getting the worst of it so far. Old Buckskin is a warrior. He is knocking and kicking them right and left. I believe he will whip them all . . . He can outrun the wolves in the deep snow. It only comes to his knees, while it is side deep to them. . . . He is coming down hill. Now, look! Look!..."
"How do you expect me to look at him two miles off while you have the glass," said Guy.
"That's so. Here it is. . . . Take it. See how he is doing on the flat."
"Bounding like an antelope," said Guy. "The wolves are away behind. ..."
Buckskin made straight for the ferry. . . . the wolves . . . arrived a few moments later.
The beleaguered horse neighed loudly to the ferrymen, who now realized they were powerless to help him in this, his hour of sorest need. The river was frozen over, except a channel of about 100 feet in the center. The skiff had accidentally become loosened from the bank and floated off some time before the freeze came, and the ferryboat was frozen fast in the bank. The river was too wide for the range of a rifle at this place. Buckskin might have brought his enemies within range by coming out on the ice near the channel, but he was afraid to do this, probably knowing if he should fall, he would be at their mercy. It looked as if, however much sympathy was felt for him, he would have to fight the unequal battle alone. Neighing frequently for help, he selected his position near the bank of the river and waited the attack. It was sharp and furious. The wolves were hungry and determined to waste as little time in combat as Possible. Two sprang at his throat, and two tried to reach his haunches. Neither was successful. With his ears laid flat on his neck, his eyes flashing, and with his teeth bared and gleaming white as snow, he struck down those in front; and before the two behind could fasten on him, they were sent, by two well-directed licks rolling in the snow. So completely were they cowed they did not dare to attack again, but after
