The timber-line buck did not wait to listen. He began floundering and plunging across the open toward the woods where he knew the warm sun had not softened the snow so that it crusted. Here he could double and bound; his speed would save him from the gray ones. Lady Ebony snorted and whirled. She took one long leap, then halted and looked back, nickering loudly, warningly. Midnight stood looking at her. He was chewing a mouthful of grass he had pulled from under the snow. He swallowed the grass and thrust his head back into the hole. He had found a good mat of grass and meant to finish it. The howling pack did not disturb him greatly. He had never been attacked by wolves. All the wolves he had met had loped away when he ran toward them. Lady Ebony leaped back to his side and crowded against him. She whinnied excitedly and pawed the snow, then whirled and leaped a few yards toward the rocky point. Midnight pulled up a tasty mouthful of grass and munched at it, then dived down for more. Lady Ebony was frantic. She plunged at him and nipped his rump sharply. Midnight’s hips jerked and he lashed out with his hoofs, striking his mother a smashing blow. She had never bitten him so severely before and his temper flared. Lady Ebony charged at him again. She had to make him follow her. Up in the spruce the old lobo heard her whinny and the tone of his howls changed from hungry yelping to savage eagerness. Instantly his sons, leaping at his side, took up the cry. After many days of stark hunger the old one had led them to a kill. The gray killers burst out of the darkness under the spruce, running madly, their fangs gleaming, their red tongues lolling. They flashed into the gleaming moonlight like shadows. Midnight jerked up his head. He saw the glowing, yellow eyes of the killers, the white fangs, and the red tongues as the wolves leaped across the crusted snow. Fear gripped him, and with a wild squeal of fright he plunged away, breaking through the crust, floundering, stumbling. Lady Ebony did not rush after him. She knew they could not both escape the swift shadows so close upon them. With a toss of her flowing mane she plunged toward the pack. After charging a few yards she halted and her front hoofs rose. A defiant, screaming cry came from her chest. The wolves leaped in on her, dodging her flailing hoofs, their fangs reaching from every side. The old lobo leaped straight at her throat while his sons swarmed around her. One smashing hoof struck the lobo and sent him spinning across the glare of ice. But as she hurled the old one from her, two young wolves ripped her flanks while another tore a gash in her shoulder. They leaped and lashed and ripped, springing in, darting away.