As he regained his feet after one of these interruptions, he made some
angry remark; but beyond this there was little said. It was a dreary
night to be on an uncanny errand, with a chill in the air that seemed to
freeze the heart. A fitful, spiteful wind drove the clouds like
frightened sheep, and strove to blow out the pale patient moon.
Sometimes it seemed almost to succeed; suddenly, when they most needed
light to guide their six-foot runners between the great boulders, the
light would go out like a torch in the water. The gusts lay in wait for
them at the corners, to leap out and lash their faces with a shriek that
chattered their teeth. The lulls between the gusts were even worse; it
seemed as though the whole world were holding its breath in dread. They
held theirs, darting uneasy glances at the glacier wall glittering far
ahead of them.

When a long, low wail smote their ears, their hearts leaped into their
throats. They were travelling along the edge of a black ravine. Halting,
they stood with suspended breath, staring down into the darkness.

The cry came again, yet more piercing; then suddenly it split into a
hissing sound like a kettle boiling over. Alwin broke into a nervous
laugh. "Cats!" he said.

But Sigurd stiffened as quickly as he had relaxed. "One of Skroppa's!
She swarms with them. See! Is not that a light down there?"

A sudden flicker there certainly was,--if it was not a ghost-fire. The
last cloud scurried from before the face of the long-suffering moon;
before the wind could bring up another fleecy flock, the pale light
crept down into the hollow and revealed the dark outline of a cabin