It's Sunday.

Pa said that it had been a big pack, all of fifty wolves and the biggest wolves he had ever seen in his life. They must be what they call Buffalo wolves. Their leader was a big gray brute that stood three feet at the shoulder, if an inch. Pa said that his hair had stood straight on end. Mom said that he hadn’t had his gun. Pa said that he had thought of that, but his gun would have been no use if he had had it. One couldn’t fight fifty wolves with one gun and Patty couldn’t outrun them. Ma asked what he had done. Pa said that he had done nothing because Patty had tried to run and he had never wanted anything worse than he had wanted to get away from there, but he had known if Patty had even started, those wolves would be on them in a minute, pulling them down, so he had held Patty to a walk. Ma said goodness under her breath. Pa said that he wouldn’t go through such a thing again for any money and he had never seen such wolves, and one big fellow had trotted along, right by his stirrup, and he could had kicked him in the ribs, and they hadn’t paid any attention to him at all, and they must have just made a kill and eaten all they could. Pa said to Ma that those wolves had just closed in around Patty and him and trotted along with them, and in broad daylight, for all the world like a pack of dogs going along with a horse, and they had been all around them, trotting along, and jumping and playing and snapping at each other, just like dogs. Ma said goodness again. Laura’s heart was thumping fast, and her mouth and her eyes were wide open, staring at Pa. Pa said that Patty had been shaking all over, and fighting the bit, and sweat had run off her, she had been so scared, and he had been sweating too, but he had held her down to a walk, and they had gone walking along among those wolves, and they had come right along with them, a quarter of mile or more, and that big fellow had trotted by his stirrup as if he had been there to stay.