Enough meat had been killed on the previous evening for three days'
rations for the troops, and there was therefore no loss of time
in preparing the meal. Wood, of course, was in abundance, and the
pots were soon hanging from thick poles placed above the fires.
The night was exceedingly cold, and the soldiers were grateful for
the shelter which the trees afforded from the piercing wind which
blew across the snow covered peaks of the higher range of mountains.

"What is that noise?" Malchus asked one of the officers as, after
the meal was finished and silence began to reign in the camp, a
deep sound was heard in the forest.

"That is the howling of a pack of wolves," the officer said. "They
are savage brutes, and when in company will not hesitate to
attack small parties of men. They abound in the mountains, and are
a scourge to the shepherds of the plains, especially in the cold
weather, when they descend and commit terrible damage among the
flocks."

"I thought I did not know the sound," Malchus said. "The nights
were noisy enough sometimes at the southern edge of the desert.
The packs of jackals, with their sharp yelping cry, abounded; then
there was the deeper note of the hyenas, and the barking cry of
troops of monkeys, and the thundering roar of the lions. They were
unpleasant enough, and at first used to keep one awake; but none
of them were so lugubrious as that mournful howl I hear now.
I suppose sometimes, when there is nothing else to do, we get up
hunting parties?"

"Yes," the officer replied; "it is the chief amusement of our garrisons