“Wolves!” said Gösta Berling.
They saw a long, gray line running by the fence. There were at least a dozen of them.
Anna was not afraid. The day had been richly blessed with adventure, and the night promised to be equally so. It was life,—to speed over the sparkling snow, defying wild beasts and men.
Gösta uttered an oath, leaned forward, and struck Don Juan a heavy blow with the whip.
“Are you afraid?” he asked. “They mean to cut us off there, where the road turns.”
Don Juan ran, racing with the wild beasts of the forest, and Tancred howled in rage and terror. They reached the turn of the road at the same time as the wolves, and Gösta drove back the foremost with the whip.
“Ah, Don Juan, my boy, how easily you could get away from twelve wolves, if you did not have us to drag.”
They tied the green plaid behind them. The wolves were afraid of it, and fell back for a while. But when they had overcome their fright, one of them ran, panting, with hanging tongue and open mouth up to the sledge. Then Gösta took Madame de Staël’s “Corinne” and threw it into his mouth.
Once more they had breathing-space for a time, while the brutes tore their booty to pieces, and then again they felt the dragging as the wolves seized the green plaid, and heard their panting breath. They knew that they should not pass any human dwelling before Berga, but worse than death it seemed to Gösta to see those he had deceived. But he knew that the horse would tire, and what should become of them then?
They saw the house at Berga at the edge of the forest. Candles burned in the windows. Gösta knew too well for whose sake.