For they dared not move out of the open space, and the great trunk of the blasted pine rose behind them bare of branches almost to the top.
"Your daggers in your left hands, they are upon us!" cried Sholto, who, standing with his face to the west, had a lower horizon and more light than the others.

The three men had cast their palmers' cloaks from their shoulders and now stood leaning a little forward, breathing hard as they waited the assault of foes whom they believed to be frankly diabolic and instinct with all the powers of hell.

This required greater courage than storming many fortifications.
Almost as he spoke Sholto became aware that a fierce rush of shaggy beasts was crossing the scanty grass towards him.

He saw a vision of red mouths, gleaming teeth, and hairy breasts, into the leaping chaos of which he plunged and replunged his sword till his arm ached.

Mostly the stricken died snapping and tearing at each other; but ever and anon one stronger than the rest would overleap the barrier of dead and dying wolves that grew up in front of the three men, and Sholto would feel the teeth click clean and hard upon the mail of his arm or thigh before he could stoop to despatch the brute with the dirk which he grasped in his left hand.
The rush upon Sholto's side fortunately did not last long, but while it continued the battle was strange and silent and grim--this notable fight of man and beast.