Even the bold scout shuddered as he saw that. He had seen its like more than once, yet it never failed to impress him with a sense of the awful ferocity of wolves when maddened in that way, and of his terrible peril. He knew that if his horse fell, or if either of the riders should be thrown to the ground, a horrible death could only result.
“Buffler,” said Pizen Jane at length, as he brought down another wolf, thus feeding it to its comrades, “I know this trail, havin’ been over it before, and you don’t know it; but there’s a ford right ahead, where the trail dips down and then crosses the river. If you can reach that ford, you can git in the water there and make a stand agin’ ’em wuth while. They’ll git us, otherwise.”
She did not emit that cackling laugh now; in fact, she had begun to appreciate her horrible danger, and was speculating as to its outcome.
“Thank Heaven for that!” said the scout. “Perhaps I can hold them off until the ford is reached.”
He had fired every cartridge out of his revolver, and now drew another.
“Can you reload this one?” he said, passing it back to her, with some cartridges.
“Yes,” she said; “and shoot it, too!”
She proceeded to show that she could, by bringing down a wolf that tried to leap upon the horse, close by her. The claws of the wolf struck through the thick hide of the horse just as she fired, and, contracting in a death clutch, they raked the skin open, so that blood flowed.
The horse gave a jump that came nigh hurling Pizen Jane to the ground; but she threw her arms round the scout and held on like grim death.
A dozen wolves had leaped on the one she shot, and were rending and devouring it; but others came on, more frantically determined than ever to pull down the horse, now, that they scented the hot blood which streamed from its flank.