When the sky finally cleared and the moon came out, cold and brilliant, there was something uncanny and weird in its light lying upon earth’s white shroud rent here and there by long, dark shadows across the trail.  There was an indefinable mystery in the atmosphere.  Micmac John, accustomed as he was to the wilderness, felt an uneasiness in his soul, the reflex perhaps of the previous night’s awakening, that he could not quite throw off—­a sense of impending danger—­of a calamity about to happen.  The trees became mighty men ready to strike at him as he approached and behind every bush crouched a waiting enemy.  His guilty conscience was at work.  The little spirit that God had placed within his bosom, to tell him when he was doing wrong, was not quite dead.

He increased his speed as daylight approached travelling almost at a run.  Suddenly he stopped to listen.  From somewhere in the distance behind him a wolf cry broke the morning silence.  In a little while there were more wolf cries, and they were coming nearer and nearer.  The animals were doubtless following some quarry.  Was it Bob they were after?  A momentary qualm at the thought was quickly replaced by a feeling of satisfaction.  That, he tried to argue with himself, would cover every clue to what had happened and was what he had hoped for.  He hurried on.

All at once a spasm of fear brought him to a halt.  Could it be himself the wolves were trailing!  The old horror of the night came back with all its reality and force.  A clammy sweat broke out upon his body.  He looked wildly about him for a retreat, but there was none.  The wolves were gaining upon him rapidly and were very close now.  There was no longer any doubt that he was their quarry.  They were trailing him.  Micmac John was in a narrow, open marsh, and the wolves were already at the edge of the woods that skirted it a hundred yards behind.  A little distance ahead of him was a big boulder, and he ran for it.  At that moment the pack came into view.  He stopped and stood paralyzed until they were within thirty yards of him, then he turned mechanically, from force of habit, and fired at the leader, which fell.  This held them in check for an instant and roused him to action.  He grabbed an axe from the toboggan and had time to gain the rock and take a stand with his back against it.

As the animals rushed upon the half breed he swung the axe and split the head of one.  This temporarily repulsed them.  He held them at bay for a time, swinging his axe at every attempted approach.  They formed themselves into a half circle just beyond his reach, snapping and snarling at him and showing their ugly fangs.  Another big gray creature, bolder than the rest, made a rush, but the swinging axe split its head, just as it had the others.  They retreated a few paces, but they were not to be kept back for long.  Micmac John knew that his end had come.  His face was drawn and terrified, and in spite of the fearful cold and biting frost, perspiration stood out upon his forehead.