At least, that is
the way it seemed to him. It was the voice of Hooty the Owl, and
Whitefoot knew that Hooty was sitting on the top of that very stub.
He was, so to speak, on the roof of Whitefoot's house.
Now in all the Green Forest there is no sound that strikes terror to
the hearts of the little people of feathers and fur equal to the
hunting call of Hooty the Owl. Hooty knows this. No one knows it
better than he does. That is why he uses it. He knows that many of
the little people are asleep, safely hidden away. He knows that it
would be quite useless for him to simply look for them. He would
starve before he could find a dinner in that way. But he knows that
any one wakened from sleep in great fright is sure to move, and if
they do this they are almost equally sure to make some little sound.
His ears are so wonderful that they can catch the faintest sound and
tell exactly where it comes from. So he uses that terrible hunting
cry to frighten the little people and make them move.
Now Whitefoot knew that he was safe. Hooty couldn't possibly get at
him, even should he find out that he was in there.
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