ashamed of himself.

"Is she not?"

Ranald glanced over his shoulder. Down the road, running with silent,
awful swiftness, he saw the long, low body of the leading wolf flashing
through the bars of moonlight across the road, and the pack following
hard.

"Let her go, Mrs. Murray," cried Ranald. "Whip her and never stop." But
there was no need; the pony was wild with fear, and was doing her best
running.

Ranald meantime was gradually holding in the colt, and the pony drew
away rapidly. But as rapidly the wolves were closing in behind him.
They were not more than a hundred yards away, and gaining every second.
Ranald, remembering the suspicious nature of the brutes, loosened his
coat and dropped it on the road; with a chorus of yelps they paused,
then threw themselves upon it, and in another minute took up the chase.

But now the clearing was in sight. The pony was far ahead, and Ranald
shook out his colt with a yell. He was none too soon, for the pursuing
pack, now uttering short, shrill yelps, were close at the colt's heels.
Lizette, fleet as the wind, could not shake them off. Closer and ever
closer they came, snapping and snarling. Ranald could see them over his
shoulder. A hundred yards more and he would reach his own back lane. The
leader of the pack seemed to feel that his chances were slipping swiftly
away. With a spurt he gained upon Lizette, reached the saddle-girths,
gathered himself in two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat.
Instinctively Ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his foot
free, caught the wolf under the jaw. The brute fell with a howl under
the colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe.

The savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down
their fierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' great
deerhound, Bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a
few minutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the dark
shadows. Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane,
checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear.

"I'll have some of your hides some day," he cried, shaking his fist
after them. He hated to be made to run.

He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something
tearing down the lane to meet him. The colt snorted, swerved, and then
dropping his ears, stood still. It was Bugle, and after him came Mrs.
Murray on the pony.

"Oh, Ranald!" she panted, "thank God y