it, and that therefore he could
not run for ever. At last he approached the party, in search of which
he had originally set out. His eyes dilated and his colour heightened
as he beheld the wolf running directly towards him. Fumbling hastily
for the pistol which he had borrowed from his friend Harry, he drew it
from his pocket, and prepared to give the animal a shot in passing.
Just at that moment the wolf caught sight of this new enemy in advance,
and diverged suddenly to the left, plunging into a drift in his
confusion, and so enabling the senior clerk to overtake him, and send an
ounce of heavy shot into his side, which turned him over quite dead.
The shot, however, had a double effect. At that instant Charley swept
past; and his mettlesome steed swerved as it heard the loud report of
the gun, thereby almost unhorsing his rider, and causing him
unintentionally to discharge the conglomerate of bullets and swan-shot
into the flank of Peter Mactavish's horse--fortunately at a distance
which rendered the shot equivalent to a dozen very sharp and
particularly stinging blows. On receiving this unexpected salute, the
astonished charger reared convulsively, and fell back upon his rider,
who was thereby buried deep in the snow, not a vestige of him being
left, no more than if he had never existed at all. Indeed, for a moment
it seemed to be doubtful whether poor Peter _did_ exist or not, until a
sudden upheaving of the snow took place, and his dishevelled head
appeared, with the eyes and mouth wide open, bearing on them an
expression of mingled horror and amazement. Meanwhile the second shot
acted like a spur on the young horse, which flew past Mr Kennedy like a
whirlwind.

"Stop, you young scoundrel!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Charley as
he passed.

Charley was past stopping, either by inclination or ability. This
sudden and unexpected accumulation of disasters was too much for him.
As he passed his sire, with his brown curls streaming straight out
behind, and his eyes flashing with excitement, his teeth clinched, and
his horse tearing along more like an incarnate fiend than an animal, a
spirit of combined recklessness, consternation, indignation, and glee
took possession of him. He waved his whip wildly over his head, brought
it down with a stinging cut on the horse's neck, and uttered a shout of
defiance that threw completely into the shade the loudest war-whoop that
was ever uttered by the brazen lungs of