lost mother, and a tremor ran over his body, making his muscles quiver. Was that a snarl? A whine far off, yet near to him? The candle slipped from his shaking fingers and fell in the snow beside him. He made a grab for it, and caught it just before it went out. The sound was now clearer. Was that the crunch of feet upon the snow? Yes, he heard it plainly. A twig snapped somewhere back of the big rock, then another, then another. There was an answering of the whine. He felt for his pocket ax; but, alas! it was at the cabin--he had no weapon, not even a jack knife. Why had Ham taken the shovel with him? Pshaw! was it really a sound at all, or was he still in his baby days? No, he was no baby, but--there it was, a low growl, coming nearer and nearer. It flashed upon him in a second--the hunters had scared up the animal, and it was coming toward him--toward the light! He felt faint, then sick; but it was no time to be sick! He swallowed at the big lump in his throat and wondered if the animal really would attack him. He could plainly hear the crunching in the snow now, and he fancied he saw two green eyes staring at him from the shadows. Yes, and there were voices! He could hear them laughing. Suddenly a twig near him broke, and another and another. He cried out in terror, shrill agonized, cries for help. He dropped the candle in the snow. Just how he got out of the hole where his feet were buried he could not tell. He started to run, but his legs were still tied to the bag, and at the first step he fell headlong. He was crying now--great sobs shook his frame. He tore the bag free with a jerk and started off as fast as the soft snow would let him, shouting "Help!" at the top of his voice. He stumbled on through the snow, following the line of least resistance. Finally he emerged from a dark thicket just in time to see three men and a great dog come out of an opposite thicket. They laughed heartily as they turned upward on the trail. The dog's eyes were gleaming green in the half-light, and the one man carried a heavy rifle on his shoulder. The dog turned, sniffed, then whined, but made no attempt to leave his masters.