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Before he had time to gather himself again the big yellow brindle, with the hound's blood showing in nose and ears, Old Wally's dog, leaped into sight. His whining trail-cry changed to a fierce growl as he sprang for the buck's nose. I had waited for just this moment in hiding, and jumped to meet it.
Presently, above the scrape of my snowshoes, I heard the deer coming, cr-r-runch! cr-r-runch! the heavy plunges growing shorter and fainter, while behind the sounds an eager, whining trail-cry grew into a fierce howl of canine exultation.
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