the snow.

A sense of pleasant relief overcame him, and he decided to rest there
for a few minutes. The snow was soft, and he had never before realized
how warm it was. His shoulders were propped against the roots of the
birch, and with a hazy consciousness that game might be expected, he
dragged his gun across his knees and cocked it. Then, with a
comfortable sense of duty done, he closed his eyes.

Curious and delightful fancies began at once to flood his brain,
fancies so vivid that he seemed not to lose consciousness at all. How
long he lay there he never knew. But he grew alive at last to a
vise-like pressure on his left arm that seemed to have lasted for
years, and which was growing to excruciating pain.

He opened his eyes with a great effort. There were savage, hairy faces
close to his own, pouring out clouds of steaming breath into the frosty
air. Something had him by the arm with such force that he almost felt
the bones cracking, and something was tugging at his leg.

The nervous shock aroused him as nothing else on earth could have done.
A tingle of horrified animation rushed through his body. He was on the
point of being torn to pieces by the wolf pack that had trailed him,
and the powerful stimulus of the new peril called out the last reserves
of strength.

He made a convulsive start. His frozen hand was on the trigger of the
shotgun, and both barrels went off. At the sudden flash and report the
half-dozen wolves bolted incontinently--all but one gray monster that
got the full force of the buckshot and dropped in its tracks.

Macgregor staggered to his feet, full of terrible cramps and pains in
every muscle. But his head had cleared somewhat. He saw the dry birch
tree and again tried to fumble for a match. Almost by sheer luck he
succeeded in striking it. The birch bark caught fire and flamed
crackling up the trunk. The dry trunk itself caught and burned like a
torch.

Macgregor rubbed his face and hands savagely with snow. They hurt
intensely, but he welcomed the pain, for it showed that they were not
frozen. He was beginning to feel a little more life when he heard the
creak and flap of snowshoes, and saw Fred and Maurice hurrying up the
river toward him.

"What's the matter?" they shouted, as soon as within hearing distance.
"We heard the shot. See any wolves?"

Mac tried to shout something in answer, but found that he could not
speak distinctly.

"I see you've bagged one,