nd finally drew off to a neighbouring
knoll, as if to await the result of this unlooked-for interruption, and
return to business when it was past.

The intelligence of the lower animals is great--in some cases very
great--but it does not amount to reason. If it did, those wolves would
not have sat there, in the pride of physical strength and personal
freedom, calmly awaiting their doom, while Daniel and Peter Davidson,
Duncan McKay junior, Okematan the Cree Indian, another Indian named
Kateegoose, and Jacques Bourassin, a half-breed, came thundering down
towards them like infuriated centaurs.

At last they seemed to realise the truth that "discretion is the better
part of valour," and began to retire from the scene--slowly at first.

Vixen, recognising friends, trotted off with reviving strength, and a
high head and tail to meet them. Seeing this, Dan, who led the party,
drew rein so as to allow the steeds to recover breath before the final
burst.

The wolves, with that presumption which is usually found to be the
handmaid of ignorance, halted, and sat down again to watch the progress
of events. Fatal self-confidence! They little knew the deep duplicity
of man!

"O you stupid brutes!" murmured Dan to himself, advancing in a somewhat
sidling manner as if he meant to pass them. They evidently believed
this to be his intention until they saw the six horsemen turn their
steeds straight in their direction and charge them at full gallop with a
yell that drove rapid conviction to their brains.

Then, with tails between legs and ears flat they fled. But it was too
late. The horses scattered the soft snow with comparative ease. The
wolves plunged through it with difficulty. First to overtake them was
Peter Davidson. He put the muzzle of his gun to the side of the grey
lieutenant, and shot him through the heart. His brother Dan, selecting
another of the pack, pointed at the ear and blew out its brains.
Okematan, partial to the weapons of his forefathers, sent an arrow
through the ribs of a third, while Kateegoose transfixed a fourth.
Duncan McKay shot a fifth, and Bourassin knocked over a sixth at
comparatively long range, his horse being too poor or too tired to come
fairly up with the pack.

There was no wasting of powder, shot, or shaft in this affair. Each man
was an expert with his weapon, and cool as the proverbial cucumber,
though considerably excited. Loading as they ran, they fitted and shot
again,