It might have been a lost soul wailing, had it not been invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness.

The front man turned his head until his eyes met the eyes of the man behind.

And then, across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other.
A second cry arose, piercing the silence with needle-like shrillness.
Both men located the sound.

It was to the rear, somewhere in the snow expanse they had just traversed.

A third and answering cry arose, also to the rear and to the left of the second cry.
"They're after us, Bill," said the man at the front.
His voice sounded hoarse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent effort.
"Meat is scarce," answered his comrade.