She saw the white wolf leap, beheld his wrenching side-stroke at the terrified horse’s throat, heard the horse scream, and watched it bound forward.  Followed another leap of the relentless giant white shape; the horse seemed to stumble in full gallop, and next instant came down headlong.  The rest was a whirl of snow, flying hoofs, and a horrible worrying sound.  Then all settled down, and as she tore up she found the white wolf feeding ravenously against time, bolting his meal as only the wild members of the dog tribe, hyenas, and vultures can.  She was starving, that she-wolf, but she halted upon her hams, such was the reputation of the white leader; but when he failed to snarl at her, she, too, fell to, and bolted her meal like a crazy thing.

Directly he had fed enough the white wolf flung round upon his heels, and, with a single quick whimper, was gone, streaking over the plain away from the hunters, away from the scattered, discomfited pack; away, away, as he had never galloped before.  But, then, before he had always been the hunter.  This time, if he knew anything of “Pack Law” and the temper of the pack over this bad defeat and heavy loss, coming on top of the bad bear “break”—­this time, I say, it was he who was, or, at any rate, might be, the hunted.  And he had reasons—­very sound and private reasons—­why he must not meet even one wolf of the pack in combat.  Wherefore he streaked, stretched flat, and doubled into a bow, his shadow chasing him, and the she-wolf—­afraid to be left alone—­chasing his shadow.

Very often before the white wolf had caused the pack to run into dangerous and decimating trouble, but always with a feed at the end.  He had never before sold them a pup, as the saying is, like this one.  Moreover, he felt that his slaying of the horse secretly—­and they were bound to scent out and read that—­would not improve matters.  Wherefore he guessed that, after years of restless rule, it was about time to quit, and he quitted.  But unfortunately there is only one thing harder than becoming leader of a big wolf-pack, and that is, ceasing to be leader and—­live.

Five miles over the desolate waste of white—­and what is five miles, or ten, or fifteen, to a desperate wolf?—­the two beasts ran into a river—­literally into a river.  Ice stretched far out from the bank, yet the river was so wide that they could scarce see the opposite bank.  They could see the grinding, growling ice-blocks floating all round them which they plunged in, however, and they could feel the icy bite of the water—­water that would stop the action of a man’s heart.

But the white wolf did not attempt to swim to the opposite bank, or mean to.  He made a detour, and landed upon the same side he had started from.  He did that three times, the she-wolf always following faithfully, because she had now become too frightened to stay alone and do anything else; and then he started upon another mad gallop of miles, but this time along the bank of the great river.