e better to rescue than to kill."

This was so obvious a truism that his companions laughed, but Duncan had
uttered it almost as a soliloquy, for he was thinking at the moment of
poor Perrin, whose body had long since been brought to the Settlement
and buried. Indeed thoughts of the murdered man were seldom out of his
mind.

Meanwhile, far out on the lonesome and still snow-covered prairie the
steed which they were going to rescue stood on a low mound or undulation
of the plain surrounded by wolves. It was a pitiful sight to see the
noble mare, almost worn-out with watching and defending herself, while
the pack of those sneaking hounds of the wilderness sat or stood around
her licking their chops and patiently biding their time.

They formed a lean, gaunt, savage-looking crew, as they sat there,
calculating, apparently, how long their victim's strength would hold
out, and when it would be safe to make a united and cowardly rush.

One wolf, more gaunt and rugged and grey than the others, with black
lips and red tongue and bloodshot eyes, moved about the circle uneasily
as if trying to screw up its craven spirit to the sticking point. The
others evidently regarded this one as their leader, for they hung back
from him a little, and kept a watchful eye on his movements. So did
Vixen, the mare. She kept her tail always turned towards him, looking
savagely back at him with her great eyes glittering, her ears laid flat,
and her heels ready.

Poor Vixen! Elspie had given her the name when in a facetious frame of
mind, as being descriptive of the very opposite of her character, for
she was gentle as a lamb, tender in the mouth, playful in her moods, and
sensitive to a degree both in body and spirit. No curb was ever needed
to restrain Vixen, nor spur to urge her on. A chirp sent an electric
thrill through her handsome frame; a "Quiet, Vic!" sufficed to calm her
to absolute docility. Any child could have reined her in, and she went
with springy elasticity as though her limbs were made of vivified steel
and indiarubber. But she was getting old, and somehow the wolves seemed
to be aware of that melancholy fact. They would not have troubled her
in the heyday of her youth!

An impatient howl from one of the pack seemed to insinuate that the grey
old leader was a coward. So he was, but evidently he did not relish
being told so, for he uncovered his glittering fangs and made a sudden
dash at the mare.

With a whisk