She put him in the traces, and fastened about her slender waist the strap that Pierre had used.

Thus they struck out for the river, floundering knee-deep in the freshly fallen and drifted snow.

Half-way Joan stumbled in a drift and fell, her loose hair flying in a shimmering veil over the snow.

With a mighty pull Kazan was at her side, and his cold muzzle touched her face as she drew herself to her feet.

For a moment Joan took his shaggy head between her two hands.
"Wolf!" she moaned.