“Yes,” said Boone, “for the others cannot approach near enough to do much injury without exposing themselves to great peril.” “But how can you ascertain that they will cut a passage under the snow, and the precise direction in which they will come?” “Because,” said Boone, “we are situated near the cliff on the east, to the summit of which they can climb, without being exposed to our fire, and thence it is likewise the shortest distance they can find to cut a passage to us under the snow. Mark Ringwood!” he continued, as the hound having made a semicircle from the point first noticed, became at length stationary, and crouching down on the earth, (where the snow had been cleared away at Boone’s post,) growled more angrily than before, but so low he could not have been heard twenty paces distant. “This is strange—very strange,” said Glenn. A sound resembling the cry of an owl was heard in the direction of the cliff. It was answered on the west apparently by the shrill howl of a wolf. “The signal!” said Boone. “Now let us be on the alert,” he continued, “and I think we will surprise _them_, both on and under the snow. Let no one fire without first consulting me, even should they venture within the range of your guns.” The party resumed their respective stations, and once more not a sound of any description was heard for a considerable length of time. Roughgrove was at the side of Boone, and the other three men were posted as before described. The hounds had been sent back to their lair in the stable. Not a motion, animate or inanimate, save the occasional shooting of the stars in the begemmed firmament, could be observed.