d passed. Save for an occasional halt to
rest his horse and refresh his body with food, nothing broke the
dullness of the journey. The wolves alone were silent, waiting for the
night. As the afternoon wore on Sigurd could see their gaunt forms
skulking among the trees, casting many a hungry sidelong glance that
way, and licking their cruel jaws as foretaste of the wished-for meal.

And now Sigurd needed to stop his ears closer than ever against the
voice which cried "Return!" and set his face still more steadfastly
towards Niflheim. For though his heart never faltered, his spirits
drooped as another night closed in, and weary and oppressed he pushed
onward.

The fairies no longer cheered him, nor could he smile again at the
antics of the dwarfs. The soft voice of one behind was all he heard,
and the music of its tones was sad. The voice before still cried
"Onward," but it mingled dismally with the storm overhead and the wild
and ever-increasing howling of the wolves. The horse, too, seemed to
share his master's trouble, for he stumbled forward spiritlessly,
hanging his head and trembling at each approaching howl.

Nearer and nearer those cruel voices closed in around him, not one but
half a score. Stealthily at first they dogged their prey. Then,
gaining boldness, advanced, and pressed more closely on the heels of the
horse. Sigurd, as he glanced quickly round, saw a score of cruel eyes
flash out in the darkness, and almost felt the hot breath in his face.

One bolder than the rest made an angry snap at the horse's heel. The
unhappy animal, who long ere this had lost his wonted nerve, made a
sudden bound forward, which almost unhorsed his rider. The sudden
movement was the signal for the pack to leap forward with wild yells,
and next moment Sigurd and his gallant horse were fighting for dear
life.

Desperately fought Sigurd, swinging his trusty axe right and left, and
carrying at each stroke death among his savage assailants.

At length the horse, beset on all sides, exhausted, wounded, dropped to
the ground, unable longer to hold out. With a cry of savage triumph the
wolves leapt upon him in a hideous, howling, struggling mass. Sigurd,
scarcely gaining his feet after the fall, started forward alone. For
the horse that was dead was more to the wolves than the hero who yet
lived. And over the carcass they jostled and fought, and screamed
ravenously, till nought remained to fight for.

Sigurd knew