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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
193
More
than
once
they
had
smelt
that
dreaded
destroyer
of
the
north
that
men
call
the
Gjerv
or
Wolverene;
and
one
day,
as
this
danger-scent
came
suddenly
and
in
great
strength,
a
huge
blot
of
dark
brown
sprang
rumbling
from
a
rocky
ledge,
and
straight
for
the
foremost--the
White
Calf.
His
eye
caught
the
flash
of
a
whirling,
shaggy
mass,
with
gleaming
teeth
and
eyes,
hot-breathed
and
ferocious.
Blank
horror
set
his
hair
on
end;
his
nostrils
flared
in
fear:
but
before
he
fled
there
rose
within
another
feeling--one
of
anger
at
the
breaker
of
his
peace,
a
sense
that
swept
all
fear
away,
braced
his
legs,
and
set
his
horns
at
charge.
The
brown
brute
landed
with
a
deep-chested
growl,
to
be
received
on
the
young
one's
spikes.
They
pierced
him
deeply,
but
the
shock
was
overmuch;
it
bore
the
White
One
down,
and
he
might
yet
have
been
killed
but
that
his
mother,
alert
and
ever
near,
now
charged
the
attacking
monster,
and
heavier,
better
armed,
she
hurled
and
speared
him
to
the
ground.
And
the
White
Calf,
with
a
very
demon
glare
in
his
once
mild
eyes,
charged
too;
and
even
after
the
Wolverene
was
a
mere
hairy
mass,
and
his
mother
had
retired
to
feed,
he
came,
snorting
out
his
rage,
to
drive
his
spikes
into
the
hateful
thing,
till
his
snowy
head
was
stained
with
his
adversary's
blood.
Thus
he
showed
that
below
the
ox-like
calm
exterior
was
the
fighting
beast;
that
he
was
like
the
men
of
the
north,
rugged,
square-built,
calm,
slow
to
wrath,
but
when
aroused
"seeing
red."
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