6 WHEN ‘WOLF!’ WAS CRIED. 
‘Wolves!’ and each grabbed a rifle on the 
word. 
Three long, low shadows were gliding swiftly 
along out there over the plain. A glance only 
they afforded, a guess, a suggestion, a hint, a 
tightening of the heart-strings at the instinc- 
tive knowledge of something sinister, and 
they were gone. 
The sleigh swept on, and the shadows— 
now that we are privileged to follow them— 
held their swift way—three lean, gaunt, 
slouching, adult Russian dog-wolves, loping 
in silence over that unutterable desolation, 
mile upon melancholy mile, the tireless, ter- 
rible wolf gallop. 
Their actions were purpose-fraught. They 
had ‘refused’ the sleigh. The shadow-hares 
delayed them not. 
Silent as gray ghosts, the three beasts slid 
on across the snow till they came to a pine- 
wood. Here, just inside, they checked. One 
sat down, dog-fashion, with lolling red tongue, 
gleaming fangs, pricked ears, and bright, alert 
eyes. 
Then in the treble silence there sounded, 
long-drawn and dismal beyond description, 
the single howl of 2 lone wolf hunting. It 
was the largest of the three who had spoken, 
and, as if the howl had summoned them— 
