midday
The brutes drew nearer as the man 's pace slowed to the wearying of his muscles . Instinctively he knew that at the last there would be no waiting -- no delay . The very minute he sank exhausted into the snow they would be upon him -- the great white leader and her rapacious horde -- and in his imagination he could feel the viselike clench of iron jaws and the tearing rip with which the quivering flesh would be stripped from his bones . At midday the man placed the sheath-knife in his belt and threw away the pack . Relieved of the burden , his shoulders felt strangely light . There was a new buoyancy in his stride . But the relief was temporary , and as the sun sank early behind the pines his brain was again driving his wearied muscles to their work .