The moon shone through the opening at the mouth of the creek by
which I had entered the forest; and, considering this the best
way of escape, I darted toward it like an arrow. It was hardly a
hundred yards distant, and the swallow could scarcely have
excelled me in flight; yet, as I turned my eyes to the shore, I
could see several dark objects dashing through the brushwood at a
pace nearly double in speed to my own. By their great speed, and
the short yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once that
these were the much-dreaded gray wolves.

The bushes that skirted the shore now seemed to rush past with
the velocity of lightning, as I dashed on in my flight to pass
the narrow opening. The outlet was nearly gained; a few seconds
more, and I would be comparatively safe. But in a moment my
pursuers appeared on the bank above me, which here rose to the
height of ten or twelve feet. There was no time for thought; I
bent my head, and dashed wildly forward. The wolves sprang, but,
miscalculating my speed, they fell behind, as I glided out upon
the river!

I turned toward home. The light flakes of snow spun from the iron
of my skates, and I was some distance from my pursuers, when
their fierce howl told me they were still in hot pursuit. I did
not look back; I did not feel afraid, or sorry, or glad; one
thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my return, and of
their tears if they never should see me,--and then all the
energies of body and mind were exerted for escape.

I was perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days that I had