The horse had been trotting along the trail, till it came to the place
where Gulo had looked back and heard the sneeze, and knew he was being
followed. Then it had started to gallop, and, with ears back and teeth
showing, had never ceased to gallop. This, apparently, was not the
first wolverine that horse had trailed. It seemed to have a personal
grudge against the whole fell clan of wolverine, and to be bent upon
trampling Gulo to death.

Gulo watched it for about one quarter of a second. Then he quitted,
and the speed he had put up previously was nothing to that which he
showed now--uselessly. And, far behind him, the man in the sleigh drew
out his rifle from under the fur rugs. He judged that the time had
about come. The end was very near.

But he judged wrong. Gulo made the wood at length. With eyes of dull
red, and breath coming in short, rending sobs, he got in among the
trees. He did it, though the feat seemed impossible, for the trees had
been so very far away. Got in among the trees--yes, but dead-beat,
and--to what end? To be "treed" ignominiously and calmly shot down,
picked off like a squirrel on a larch-pole. That was all. And that
was the orthodox end, the end the man took for granted.

In a few minutes the horse was in the forest too, was close behind
Gulo. In spite of the muffling effect of snow, his expectant ears
could hear the quadruple thud of the galloping hoofs, and--

Hup! Whuff! Biff-biff! Grrrrrr! Grr-ur-ururrh! Grrrr-urr!

It had all happened quick as a flash of light. A huge, furry, reeking
mass rising right in the wolverine's path from behind a tree, towering