A CYCLISTS RIDE FOR LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXI, Issue 9491, 21 April 1894, Page 2 (Supplement)

A CYCLISTS RIDE FOR LIFE.

PURSUED BY WOLVES.

A cyclist riding through the forest -some) miles from Moscow recently had a terrible adventure with a pack of wolves. ' After riding a long time (he says), I heaird a Blight sound as of " yak, yak." I stopped and dismounted in order to listen. After a while I heard it again plainly. I concluded that it must be a dog barking in some farmyard near. Mounting again I rode on at a redoubled rate. The only thing that perplexed ,me was that the sound came from behind, but this I attributed to some curious echo. Soon the sound grew louder, and ib was plain thab whatever it was it came from more throats than one. It was like a bark, yet it was not the bark of a dog. In a moment the hideous truth bursb in upon me. The Bound was from behind; they were following me ; they were drawing up on me. They were not dogs. They were wolves. For a moment I felb as if there were no power in my limbs. Only by a strong effort I managed to work the bicycle at all. Even in those few seconds of terror the brutes had measurably approached. Regaining courage, 1 raced for my life. I certainly forged ahead a little, bub I could nob keep up the speed. THE PACK IN FULL CRY. Closer and closer undoubtedly they were coming. And, now as the brutes were gaining on me, they ceased to yelp. But this was even less endurable. To think of death (and a death so horrible) coming thus, silent and inevitable, in the darkness of the night, in the midst of a Russian pine-forest 1 I could hear the scurrying, pattering sound they made as they sped over the ground. Sometimes a solitary yelp would break the stillness, and once or twice, as if preconcerted, the whole pack burst into a fearful chorus. The moon was now up,. and I could see as I looked back the pack a hundred yards behind; all but one lean, famished brute, who, with red tongue lolling out, was, I saw to my horror, within ten yards of mo. Just then the noise of a torrent bursb on my ears; a wide, open space in the centre of the forest lay before me. Running through the centre of it shone in the moonlight the foaming waters of a mountain stream. It lay down in a low but steep ravine, its rocky bank rising straight to the height of 10 feet or thereabouts. On the opposite bank I could see the white road still continuing, Further on a light beamed out. I shouted loud, but ib only seemed to set the wolves behind me yelpng more fiercely than ever. A LAST RESOURCE. But, looking ahead, I perceived thab the bridge (if ever a bridge had been there) no longer existed. It had probably been swept away by some flood in the river. Despairingly I looked at the light that lay only a few hundred yards away from methat light that promised shelter and human companionship to me could I only reach it. I shouted and shouted, again and again. I was now within ten yards of the river. I was hesitating whether to end my lifo at once by riding over the precipice and into the torrent, or to dismount and die standing at bay. Just as 1 was about to adopt the latter course, I perceived that the bridge wa3 not entirely gone; one solitary pine trunk spanned the torrent from cliff to cliff. In a moment I had docided on my course, I grasped the handles tightly, and put on the highest speed I could, for I knew the faster the pace the more accuratejy I could steer. I murmured a prayer. I was on the beam. Fortunately, it was somewhat planed on the top. Steadily I kept my eye on that narrow track, every little unevenness, every knot in the timber I had to steer clear of. The slightest jolt would have cast me into the swirling waters beneath. I may say, with truth, thab the texture and outline of every inch of that beam is imprinted on my memory to this day. I remember even how the rough, jagged edges of tho bark that still clung to the trunk stood out against the background, or rather, " underground," of white rushing foam. So intent was I on it that for the time I gave not a thought to the wolves that had forced on me so hazardous a ride. But twice a thrill of terror ran through me as the trunk tilted over to one side and threatened to pitch mo down. Yet it must be remembered that all this took place in, at tho most, three seconds. SAFELY ACROSS. Now I was nob a foot from the other bank when the beam gave a third tilt over. I leaned again to trie other side. This time in vain. Before I well knew it I was falling. But I made a wild spring toward the bank. Fortune favoured me. I landed on my face into a cluster of bramble bushes, j I seized hold of them, and though my legs; hung over the precipice, I pulled myself up. Below me I heard a splash, caused by my machine as it fell. A moment after there was a louder one. I turned to look, and saw with the greatest joy I ever felt - the beam was gone. I heard a smothered yelp below me, and saw tho wolf that had followed me so close swept down by the torrent. He and I must havo been together on the beam. Words fail to describe the terrible din of tho infuriated pack when they saw their prey had escaped them. I now looked up the road and heard answering shouts in the direction of the light; a door opened, as I could seo by the increased brigtness that beamed out. There is little else to tell. I spent the night in a peasant's hut. The next day I reached Moscow, but little the worse for my terrible ride.