feet he saw them distinctly--gray streaks scooting across the trodden
snow or resting on haunches, their shadows stretching before them.

"Great Scott!" he muttered, "must be hundreds of them! Oh well, they're
cowards!" He tilted the machine for the final glide. There came a sudden
exclamation from the Major, then from Bruce. They, too, had seen. It was
too late now, for their landing wheels were almost touching the surface
as they glided on. And now, strangely enough, some of the gray streaks
began to chase the plane. As if imagining it a bird with flesh to eat and
bones to gnaw, they came on. Then, all at once, Barney realized what they
followed--the scent of fresh meat. Timmie had killed a reindeer in honor
of their departure and had presented them with a hind-quarter. This was
now roped on the fuselage behind the Major. They would have a fight. He
knew that now. He thought of their weapons--two rifles. They were almost
useless against five hundred gaunt, hungry wolves. And they were gaunt;
he could see that as he flew by them. Evidently camp-following this year
had not given them an over-abundant supply of food. The season's calves
were fleet and strong by now, and every herd had its thousands of
antlered bulls that formed bristling hedges to defend their own.

Bump! The plane struck the ice and bounded, then struck again. Barney's
mind was now working fast. Yes, there were other weapons--the
oxy-acetylene torch--yes, the machine-gun. He shouted to Bruce to get
the torch, and, as soon as the plane slowed down, freed his hands from
his gloves and began fumbling at the gun before him. The Major was
unstrapping the two rifles. The wolf-pack was crowding around in a
grinning circle. Barney caught his breath as his eyes swept the circle.
Five hundred if one, dripping-jawed, red-eyed, gray creatures-of-prey,
they waited, as ever, for the coward's chance to fight with great odds in
their favor.