“He has shortened the distance between us by ten yards,” she told herself.
She caught the gleam of his terrifying horns, heard his deep, guttural bellow; then, dragging her eyes away, she shouted bravely:
“Now! Dannie! Now! Ye! Ye! Ye! Now, Grover! Now, Ginger! Now! Now! Now! Ye! Ye! Ye!”
The splendid creatures responded to her call that was half plea, half command, by a fresh burst of speed. But was it enough? She dared not look back. They sped on across the white waste.
Moments passed, agonizing moments they were. Urging her dogs to their utmost, she still refrained from looking behind. If she looked her heart might fail her.
“The way out!” she repeated to herself over and over. “What can be the way out?”
What indeed? She might, if there was time, call upon her dogs to pause in their mad rush. They might face about and trust their fates to a battle. That these fine fellows would fight she did not question.
“But what chance?” Her voice was choked with a dry sob. “Hindered by the harness, they could never win.”
Dark to the left on the horizon a clump of tamarack showed.
“Too late! We’ll never make it. We—”