We had just reached the edge of a pine-forest.  In woods of this description the snow never reaches the ground except in the open spaces between the trees, the dense foliage intercepting it in its fall.  This was a difficult part of our enterprise.  Sperver dismounted to see our way better, and placed me on his left so as not to be hindered by my shadow.

Here were large spaces covered with dead leaves and the needles and cones of the fir-trees, which retain no footprint.  It was, therefore, only in the open patches where the snow had fallen on the ground that Sperver found the track again.

It took us an hour to get through this thicket.  The old poacher bit his moustache with excitement and vexation, and his long nose visibly bent into a hook.  When I was only opening my mouth to speak, he would impatiently say—­

“Don’t speak—­it bothers me!”

At last we descended a valley to the left and Gideon pointing to the track of the she-wolf outside the edge of the brushwood, triumphantly remarked—­

“There is no feint in this sortie, for once.  We may follow this track confidently.”

“Why so?”

“Because the Pest has a habit every time she doubles of going three paces to the right; then she retraces her steps four, five, or six in the other direction, and jumps away into a clear place.  But when she thinks she has sufficiently disguised her trail she breaks out without troubling herself to make any feints.  There now!  What did I say?  Now she is burrowing beneath the brushwood like a wild boar, and it won’t be so difficult to follow her up.”

“Well, let us put the track between us and smoke a pipe.”

We halted, and the honest fellow, whose countenance was beginning to brighten up, looking up at me with enthusiasm, cried—­

“Fritz, if we have luck this will be one of the finest days in my life.  If we catch the old hag I will strap her across my horse behind me like a bundle of old rags.  There is only one thing troubles me.”

“And what is that?”

“That I forgot my bugle.  I should have liked to have sounded the return on getting near the castle!  Ha, ha, ha!”

He lighted his stump of a pipe and we galloped off again.

The track of the she-wolf now passed on to the heights of the forest by so steep an ascent that several times we had to dismount and lead our horses by the bridle.

“There she is, turning to the right,” said Sperver.  “In this direction the mountains are craggy; perhaps one of us will have to lead both horses while the other climbs to look after the trail.  But don’t you think the light is going?”

The landscape now was assuming an aspect of grandeur and magnificence.  Vast grey rocks, sparkling with long icicles, raised here and there their sharp peaks like breakers amidst a snowy sea.