“A succession of fitful though not violent gusts confronted us through our whole course up this defile. The air was white with fine snow, and we made but meagre headway.
“It must have been about half a mile that we had covered since seeing the apparition, when we were startled by a sharp report just ahead of us; and instantly our dogs stopped short and fell into wild confusion.
“Springing to their heads, I found the great black-and-white leader in his death-struggle, bleeding upon the snow.
“‘Cut the traces!’ cried Mike.
“And though not comprehending his purpose, I stooped to do so.
“It was well for me I obeyed. As I stooped, a shot snapped behind us, and the shrill whimper of a bullet sang past my ear.
“At the same moment, the gust subsiding, I saw our first assailant step boldly out of cover just ahead of us, and raise his gun to shoulder for a second shot.
“But I had severed the traces; there was a sort of fierce hiss from Mike’s tongue, and with a yell, the whole team sprang forward to avenge their leader.
“The ruffian, realizing at once his peril, discharged his gun wildly, threw it down, and fled for his life.
“But he was too late! In briefer space, I think, than it takes to tell it, the pack was upon him. He was literally torn to pieces.