Tonight he knew what it meant when he saw now and then gray shadows float silently out of the forest into the moonlight--the owls, monsters of the breed with which he had fought.

He heard the crackling of hoofed feet and the smashing of heavy bodies in the underbrush.

He heard again the mooing of the moose.
Voices came to him that he had not heard before--the sharp yap-yap-yap of a fox, the unearthly, laughing cry of a great Northern loon on a lake half a mile away, the scream of a lynx that came floating through miles of forest, the low, soft croaks of the nighthawks between himself and the stars.

He heard strange whisperings in the treetops--whisperings of the wind.

And once, in the heart of a dead stillness, a buck whistled shrilly close behind his rock--and at the wolf scent in the air shot away in a terror-stricken gray streak.
All these sounds held their new meaning for Baree.