“No, it has broken off by rubbing against the edge of the carriage behind.”
The courier spoke to the driver, who now rose from his seat and lashed his horses furiously; but although three of the horses were still fresh, the fourth could not keep up with them, and there was every prospect of his being dragged down on his knees, as more than once he stumbled and nearly fell. In the meantime the wolves had left the piece of cloth behind them, and were coming up fast with the carriage.
“We must fire on them now, sir,” said the courier, going back to his seat, “or they will tear the flanks of the horses.”
McShane and Joey seized their guns, the headmost wolf was now nearly ahead of the carriage; Joey fired, and the animal rolled over in the snow.
“That’s a good shot, Joey; load again; here’s at another.”
McShane fired, and missed the animal, which rushed forward; the courier’s pistol, however, brought it down, just as he was springing on the hindmost horses.
O’Donahue, astonished at the firing, now lowered down the glass, and inquired the reason. McShane replied, that the wolves were on them, and that he’d better load his pistols in case they were required.
The wolves hung back a little upon the second one falling, but still continued the chase, although at a more respectable distance. The road was now on a descent, but the sick horse could hardly hold on his legs.
“A little half-hour more and we shall be in the town,” said the courier, climbing up to the coach-seat, and looking up the road they had passed; “but Saint Nicholas preserve us!” he exclaimed; and he turned round and spoke in hurried accents to the driver in the Russian language.
Again the driver lashed furiously, but in vain; the poor horse was dead-beat.