"You hear dat?" whispered Michel.
The hairy throat of Fleur, burrowed in the snow close to the tent, rumbled like distant thunder.
Marcel, already fast drifting into sleep, muttered crossly:
"Eet ees de Windigo come to eat you, Michel."
Again upon the hushed valley under star-encrusted heavens where the borealis flickered and pulsed and streamed in fantastic traceries of fire, broke a wailing sob.
With a cry Michel sat up turning a face gray with fear to the man beside him. Again Fleur growled, her lifted nose sniffing the freezing air, to send her awakened puppies into a chorus of snarls and yelps.
Raised on an elbow, Marcel sleepily asked:
"What de trouble, Michel? You and Fleur hear de Windigo?"
"Listen!" insisted the boy. "I nevaire hear dat soun' before."
Silencing the dog, Jean pushed back his hood to free his ears, smiling into the blanched face of the wild-eyed boy beside him.