night. There is a numerous herd of them and they are quarrelling together over every morsel of the spoil; for there is not sufficient to satisfy the whole. Several of them have turned away with their hunger sharpened, and approach the hunter, while their companions are battling for the horse's bones. Meanwhile he has started up, seized his double-barrelled rifle—the only weapon, beside his lasso, which he has brought with him—determining to hold out as long as possible, and to sell his life as dearly as he can.
The wolves now surround him as he stands; but hesitate in advancing to the attack. This race of wolves are in the habit of retreating from the presence of man, unless in extreme want; but now it is night; they are in great numbers; their appetite has been stimulated by the taste of blood; there is but one man—and they come nearer. So closely they approach at last, that he can perceive the starlight reflected brightly, though in a warmer tint, on their eyeballs; while the vapour of their breath envelopes him. Animated by a sudden and almost despairing impulse, he levels his piece at the nearest group, and fires. One of the wolves lies dead, another is
