Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 February 1875 — CHASED BY WOLYES. [ARTICLE]

CHASED BY WOLYES.

It was late in the afternoon. Having nothing else on hand wherewith to busy •ur attention, we were strolling about one of the smaller towns in Germany, in search of adventure or amusement, we did not care wnich. Our guide, or rather handy-fellow, as the Germans say, was the keeper of the inn—which, to tell the plain truth, was not much larger than himself —a goodnatured, genial old man, and very fond of relating stories. He had already during our two days’ stay in the place told a number of these stories; and we, his listeners, had about arrived at the conclusion that he had wholly exhausted his stock iu trade. In this opinion, howeve#, we were quite mistaken, as you, the reader, shall presently know. We had come to the town hall and were loitering in quest of a drink of water, when Herr Gabel, or Mr. Gabel, if you choose, nudging my elbow, said: “ Do you see that man walking up the street yonder?" “ Yes.” “ He is a Russian, and for many years lived in Livonia, a province which once belonged to Poland. You will find it latddbwnon a recent map in the province of Riga." - <- . “ Never mind —tell us the story.” “The man’s name is oholto, and I’ll repeat the story just as I’ve heard him tell it to us a hundred times.” My friend shook out the ashes from his long porcelain pipe, placed it away in his pocket, and began very nearly as follows: —i'/*: . One evening Sholto was returning from market, wbitber he went over a distance of twelve miles twice a week with his horse and sledge. The road which led to the house was a long, winding one, and on either side the snow lay fresh and deep. The road itself was, of course, snow-covered, —but the win? sweeping down from the valley had carried much of the snow away, so that it had the appearance of a path channeled through a heavy drift. Night was coming on, and Sholto knew full well that his homeward journey was not wholly a safe one. Although much fatigued he did not allow himself to sleep, but rather kept a close watch on all sides. His sole w'eapon of defense in case of danger was a hatchet, which he always carried with him whithersoever he went. The horse was making good speed, and the sledge was fast leaving distance behind it, when Sholto, looking back, saw two dark, hideous animals swiftly pursuing him. And soon one of them almost touched the sledge, and its hot, steaming breath rose up into Sholto’s face. Although the effort to slay the animal plight have been successful he chose not to attempt it. He knew that it was the horse that was wanted, and that everything depended on the latter’s courage and swiftness. If he could only keep the h’orse in the track and prevent it from bounding off into the snow-dTitt he was sure that he could ward oil’ all danger. So, in order to preserve the courage of his steed, Sholto leaned lorward and caressed him with word and haud. It was a terrible moment as Sholto kept his hand oh the horse and his eye on the ferocious wolves who were menacing his flight. The number of the latter had increased,, and one of them, younger, larger and longer-limbed than the others, managed to keep pace with the sledge. Sholto raised his hatchet to strike, but the wolf, dodging the blow, turned aside, maintained its footing, and ran alongside of the horse. The latter, espying,liis bloodthirsty pursuer groaned, in despair, and, as if impelled by sudden terror, gave a leap forward and outdistanced the wolf. By degrees the wolf fell back to the sledge. Sholto raised his hatchet again, but the animal dodged, stumbled, and was left some yards behind. Meanwhile the other wolves were giving hot chase. Sholto realized for the first time the awful predicament that he was in and prepared to defend himself With a life struggle if need be. He began to think of home and of the dear young wife who was there awaiting his return. A. thousand thoughts crept into his mind and poured over his brain with the scorching heat of a stream of lava. He could nq| say die! He could pot surrender without a contest his hopes, his life, \

his all. Something cheered him on and bade him be bold. While thus meditating an unlooked-for occurrence brought him to his senses. His horse, frightened by the sharp claws of one of the wolves, dashed forward in such a manner that the sledge became entangled in the stump of an old tree which loomed above the surface of the •now. A collapse was the result; the horse went tearing off at a furious speed and Sholto was left to the mercy of the wolves! In less than a second of time one of them was upon him. ,He felt a heavy claw tearing the front of Jds sheep-skin coat; he felt the blood'slowly oozing down from a fresh wound. Made desperate, but not in despair, he grappled with his assailant. During the encounter his weapon was jerked from him and he had now only a pair of strong' and sturdy hands as a means of defense. Whilst wrestling with the wolf his eye wandered off in the distance and in the thickening shadows of the night he descried the flickering flame of a candle which shone through his cottage window. He imagined, also, that he saw his wife tiering out at him and calling in a sad voice, “ Sholto, where are you?” As to himself it was a sorrowful moment. His strong hands played their part well and as soon as he had wrestled with and strangled one of his assailants he was forced to face another in a similar manner. He did not know how many wolves there were, and in truth he JiaffjiQt tlie time to count them. Only,

whilst defending hiimsetfagamst ms foes he thought of his poor horse and ♦wondered whether it had reached home safely or was now lying a victim to the thirsty demons. The snow beneath his feet was red with blood and the shifting scene in the pale moonlight was terrible to behold. In a luckless moment Sholto was overpowered and fell heavily to the ground. What would he not give to have his sharp hatchet in hand? The warm breath of the hungry assailants almost burned his face. Now he felt one of them tearing at his throat; a moment more and the game would be up! But no! God helps those who help themselves, and it matters but little what the nature of the struggle may be. On a sudden Sholto heard a loud noise—another, and then a new-comer, breathing hard and maddened with courage, rushed in upon the scene, and with flinty firmness fixed sharp teeth in the neck of the wolf that had overpowered Sholto. Yes, it was Arno, .the faithful dog, which, noticing the return of the horse without its master, and as if scenting the danger, had gone forth on a mission of rescue. Sholto, thus assisted, arose on his ieet, while the wolf and the dog were contending furiously for the mastery. Next Sholto saw something which lay glittering in the snow. He hurried toward it and recovered the weapon which had been wrested from him and again threw himself into the contest. Although his clothing was soaked in blood and his strength was quite exhausted he lacked not courage. With a sturdy blow be dispatched one wolf, whereupon a companion, mangled and bleeding, slyly betook himself off The largest and strongest was still grappling with Arno. It was no easy task to rid the noble dog of his antagonist. To be sure, Sholto continued to deal heavy blows over the wolf’s back and legs and thus managed to disable him by degrees. But the position of the dog—who lay directly under his antagonist—prevented Sholto from taking the aim that he would have liked. At length Arno was put to terrible agony and, stretching out his iegs and unloosing his hold, suffered his head to fall backward. The moment was ripe. The hatchet was raised, and, with all possible force, was buried deep in the* wolfs skull. Without a groan the animal rolled over in the snow. This was the last of the contest. The thought that he wag saved fairly overcame Sholto, and he was on the point of lying down to rest when the fate of his poor dog flashed into his mind. The moon had gone behind a cloud and darkness enshrouded the scene. Sholto grouped about and found Arno panting and gasping for breath. Perhaps he had received a mortal wound. But no, that was impossible, for a dog so true and noble could not die. He bent over him and raised his head. He caressed him tenderly and paused when a soft handrcstedoiiiiisshonldcr. A familiar voice sounded in his ear. Whose was it? Ah, Sholto could not mistake the voice of his wife so easily, for she it w'as who had braved the terrors of the night in search of him You know the rest. The candle guided them homeward, and there in that lowly cottage Sholto thanked God for his narrow escape and for having bestowed upon him a wife so brave and loving and a dog so noble and true. “A pretty good story, Herr Gabel, only a little fomantic.” “ Ah, sir, if you do not believe it go and ask t-holto. Even the dog Arno, whom you just saw lagging behind his master’s heels, will wag his tail in a rare fashion when questioned about the affair. ’ The event took place five j r ears since. After awhile Sholto wearied of living in a country exposed to so maoy dangers and moved himself and family’down here. Wc think, howevei, he will return to Livonia some day, for be doesn’t quite fancy our ways of living. Such is the story. And now, my friends, let’s go over to tne gulley yonder and I’ll tell you another.” — Geo. L. Austin, in Hearth, and Home.