It was to the death.

As they circled about, snarling, ears laid back, keenly watchful for the advantage, the scene came to Buck with a sense of familiarity.

He seemed to remember it all,--the white woods, and earth, and moonlight, and the thrill of battle.

Over the whiteness and silence brooded a ghostly calm.
There was not the faintest whisper of air--nothing moved, not a leaf quivered, the visible breaths of the dogs rising slowly and lingering in the frosty air.

They had made short work of the snowshoe rabbit, these dogs that were ill-tamed wolves; and they were now drawn up in an expectant circle.