He sprang in beside her, and
Pavel and Peter (our Pavel and Peter!) took the front seat. Pavel drove.
The party set out with singing and the jingle of sleigh-bells, the groom's
sledge going first. All the drivers were more or less the worse for
merry-making, and the groom was absorbed in his bride.
The wolves were bad that winter, and everyone knew it, yet when they heard
the first wolf-cry, the drivers were not much alarmed. They had too much
good food and drink inside them. The first howls were taken up and echoed
and with quickening repetitions. The wolves were coming together. There
was no moon, but the starlight was clear on the snow. A black drove came
up over the hill behind the wedding party. The wolves ran like streaks of
shadow; they looked no bigger than dogs, but there were hundreds of them.
Something happened to the hindmost sledge: the driver lost control--he
was probably very drunk--the horses left the road, the sledge was caught in
a clump of trees, and overturned. The occupants rolled out over the snow,
and the fleetest of the wolves sprang upon them. The shrieks that followed
made everybody sober. The drivers stood up and lashed their horses. The
groom had the best team and his sledge was lightest--all the others
carried from six to a dozen people.
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