well, as he hastened forward, axe in hand and sword in
belt--his spear had broken off short--that the respite was but short. A
few minutes and the pack would be once more on the trail, and then it
would be his turn. Yet he prayed his God to send him help and bring him
through the peril.

He hurried on, yet slowly, by reason of the tangled paths and dense
underwood of the forest, listening to the angry tumult behind and
wondering how long before the hue and cry began once more.

It was not long. Scarcely had he forced his way a half-mile when he
could hear the pack following. Onward they came at a rush with hideous
tumult, and Sigurd knew that the foremost would be upon him in a moment.
He strode on, casting a glance back at every step, and gripping fast
his trusty axe. Presently, just as he reached a small clearing among
the trees, the brushwood behind him crackled, and a pair of eyes gleamed
close at hand.

Then Sigurd turned, and putting his back against a broad tree, waited.

On they came, half sated, doubly savage with the taste of blood on their
jaws.

Desperately once more fought Sigurd, swinging his axe right and left and
dealing death at every blow, till he stood surrounded by a half-circle
of dead or dying wolves.

Sigurd fought till he could scarce stand or wield his axe. Many a cruel
wound weakened him, his eyes grew dim, his hand unsteady, his blows
uncertain. He could do no more. The axe fell from his grasp, and he
reeled back.

As he did so there rose, loud above the wind and above the howling of
the wolves, a cry which caused Sigurd to start once more to his feet,
and the wild beasts to pause midway in their mortal onslaught.

It was the deep-mouthed voice of a dog, and next moment a huge mastiff
dashed from out of the thicket and fastened on the throat of the
foremost wolf.

It was Sigurd's own watch-dog Thor, whom some dear hand had loosed from
his chain and sent forth into the forest to guard and maybe save his
master.

At the sight of the great champion, and at sound of his bark, the
cowardly wolves one by one slunk sullenly back into the woods, and
Sigurd felt that he was saved.

A joyous meeting was that between gallant master and gallant hound.

"Thor, my brave dog," cried Sigurd, "is it to thee, then, I owe my
life--my brother's life? Yet not to thee so much as to the fair lady
who sent thee, a messenger of love and life to me. Thanks, Thor, thanks
lady, thank most to God