Two of the men resumed their places. The third crept upon his hands and knees among the horses who, in their terror, were kicking and plunging violently, and throwing themselves against the carts by which they were surrounded. The next instant I saw the gleam of a knife blade, and the wolf let go the horse, which reared up on its hind-legs, the blood streaming from its throat. A dark mass was rolling and struggling on the ground. It was the man and the wolf.
At the end of a few seconds the man stood up. "David," said he to one of his comrades, "come and help me to carry away this carrion. The horses wont be quiet while it lies here."
They dragged the wolf towards George's waggon, and then raising it up from the ground, the old man took it by the hind-legs, as though it had been a hare, and threw it outside the line of carts.
"Well, Nicholas," said George to the successful combatant, "don't you take your place again."
"No," replied the other; "I have enough as it is."
"Are you wounded?" cried Louise, opening the door of the télègue.
"I believe I have killed my last wolf," answered the poor fellow in a faint voice.
I gave George my carbine, and hastened to the wounded man. A part of his jaw was torn away, and the blood flowed abundantly from a large wound in his neck. I for a moment feared that the carotid artery was opened, and scarcely knowing whether I did right or wrong, I seized a handful of snow and applied it to the wound. The sufferer uttered a cry and fainted away.
"O God!" cried Louise, "have mercy upon him!"
"To your posts," shouted George in a stentorian voice; "the wolves are upon us."