and was, in Russian
fashion as I think, confessing his sins over it; while his sister sat
silent and motionless by the fire, with livid face and clasped hands.
It was burning low, but I saw the woodman's face darken. He stepped to
the corner and took down his gun, as I believed, to take the last shot
at the wolves; but Count Theodore was in his way. He levelled it for
an instant at the prostrate man, and before I could speak or
interpose, the report, followed by a faint shrill shriek from the
Russian, rang through the hut. We rushed to him, but the count was
dead. A bullet had gone right through the heart.

'My gun has shot the count, and the wolves will leave us now,' said
Wenzel coolly. 'I heard him say in his prayers that a Finn, now in the
Siberian mines, had vowed to send them on him and his company wherever
he went.'

As the woodman spoke, he handed to Count Emerich, with a hoarse
whisper, a bloody pocket-book, taken from the dead body, and turning
to Juana, said something loud and threatening to her in the Russian
tongue; at which the lady only bowed her head, seeming of all in the
hut to be the least surprised or concerned at the death of her
brother. As for us, the complicated horrors of the night had left us
stunned and stupified till the rapid diminution of the wolfish din,
the sounds of shots and voices, and the glare of flambeaux lighting up
the forest, brought most of us to the window. The wolves were scouring
away in all directions, there was a grayness in the eastern sky, for
Christmas-day was breaking; and from all sides the count and my
uncle's tenantry, with skates and sledges, guns and torches, were
pouring to the rescue as we shouted to them from the cottage.

They had searched for us almost since midnight, fearing that something
terrible had detained Father Cassimer and his company from mass. There
were wonderfully few wolves shot in the retreat, and we all went home
to Count Emerich's house, but not in triumph, for with us went the
body of the Russian, of w

William Babington Maxwell (18661938) was a British novelist. He was a son of novelist Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Though nearly 50 years old at the outbreak of the First World War, he was accepted as a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers and served in France until 1917.

Cyrus Townsend Brady (December 20, 1861 January 24, 1920) was a journalist, historian and adventure writer. His most well-known work is Indian Fights and Fighters. He was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1883. He was also a deacon in the Episcopal church. His first wife was Clarissa Guthrie, who died in 1890. His second wife was Mary Barrett.

Rebecca Sophia Clarke (1833-1906), also known as Sophie May, was an American author of childrens fiction. Using her nieces and nephews as inspiration, she wrote realistic stories about children. She wrote 45 books between 1860 and 1903. The most popular being the Little Prudy books. She lived most of her life in her native town of Norridgewock, Maine, where she lived out her life with her sister, who was also a successful author.