lers had already obtained from several of the other creatures
they had killed--that is to say, that they must be in the neighbourhood
of some timbered country.

Lucien had hardly finished his examination of the owl when he was called
upon to witness another incident of a still more exciting nature. A
hill, as already mentioned, or rather a ridge, rose up from the opposite
shore of the lake by which the camp was pitched. The declivity of this
hill fronted the lake, and sloped gradually back from the edge of the
water. Its whole face was smooth and treeless, covered with a layer of
pure snow. The camp commanded a full view of it up to its very crest.

As Lucien was sitting quietly by the fire a singular sound, or rather
continuation of sounds, fell upon his ear. It somewhat resembled the
baying of hounds at a distance; and at first he was inclined to believe
that it was Marengo on a view-hunt after the deer. On listening more
attentively, however, he observed that the sounds came from more than
one animal; and also, that they bore more resemblance to the howling of
wolves than the deep-toned bay of a bloodhound. This, in fact, it was;
for the next moment a caribou shot up over the crest of the hill, and
was seen stretching at full gallop down the smooth declivity in the
direction of the lake. Not twenty paces in its rear followed a string of
howling animals, evidently in pursuit of it. There were a dozen of them
in all, and they were running exactly like hounds upon the "view
holloa." Lucien saw at a glance they were wolves. Most of them were
dappled-grey and white, while some were of a pure white colour. Any one
of them was nearly as large as the caribou itself; for in these
parts--around Great Slave Lake--the wolf grows to his largest size.

The caribou gained upon them as it bounded down the slope of the hill.
It was evidently making for the lake, believing, no doubt, that the
black ice upon its surface was water, and that in that element it would
have the advantage of its pursuers, for the caribou is a splendid
swimmer. Nearly all deer when hunted take to the water--to throw off the
dogs, or escape from men--and to this habit the reindeer makes no
exception.

Down the hill swept the chase, Lucien having a full view both of
pursuers and pursued. The deer ran boldly. It seemed to have gathered
fresh confidence at sight of the lake, while the same object caused its
pursuers a feeling of disappointment. They knew they