--me and old Pierre Lacroix, the Frenchman who taught me how to
train them little customers.' Jerry pointed with his pipe to the
infant finches under his handkerchief. 'Old Pierre was too rheumatic,
they soon found out, to be any use, in spite of his long head, which
was as full of wisdom as an egg's full of meat. None but sound,
able-bodied men will do for that work, I tell you. He was a queer old
fish, Pierre was. Poor chap, he was a Roming, you know; but for all
that he was, in his mistaken way, a pious, God-fearing man. It was
kind o' queer to see him, when we two were on our way back through all
them ice-plains; if we so much as heard the howl of a hungry wolf,
Pierre would pull out his beads and rattle off a prayer. But I didn't
so much wonder at his fright, for the cries of them wolves certainly
did freeze one's marrow through and through. And we once came to
pretty close quarters with the brutes. It was one night, a starless,
cloudy night, with a storm brewing, and we heard behind us a faint
sound that struck us dumb with horror. The wolves had scented us from
afar, and were giving chase. We took to our heels, as the sayin' is;
but you don't make much way on that there ground. The awful baying
voices gained on us, minute by minute. On, on, we breathlessly fought
our way, desperate to escape. At last, so close was the pack behind
us, that I could count 'em, half a dozen or so, and by the light of the
torches we carried I could plainly see their red tongues lolling out of
their hungry jaws. So did Pierre, and out came his beads. But reely,
boys, there are more wonderful escapes in real life than ever folks
read of in books. Now, what do you suppose saved us that night? Under
Providence, of course, I means. We might have turned at bay and shot
one or two, and there was a knife apiece. But we should have been
doomed men had we done so. However, help was close, just as hope was
dying out in our hearts. Running for our lives we had reached the
land,--before that, you understand, we'd been traversing an
ice-floe,--we knew 'twas land by the low bank sheering down. As we set
foot on it a mighty roaring crack sounded, breaking up into a thousand
echoes in the white silence. It was the ice parting from the shore,
through the wind-storm that had risen. Between us and our savage
hunters the cold black waves boiled up instantly, released from their
prison, and the baffled wolves howled furiously at the