He yelped sharply, and the wolves raced in until four of them were neck-and-neck with him.
A second flash--and the death-bee drove from breast to tail of a huge gray fighter close to Gray Wolf.

A third--a fourth--a fifth spurt of that fire from the black shadow, and Kazan himself felt a sudden swift passing of a red-hot thing along his shoulder, where the man's last bullet shaved off the hair and stung his flesh.
Three of the pack had gone down under the fire of the rifle, and half of the others were swinging to the right and the left.

But Kazan drove straight ahead.

Faithfully Gray Wolf followed him.
The sledge-dogs had been freed from their traces, and before he could reach the man, whom he saw with his rifle held like a club in his hands, Kazan was met by the fighting mass of them.

He fought like a fiend, and there was the strength and the fierceness of two mates in the mad gnashing of Gray Wolf's fangs.