The snow deadened the sound of his horse's hoofs.

Branching into the road from the other side, he saw two men slinking along in the ditch, carrying a deer slung by its forelegs to a sapling.

He thought he recognized the cut of the two men, and he spurred his horse to overtake them.

The men were on the watch; they turned, saw the rider, who was evidently making for them, flung the animal into the ditch, and made for the shelter of the forest of Seillon.
"Hey, Michel!" cried Roland, more and more convinced that he had to do with his own gardener.
Michel stopped short; the other man kept on his way across the fields.
"Hey, Jacques!" shouted Roland.
The other man stopped.

If they were recognized, it was useless to fly; besides, there was nothing hostile in the call; the voice was friendly, rather than threatening.
"Bless me!" said Jacques, "it sounds like M.Roland." "I do believe it is he," said Michel.
And the two men, instead of continuing their flight, returned to the highroad.
Roland had not heard what the two poachers had said, but he had guessed.
"Hey, the deuce! of course it is I," he shouted.
A minute more and Michel and Jacques were beside him.