Fate had played a trump card into his hand.

From the first he had figured that strategy would have much to do in the taking of Bram, who would be practically unassailable when surrounded by the savage horde which, at a word from him, had proved themselves ready to tear his enemies into pieces.

Now, with the wolves gorging themselves, his plan was to cut Bram off and make him, a prisoner.
From his knees he rose slowly to his feet, still hidden in the shadow of the spruce.

His rifle he discarded.

In his un-mittened hand he held his revolver.