With a spurt he gained upon Lizette, reached the saddle-girths, gathered himself in two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat.
Instinctively Ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his foot free, caught the wolf under the jaw.

The brute fell with a howl under the colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe.
The savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down their fierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' great deerhound, Bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a few minutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the dark shadows.

Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane, checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear.
"I'll have some of your hides some day," he cried, shaking his fist after them.

He hated to be made to run.
He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something tearing down the lane to meet him.

The colt snorted, swerved, and then dropping his ears, stood still.