Ted was in a pretty tight place, and he fully realized it.
The wolf was working hard to get at his windpipe, and the teeth were
getting closer and closer to the vital spot.
Ted's arm, where he tried in vain to get it between himself and the
wolf, was gashed in a dozen places, and the blood was all over him. His
clothes had long since been torn into shreds.
The wolf was getting tired also, as well it might, for, probably it had
been running all night, and had been long without food, so that it was
no discredit to its enormous strength that it was weak and weary.
But neither was Ted as strong as usual, for the ball which had creased
his rib had cost him lots of blood.
In the hearts of both of them, however, there was strength enough, and
it was that which kept them fighting long after both of them were tired
and winded.
The wolf knew, as well as did Ted, that if it ever got to his throat
there would be strength enough for it; the strength that comes from
blood.
Ted was wishing that some one would come.
He had heard a cry. Why didn't whoever had called out come at once?
He couldn't last more than a minute longer, and the strong, murky smell
of the beast was turning him faint, as the wolf seemed to be gaining in
strength and savagery.
Presently he knew the reason.
Pages:
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215