they parted, got up, growled one final roll of fury at each other, fang
to fang, and, curling up, went to sleep. But it was nothing, only the
quite usual greeting between Gulo and his wife. They were a sweet
couple.

There appeared to be no movement, or any least sign of awakening, on
the part of either of the couple between that moment and sometime in
the afternoon, when, so far as one could see, Gulo suddenly rolled
straight from deep sleep out on to the snow, and away without a sound,
at his indescribable shamble and at top speed.

Mrs. Gulo executed precisely the same amazing maneuver, and at exactly
the same moment, as far as could be seen, on the other side, and
shuffled off into the forest. They gave no explanation for so doing.
They said never a word--nothing. One moment they were curled up,
asleep; the next they had gone, scampered, apparently into the land of
the spirits, and were no more. Nor did there seem to be any reason for
this extraordinary conduct except--except---- Well, it is true that a
willow-grouse, white as the snowy branch he sat upon, _did_ start
clucking somewhere in the dim tree regiments, a snipe did come
whistling sadly over the tree-tops, and a raven, jet against the white,
did flap up, barking sharply, above the pointed pine-tops; but that was
nothing--to us. To the wolverines it was everything, a whole wireless
message in the universal code of the wild, and they had read it _in
their sleep_. Through their slumbers it had spelt into their brains,
and instantly snapped into action that wonderful, faultless machinery
that moved them to speed as if automatically.

Then the chase began, grim, steady, relentless, dogged--the chase of
death, the battle of endurance.