Chapter IX
As the dawn broke over Smoky Land, the sheep fed farther and farther out from the camp,—a long, white column like a moving snow field against the deep dusk of the forest. The light grew, the last stars faded, the gloom of the underbrush evolved into distinct browns and greens; most of the beasts of prey returned to their lairs. Unlike Hugh they had no love for these daylight hours. Dawn meant the end of their reign.
For the night has always been the time of triumph to the hunting creatures. It is the hour of glory when fang and talon and strength and stealth come into their own. Now the deer had left their feeding ground and had gone into the heavy brush through which even a cougar could not creep without being heard. The birds had left their perches, the little underground people had retired to their burrows. In the nighttime the dim, sinuous movements of the hunters' bodies could hardly be distinguished from the wavering shadows, but the deer made no such mistake in the hours of daylight. Many of the flesh-eaters had not yet killed, and those that had been successful found no pleasure in leaving their warm,
