The pony regarded them with indifference, but the colt shied and plunged.
"Whoa, Liz!" Liz was Ranald's contraction for Lizette, the name of the French horse-trainer and breeder, Jules La Rocque, gave to her mother, who in her day was queen of the ice at L'Original Christmas races.
"Be quate, Nigger, will you!" The dogs, who knew Ranald well, ceased their clamor, but not before the kitchen door opened and Don Cameron came out.
Don was about a year older than Ranald and was his friend and comrade.
"It's me, Don--and Mrs.Murray there." Don gazed speechless.
"And what--" he began.
"Father is not well.

He is hurted, and Mrs.Murray is going to see him, and we must go." Ranald hurried through his story, impatient to get on.
"But are you going up through the bush ?" asked Don.
"Yes, what else, Don ?" asked Mrs.Murray.

"It is a good road, isn't it ?" "Oh, yes, I suppose it is good enough," said Don, doubtfully, "but I heard--" "We will come out at our own clearing at the back, you know," Ranald hurried to say, giving Don a kick.

"Whist, man! She is set upon going." At that moment away off toward the swamp, which they were avoiding, the long, heart-chilling cry of a mother wolf quavered on the still night air.

In spite of herself, Mrs.Murray shivered, and the boys looked at each other.
"There is only one," said Ranald in a low voice to Don, but they both knew that where the she wolf is there is a pack not far off.