Then the silence was broken.

From out of the owl-infested pits came a strange and hollow sound.

Miki had heard the shrill screeching and the TU-WHO-O-O, TU-WHO-O-O, TU-WHO-O-O of the little owls, the trap-pirates, but never this voice of the strong-winged Jezebels and Frankensteins of the deeper forests--the real butchers of the night.

It was a hollow, throaty sound--more a moan than a cry; a moan so short and low that it seemed born of caution, or of fear that it would frighten possible prey.

For a few minutes pit after pit gave forth each its signal of life, and then there was a silence of voice, broken at intervals by the faint, crashing sweep of great wings in the spruce and balsam tops as the hunters launched themselves up and over them in the direction of the plain.
The going forth of the owls was only the beginning of the night carnival for Neewa and Miki.