Then miraculously the trees opened out, and the road appeared before them. There would be open ground the wolves would have to cross to get to them, and even at running speed they could pick them off as they came.

There was scarcely a moment of hesitation as they hit the road. Downhill was to the left, and downhill they continued. The going was easier now, and the sounds faded away behind them.

Eventually they slowed down, panting a little from the exertion, but listening sharply between breaths. Only the occasional crack of a tree branch in the deepening cold broke the quiet.

At last Napoleon stopped and leaned against a tree. "I think we've lost them," he said.

"I wouldn't count on it," said Illya, sitting down on a rock. "Maybe they're just quieting down before sneaking in for the kill."

Napoleon shook his head. "The cold," he said sagely. "Wolves don't hunt when the temperature gets below freezing."

Illya looked at him in amazement. "You're thinking of rattlesnakes. Wolves just get more active when it's cold. I remember when I was a little boy in Siberia, being chased by a pack of wolves all the way from Yakutsk to Kirensk in the middle of winter—and the temperature was about forty degrees below zero."

"Oh, come on," said Napoleon. "It's seven hundred and fifty miles from Yakutsk to Kirensk."

Illya shrugged. "Well, we were on a train...."

"And the wolves chased you at sixty miles an hour for seven hundred and fifty miles?"

"Twenty-five miles an hour—this was the Trans-Siberian Railway. And I don't know if they were the same wolves all the way; maybe they ran in shifts and slept in the baggage car."

Napoleon gave up and started laughing. "Never mind," he said. "Besides, the last time you mentioned it, you were a little boy in the Ukraine."

"We moved around a lot."

Napoleon stood up again. "Well, this is only Rumania, but it still gets cold enough for me. Let's head on down the road, and see what we can find in the way of civilization." He squinted up at the sky and shook his head. "Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if it started to snow before morning. Look at those clouds."

Illya got to his feet slowly. "As long as it doesn't just get colder." He glanced at his watch. "It's still about three hours until dawn."

They started off down the road again. After some time Napoleon said, "I wonder just how many roads there are in this area. This one looks familiar. Weren't we chased along here by wolves just a few nights ago?"

"I shouldn't be at all surprised."

The cold seemed to lessen as Napoleon thought about that and realized how near they were to the village. Just a few more miles down the road were warm beds, hot food, and civilization. They'd be there in just a few more...

There was something in the road ahead of them, too far way to be seen clearly. Illya looked hard, and said, "I think it's the car!"

Napoleon smiled with satisfaction. "The end of a perfect evening," he said.

And a chorus of howls went off right behind them.

Napoleon and Illya broke into a dead run. But the pack had been right behind them when they had given tongue, and as Solo threw a quick glance over his shoulder he could see the running gray shapes fifty feet behind them. He didn't look around again—all his attention was devoted to running.

Then the car loomed up in front of him and he sprawled across the hood before he could stop. His back tensed, expecting a furry weight to hurdle itself upon him. After a moment, it hadn't, and he looked up.

The wolves had stopped in a half-circle twenty feet away from them, and stood with lowered heads.

Slowly and cautiously, making no sudden moves, Napoleon reached for his pocket, where the keys to the car waited. His hand slid in and found the chill metal. He spoke quietly, keeping his eye firmly fixed on the wolves.

"Get ready, Illya. I'm going to try to get the door open. Once we get inside we'll be safe."

"Right. I've got my gun ready, but I won't use it unless they start towards us."

"Check." The key was in Napoleon's hands now, and he began to edge along the side of the car. When he started to move, a couple of the wolves growled warningly. He stopped, one foot slightly lifted, and waited for a count of twenty before lowering it again. Then he moved much more slowly.

When he felt the door behind him, he reached around and began searching for the handle. A couple of the wolves took a slow stiff-legged step forward, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Illya's automatic swing slightly towards them.

"If I have to shoot," said his partner tensely, "get that door open as fast as you can and I'll try to hold them off and jump for it."

"Check."

The handle was there—now where was the lock? There. And which way did the key go in? Did he have the right key? It didn't seem to fit....There! It slipped in. He turned it carefully to the right, hoping the lock hadn't frozen. The tumblers caught with a sharp click as the key turned.

The noise triggered two wolves. They sprang forward so fast he could barely see them move. Illya's automatic blasted twice, and a shaggy body slammed against Napoleon's chest and drove his instinctively raised arm hard against his face. His other arm jerked desperately at the door handle and the door came unlatched and banged his leg as he tried to open it.

The wolf that had hit him fell away from him again, its jaws locked in his overcoat and blood oozing from its chest. The other wolf had fallen just short of Illya, and lay in a crumpled heap with an exploded skull from the head shot, almost at his feet.

Napoleon tore his coat from the death-grip of the fangs that had so nearly met in his throat. Then, as he swung the door open and leaped inside, he saw to his amazement that the rest of the wolf pack was disappearing—fading back into the forest.

Illya stood, amazement and disbelief scrawled broadly across his face, pistol hanging loosely in his hand, watching them go. Then he collected himself hurriedly.

"Something's wrong," he said. "There's no reason, rational or irrational, why they should just leave like that."

"Let's discuss it in the car," said Napoleon. "I feel an irrational urge to emulate them, and right now."

Illya holstered his gun slowly, then bent over and looked at the wolf he had saved Napoleon from. He suddenly knelt and looked even closer. Without looking up, he said, "Turn on the car light for a moment, will you?"

Napoleon reached over and pulled the knob, and the headlights came to life. Enough light was thrown back by the ground and the bushes nearby that Illya could see quite well. Napoleon looked over his shoulder from the left-hand seat of the car.

The Russian agent had lifted the wolf's head and was examining it, running his fingers along it as though patting a dog. Something seemed to glitter amid the fur. Napoleon stared at him.

"What in the world are you doing?" he asked. "Do you want to wait for them to come back?"

"This is worth another minute," said Illya, a strange quality in his voice. "Give me a hand here—I want to get this wolf into the trunk of the car."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Quite the contrary," said the Russian. "I think I am in it for the first time in longer than I care to consider."

Napoleon looked at him suspiciously. Illya was wearing a secret little smile, and his voice hinted at unsuspected things of great interest. Napoleon got out, opened the trunk, and helped load about a hundred pounds of dead weight into it. Then he got back behind the wheel, let Illya in the other door, and started the motor. There had been no further sign of the other wolves.