But only one of them was worthy of a second look--a great, gray brute
much larger than his mates and twice as courageous.
Ted thought it strange that the wolf king was not doing as the others
did; that is, running up behind their victim and making a slash at his
legs with their razorlike fangs, then retreating with a whining howl
when they felt the heels of the poor brute they were tormenting.
No, the big wolf was leaping high into the air from the side, evidently
trying to reach something that was fastened to the pony's back--for now
Ted was able to distinguish what it was.
It was a bay pony, rather small, and almost all in with fatigue.
Something baggy was tied to its back, which resembled a bundle of old
clothes.
Once, as he watched, Ted saw the pony go to its knees, actually tired
out and weak.
But it was up again, and struggling bravely on again.
"Plucky little beggar," muttered Ted, in admiration. "Wish I had taken
my first hunch and ridden out to help it. By Jove, it's not too late
yet!"
Without going into the house Ted jumped to the ground and ran out to
meet the pony and its enemies.
It did not occur to him that he was not armed until he was halfway to
them. Then he felt in his pocket and found his big-bladed knife.
Taking this out, he sprang open the big blade and carried it loosely.
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