"I think," said the brother, half beside himself, "that it may have
been a good thing, but--"

A peculiar cry behind them caused Monteith to turn his head. The
wolves had gained so fast during the last few minutes that one of them
was in the act of springing on Fred Whitney.

"Stoop, quick!" shouted his companion.

Fred bent low in the nick of time, and the gaunt, lank body shot over
his head, landing on the ice in front. Before he could gather himself
a bullet from the revolver was driven into his vitals and he rolled
over and over, snapping and yelping in his death-throes.

The skaters swerved aside enough to avoid him, and the next instant
were skimming over the ice at their utmost speed.

It was not a moment too soon, for the halt was well-nigh fatal; but
they could travel faster than the animals, and steadily drew away from
them until, ere long, they were safe, so far as those creatures were
concerned. They continued the pursuit, however, being a number of rods
to the rear and in plain sight of the fugitives, who looked back,
while speeding forward with undiminished swiftness.

But the couple could not continue their flight, knowing nothing of the
missing one. The wolves were between them and her, and Monteith Sterry
had fired the last shot in his revolver.

"How far back does that tributary reach?" he asked.