Twice a great snow owl fluttered over his head.

A third time it pounced down upon a white hare back in the shrub, and for an instant Philip thought the time had come.

The little white foxes, curious as children, startled him most.

Half a dozen times they sent through him the sharp thrill of anticipation, and twice they made him climb his tree.
After that hour the reaction came, and with the steadying of his nerves and the quieter pulse of his blood Philip began to ask himself if he was going to escape the ordeal which a short time before he had accepted as a certainty.

Was it possible that his shots had frightened Bram?
He could not believe that.