his fur coat, but let go
when he throws his cap at them. They pounce upon it and tear it in
pieces. This only whets their appetites. The poor man staggers on until
he can hardly put one foot before another, and is almost at his last
gasp. This is the moment, and the wolves throw themselves upon him from
all sides. He screams, and fights with his hands; he draws out his knife
and stabs into the pack in front of him, but a large wolf springs upon
him from behind and brings him to the ground. There he has at any rate
his back protected, but the eyes and teeth of the wolves gleam above him
in the darkness, and he stabs at them with his knife. They know that he
will tire of this game soon. Two wolves tear open his boots to get at
his feet. He cannot reach them with his knife, so he sits up, and at the
same moment the leader seizes him by the neck so that the blood spurts
out over the white snow. The wolves have now tasted blood and nothing
can restrain them. The man is beside himself and throws himself about
thrusting desperately with his knife. The wolves attack him from behind
and he falls again on his back. Now his knife moves more slowly. The
wolves yelp, bark and pant, and the froth hangs round their teeth. The
unfortunate man's eyes grow dim and he closes them, consciousness leaves
him and he drops the knife from his hand, and the largest wolf is about
to plunge his fangs into his throat. But suddenly the leader stops and
utters a short bark, which in wolf's language is equivalent to an oath,
for at the foot of an adjacent hill are seen two mounted Kirghizes, who
have come out to seek their comrade. The wolves disappear like magic.
The poor man lies quite motionless in his tattered furs, and the snow
around is stained red with blood. He is unconscious, but is still
breathing and his heart beats. His friends bind up his wounds with
their girdles and carry him on the back of a horse to the tent, where he
soon comes back to life beside the flames of the evening fire.

Of course the Kirghiz must hate wolves. But the animals are cunning and
seldom expose themselves to gunshot. Woe to the wolf that is wounded or
caught! He is not killed, but the most cruel tortures are devised for
him.

When heavy winter snow falls in the Alai valley, the wolves return to
the higher wilds of the Pamir where the snow lies less deep, and here
they chase the wild sheep, _Ovis Poli_, as it is named after its
discoverer, Marco Polo. It has large