The black wolf was watching them, tongue lolling, from a mere dozen yards away, at most. There was no way in the world they could outrun him if he charged; he would be on them in a few strides.

Evangeline was too frightened even to pray.

“He looks hungry, Mama,” Abigail whispered. Intrepid, precious Abigail. “I can see his ribs.”

Evangeline squeezed her daughter’s hand in a nearly imperceptible command to be silent. The wolf must have seen it, though, because it yipped once and then gave a low snarl of warning. The creature’s ruff bristled visibly around its enormous head, the yellow eyes were fixed on the prey—Abigail, dear God, Abigail, and Evangeline herself.

She hadn’t brought a gun, and it would do no good to call out for Scully; he was far away, tracking some wild mustangs he’d spotted while hunting for food a few days before. They were alone, unarmed, and in very desperate trouble.

The wolf bared its teeth and snarled more insistently now. It was salivating. Evangeline held on to the contents of her bladder only by virtue of sheer determination.

“Listen to me,” Evangeline said, breathing the words, hardly daring to move her mouth. “I’m going to get him to follow me, if I can. In the meantime, I want you to head for the cabin, as fast as you can. Whatever you do, Abigail, do not stop or even look back.”

“No, Mama,” Abigail retorted. “I won’t leave you here. He’ll eat you.”

“If you don’t do as I say, he’ll eat you as well. Please, Abigail. This is no time to be stubborn.”

Abigail took a step toward the wolf before Evangeline could stop her, and even though she was still gripping the child’s hand, she didn’t dare pull her back, lest another sudden motion should tilt the delicate balance. She groped from one heartbeat to the next, from one breath to the next. The wolf growled again, settled back on his haunches a little. To Evangeline, he looked poised to lunge.

“You go away and leave my mama and me alone,” Abigail told him stoutly. “We know you’re hungry, but that’s no excuse to behave so badly!”

In just about any other circumstances, Evangeline would have laughed at her daughter’s audacity. Now, she was too terrified even to go on drawing breath. She was light-headed, and the sky seemed to shift a little, then tilt.

“Go on!” Abigail yelled at the wolf. “Get out of here!”

A tear trickled down Evangeline’s cheek. “Be still,” she managed to whisper. “Abigail, hold your tongue.”

For a moment, it looked as though the wolf might actually heed Abigail’s words, turn, and trot away into the woods, chagrined. Then, with sudden, ferocious grace, it sprang, soaring through the air as if to fly. She heard a whistling sound—Evangeline did not even attempt to reason out what it was, there was no time, no air, no strength for that—and then the wolf fell from the sky in mid-flight, landing bloody in the snow. It had perished in the space of an instant.