heels--and then suddenly he plunged without warning into a hole.

It was a shock to have the earth go out from under his feet like that,
but Baree did not yelp. The wolf was dominant in him again. It urged
him to remain where he was, making no move, no sound--scarcely
breathing. The voices were over him; the strange feet almost stumbled
in the hole where he lay. Looking out of his dark hiding place, he
could see one of his enemies. It was Nepeese, the Willow. She was
standing so that a last glow of the day fell upon her face. Baree did
not take his eyes from her.

Above his pain there rose in him a strange and thrilling fascination.
The girl put her two hands to her mouth and in a voice that was soft
and plaintive and amazingly comforting to his terrified little heart,
cried:

"Uchimoo--Uchimoo--Uchimoo!"

And then he heard another voice; and this voice, too, was far less
terrible than many sounds he had listened to in the forests.

"We cannot find him, Nepeese," the voice was saying. "He has crawled
off to die. It is too bad. Come."

Where Baree had stood in the edge of the open Pierrot paused and
pointed to a birch sapling that had been cut clean off by the Willow's
bullet. Nepeese understood. The sapling, no larger than her thumb, had
turned her shot a trifle and had saved Baree from instant death. She
turned again, and called: