All of a sudden one of the horses dropped down dead as a doornail.

There we were--cold night--snow four feet thick--great forest--one horse not being able to move the sledge--night coming on--wolves.
"'Spree!' says the Duke of Wellington's nephew.
"'Spree, do you call it?
says I.'Look out.' "There, sticking out under a bush, was nothing less than the nose of a bear.

The Duke of Wellington's nephew was up a tree like a shot; I stood quietly on the ground, as cool as I am at this moment, loaded my gun, and climbed up the tree.

There was only one bough.
"'Bon,' said the Duke of Wellington's nephew, 'you'd better sit in front.' "'All right,' said I; 'but keep your gun ready.

There are more coming.' He'd got his face buried in my back.
"'How many are there ?' said he.
"'Four,' said I.
"'How many are there now ?' said he.
"'Eight,' said I.
"'How many are there now ?' said he.
"'Ten,' said I.
"'Ten! ten!' said he; and down goes his gun.
"'Wallie,' I said, 'what have you done?
We're dead men now.' "'Bon, my old fellow,' said he, 'I couldn't help it; my hands trembled so!' "'Wall,' I said, turning round and seizing his hand, 'Wallie, my dear lad, good-bye.