“A stern chase is proverbially a long one. If no accident happened to sledge or horses we felt certain that the wolves which followed could not overtake us.
“As we approached home our horses gave signs of lagging, and the pursuing wolves came nearer. One huge beast sprang at the sledge and actually fastened his fore paws upon it. I struck him over the head with my gun and he released his hold. A moment later I heard the barking of our dogs at the house, and as the gleam of the lantern caught my eye I fell unconscious to the bottom of the sledge. I woke an hour later and saw Kanchin pacing the floor in silence. Repeatedly I spoke to him but he answered only in monosyllables.
“The next day, a party of peasants went to look for the remains of poor Ivan. A few shreds of clothing, and the cross he wore about his neck, were all the vestiges that could be found. For three weeks I lay ill with a fever and returned to St. Petersburg immediately on my recovery. Kanchin has lived in seclusion ever since, and both of us were gray-haired within six months.”
Before the construction of the railway between Moscow and Nijne Novgorod there were forest guards at regular intervals to protect the road from bears and wolves. The men lived in huts placed upon scaffoldings fifteen or twenty feet high. This arrangement served a double purpose; the guards could see farther than on the ground and they were safe from nocturnal attacks of their four-footed enemies.
One evening at a dinner party, I heard several anecdotes about wolves, of which I preserve two.
“I was once,” said a gentleman, “pursued by ten or twelve wolves. One horse fell and we had just time to cut the traces of the other, overturn our sleigh and get under as in a cage, before the wolves overtook us. We thought the free horse would run to the village and the people would come to rescue us. What was our surprise to see him charge upon the wolves, kill two with his hoofs and drive away the rest. When the other horse recovered we harnessed our team and drove home.”
“And I,” said another, “was once attacked when on foot. I wore a new pelisse of sheep-skin and a pair of reindeer-skin boots. Wolves are fond of deer and sheep, and they eat skin and all when they have a chance. The brutes stripped off my pelisse and boots without harming my skin. Just as I was preparing to give them my woolen trousers, some peasants came to my relief.” Although I feared my auditors would be incredulous, I told the story of David Crockett when treed by a hundred or more prairie wolves. “I shot away all my ammunition, and threw away my gun and knife among them, but it was no use. Finally, I thought I would try the effect of music and began to sing ‘Old Hundred.’ Before I finished the first verse every wolf put his fore paws to his ears and galloped off.”
My story did not produce the same results upon my audience, but almost as marked a one, for all appreciated its humor, and before I had fairly finished a burst of laughter resounded through the room, and it was unanimously voted that Americans could excel in all things, not excepting Wolf Stories.
