The Flying Horseman by Gustave Aimard

Although the Montonero had gained, thanks to the rapidity with which he travelled, the temperate climate of the Cordilleras, and already, felt, during the day, considerable heat, the nights were, nevertheless, cold and even frosty. The traveller was no further concerned about this fact, than to envelope himself carefully in his poncho, his blankets, and his pellones, before going to sleep. But, notwithstanding all these precautions, towards midnight the north wind became so sharp and the cold so piercing, that Don Zeno awoke, and after a desperate attempt to get to sleep again, was constrained to admit himself vanquished; he leaped up, half-frozen, from under his coverings, and proceeded to seat himself near the half-extinguished fire.

The night, illumined by the pale rays of the moon, was calm and beautiful; here and there the owlets flitted about, attracted by the hum of the horn beetles, on which they feed, and which fluttered round the fire; while the grey owls of the Pampa, gravely perched on the low branches of the trees, fixed, with a melancholy air, their round eyes on the encampment of the wanderer. In the distance, in the thickets, were heard the sad howlings of wolves, with which, at long intervals, was mingled a sonorous and piercing wail, immediately answered by another of the same kind in an opposite direction. When this sinister wail arose on the air, all the cries of the desert were immediately stilled, and a trembling agitated the thickets under the frightened steps of the escaping animals, for they recognised the formidable cry of the cougar. The tyrant of the Pampa was in quest of prey, and was hunting in company with his family.