Down he plunged to join the first, and in that instant the pack swept up and over Miki, and he was smothered under the mass of their bodies.

Had two or three attacked him at once he would have died as quickly as the first two of his enemies had come to their end.

Numbers saved him in the first rush.
On the level of the plain he would have been torn into pieces like a bit of cloth, but on the space at the top of the KOPJE, no larger than the top of a table, he was lost for a few seconds under the snarling and rending horde of his enemies.

Fangs intended for him sank into other wolf-flesh; the madness of the pack became a blind rage, and the assault upon Miki turned into a slaughter of the wolves themselves.

On his back, held down by the weight of bodies, Miki drove his fangs again and again into flesh.