San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1888-10-05

is like nothing but itself; you cannot com
pare or contrast it with any other cry o
living things; gale Of wind in the rigging
Of big ship at sea is the nearest approach Il
it know. Thin, hollow walls of sound grow
and swell and burst into one demoniac how
that embodies in its volume every conceiv
able note of despair and eternal torture
Then the crescendo dies, sometimes as though
suddenly strangled, more often in long drawn
shrieks that fade upon the ear. There Il
music in their cadences at times; those that
| heard were fairly in tune-but such a tune,
such a droning, iendish, whirlng blast OF
melody it was. II the neither world has its
own music, that music should be the howl of
| hungry wolves-the frantic chorus whose
elimination is death to flying singers, or flee
ing audiences, or both.
So much for the wolves I know; so much
| for wolves whose hearts are broken and
whose sides have ached often enough under
the heavy whip Of their master So much
for tame wolves who do clumsy tricks and
have learned the beauty of obedience, for
getting, at the same time, the watchword Of
all wolves, that union is strength. Return
we to my pack, which is moving like one big
machine, and the component parts of which
are together giving tongue.
The snow, for them, is in perfect order; but
somebody ahead may perchance find his
horses crushing through the thin frozen sur
face at every stride The darkness suits the
hunters well, but somebody ahead may be
praying for that moonlight which at present
only shows silver fringes on a black cloud
To them their wolf music is the dinner
gong; but somebody ahead may hear nothing
more beautiful than his own passing bell in
the distant mutations, rising and falling and
coming over the snow.
Fortunately, thought and pen travel
quicker than even gray wolves; therefore
though not knowing with certainty whether
it can catch us again before the end Of the
story-we will leave the racing pack and
draw level with the sledge
Here it is, sure enough, blowing through
tie snow and spinning out those two parallel
lines as it goes. The stout horses are gal
looping steadily, and the solitary man sitting
behind them does not use whip or word
at present He must be some miles nearer
home ere the last struggle begins, and he not
only knows the road well, but can also guess
with tolerable accuracy at the distance which
still lends enchantment to the wolf music in
the darkness behind him. Physically Rollo
Svantsen is typical Norwegian-strong
and in the prime Of life. He has
been in passing peril from the wolves
before today, Tic rug now wrapped
about him. one corner of which flaps
and rustles il the snow, is made OF wolf
skins Tonight be appears anxious, how
ever. His horses are powerful, but not fleet.
and in his Judgment when the journey is
ended, there will be a very short quarter OF
mile between his siedgc and his pursuers- As
though to encourage him, the moon at last
rises free of the far stretching cloud that till
the present had hidden it. A clear white
light foods the darkness and the snowy plain
begins TO widen out upon every side as the
driver. rising in his seat, casts one searching
glance ahead, looks to the fastening Of big
leather b,>g which is tied to the floor of the
sledge, am Then gazes long and carefully
behind him. Yes, there they are, Just a little
dark shadow on the waste, a shadow which
enc less exper fenced r. ut have overlooked,
t1t . SHADOW thai - moving hardly less
Quickly than those cast by the rack of broken
clouds drifting across the moon
What Svantsen had seen in front of him
was black line on the horizon and tall
fngerpost, still far ahead, where two roads
met What he had not seen was figure on
foot, travelling towards that same black line
upon the .sorizon.
Ice pedestrian Is moving but slowly, and
bias very little more running left in him.
The snow retards every step and clogs and
humps upon the heels of his boots There is
no track to go by, but he keeps as straight as
he can for the tall finger post. To reach the
black line before those flying feet in the rear
have closed with him is, he knows, impossi
bic, and yet he staggers forward He cannot
help himself The instinct of self preserva
tion would make HIM struggle on, even
though safety were'a hundred miles distant
instead of scarce five. And on he will drag
his tired body till he drops, or till the wolves
pull him down
Then comes-think of 1.-THE sound OF
sledge bells in his ears, the one earthly mel
ody he knows in his present sore strait can
mean succor and salvation He heeds it not
at first The Norwegians are superstitious
folk, and our poor wretch thinks that the
night demons are abroad, dancing in the
drifting snow wreaths, laughing ut his agony
and tuning the distant bowling into the sound
of bells
Sledge bells do not always make music.
There is nothing to suggest pleasure and
| pLuines AID uUd4iEg Of i..oud equine heads
in the harsh Jingle that now rushes down
| uTOu tLesUaveirr. Sr,:.tseu's horses have
! lou;; sine caught IT, distant chorus and
Their ears are be -,uni&t to lie back and their
neclIs to stretch ou.. JauClc, jangle, jangle,
thud. thud, tiud, e. noOfs and bells. \ hot
steam streams away from the animals and