from behind them the long, mournful hunting-cry of the wolf. He was on
their track. Immediately it was answered by a chorus of howls from
the bush on the swamp side, but still far away. There was no need of
command; the pony sprang forward with a snort and the colt followed, and
after a few minutes' running, passed her.

"Whow-oo-oo-oo-ow" rose the long cry of the pursuer, summoning help, and
drawing nearer.

"Wow-ee-wow," came the shorter, sharper answer from the swamp, but much
nearer than before and more in front. They were trying to head off their
prey.

Ranald tugged at his colt till he got him back with the pony.

"It is a good road," he said, quietly; "you can let the pony go. I will
follow you." He swung in behind the pony, who was now running for dear
life and snorting with terror at every jump.

"God preserve us!" said Ranald to himself. He had caught sight of a dark
form as it darted through the gleam of light in front.

"What did you say, Ranald?" The voice was quiet and clear.

"It is a great pony to run whatever," said Ranald, ashamed of himself.

"Is she not?"

Ranald glanced over his shoulder. Down the road, running with silent,
awful swiftness, he saw the long, low body of the leading wolf flashing