One evening not long after their arrival at the camp the three friends, wearied after a day of strenuous activity, were whiling away the time in reminiscences of some of their past adventures. Mr. Melton, who made one of the little group, listened in an interested fashion, and seemed little disposed to interrupt the draught of "memories' mellow vine."

After a while they ceased talking, and a short silence ensued, which was abruptly broken by Bert.

"Look here, fellows," he exclaimed, "here we are monopolizing the conversation, when we might be listening to some really interesting story from Mr. Melton. I vote we petition the boss of this outfit to spin us a yarn."

"Second the motion," shouted Tom and Dick, and the vote was carried.

"You fellows seem to think I have a story on tap all the time," he said with an indulgent smile, "but the fact is I've told you about all the exciting things that ever happened to me, or that I ever heard of. My memory is squeezed as dry as a lemon."

"Just the same, I'll bet if you think real hard you can think of something worth telling," said Bert; "try to, anyway, won't you?"

At first their host made no reply to this entreaty, but gazed ruminatively off into space. At last he spoke.

"I suppose you boys think," he said, "that this country is pretty wild and uncivilized. But take my word for it, it is so tame now that it eats out of your hand compared to what it once was. Why, now it's the rarest thing in the world that you ever see a wolf—that is, a real wolf," as Tom started to interrupt. "What I'm thinking of is a real timber wolf, not one of the slinking coyotes you see every once in a while. There is no animal I'd go farther out of my way to avoid than a hungry timber wolf, and anybody else who knows anything at all about them will tell you the same thing.

"They are half as big again as a coyote, and twice as strong. Why, a full-grown timber wolf will throw a running steer. Man is the only thing in the world they're afraid of, and they're not afraid of him when they're very hungry or running in packs. When driven to it they'll tackle almost anything.

"I remember one time when I had occasion to go to Belford, a little trading station some twenty or thirty miles from our camp, to secure some much-needed supplies. It was the middle of winter, and an exceptionally cold and severe winter at that. Fresh meat was naturally very scarce, and the wolves were becoming bolder and more fearless every day. At night they used to prowl close about the camp, and howl until we got up and plugged one or two of their number, after which they generally dispersed for a time.

"Well, as I have said, it became necessary for me to take the journey for supplies, so one winter's morning I hitched up the team to a rude sort of home-made sled I had made and started off for Belford. The snow was quite deep and, needless to say, there had not been enough travel along the trail to pack it down. The horses made heavy going of it, but we got there at last, and glad enough I was to get inside the shack that served as the general store and warm my half frozen hands and feet at the red hot stove.

"After I was comfortable once more I made my purchases, and after loading them into the sleigh said good-by to the boys and started out on the return journey.

"It was a mighty long trip for the horses, but they were a young team, full of fire and life, and I thought we could make back the same day without much trouble. And likely enough we would have, with time to spare, if it hadn't started to snow; lightly at first, but getting thicker all the time. The horses had started out toward home at a brisk trot, but they gradually slowed down to a walk, and once or twice I had to stop them altogether to let them gather fresh strength.

"What with the slow going and the stops, dusk overtook us while we were still some eight or ten miles from the camp. It couldn't have been later than four o'clock, but the short winter's day was even at that time drawing to a close, and the falling snow made it darker still.

"But no thought of danger entered my head, and I merely swore a little at the prospect of a late supper, for I was cold and hungry. Suddenly, however, the danger of my position was brought home to me in a very sudden manner. Away in the distance I heard the long drawn wolf-howl, than which I firmly believe there is no more blood-curdling sound in existence. The horses pricked up their ears nervously and hastened their lagging pace, and I myself felt a thrill go up my spine. It was not many seconds before the first howl was answered by a second, and then a third.

"'A little faster, my beauties,' I said to the horses, 'we're not so far from home now, and it's up to us to get there pretty pronto.'

"The faithful beasts seemed to understand my words, and strained forward in the harness. The snow had stopped by this time, but was pretty deep, and the sleigh was heavy. After trotting forward at a brisk pace for a way they dropped back into a walk again.

"By now the howls had merged into a general chorus, and looking back over the great expanse of open country over which we were traveling I could see numerous black specks traveling swiftly toward us, becoming larger every second.

"I saw that I was in a mighty tight place, so got out my Winchester repeater and made sure that it was loaded. Then I stationed myself in the back of the sleigh and waited for the enemy to approach.

"On they came, loping swiftly along, silent now that their quarry was in plain sight. I took careful aim at the foremost brute, and pulled the trigger. My shot took effect, for with an unearthly scream the animal dropped, and for a few brief seconds his comrades stopped in order to devour him. At the sound of the rifle shot and the scream of the stricken wolf the horses plunged forward, all thought of fatigue gone in their overwhelming terror. The wolves were not easily to be outdistanced, though, and were soon after us again. They gained on us as though we were standing still, and were soon close to the back of the sleigh. I pumped bullets into them as fast as I could work my repeater, but by this time they were so numerous that it seemed to have little effect. The horses were slowing down again, even their fear of death unable to force them onward. I saw it was a case of lighten the sleigh or go under, so I commenced throwing our precious supplies out of the sled. Bags of flour and sides of bacon flew through the air, and the wolves were momentarily checked while fighting over the prizes.

"I knew that presently they would be up with us again, however, and then, with every resource gone, it looked as though my chances would be slim, indeed. But suddenly an inspiration shot through my mind.

"I drew up the trembling horses, and with a few slashes of my hunting knife cut the harness that held them to the sleigh. Then, with my rifle in one hand, I swung onto the back of the larger of the two horses, and let the other go. He was off like a streak, with my mount a close second.

"I glanced back over my shoulder, hoping that we could gain a little ground before the wolves quit their wrangling over the supplies I had thrown out to them, but was disappointed. They were after us again in full cry, and my heart sank.

"I turned in the saddle and sent shot after shot into the racing pack, and succeeded in checking them a little, but not much. The horse was galloping at a good clip now, though, and I knew that if we could keep ahead for a short time longer we would reach the camp.

"The wolves overtook us without seeming effort, however, and were soon snapping about the horse's heels. My rifle was of little use now, and I drew my revolvers and blazed away at short range. Every shot took effect, but the wolves were nothing daunted. As I told you before, when the timber wolf gets his blood up he is absolutely fearless. No sooner did one of the great gray brutes drop than another leaped into his place, his green eyes glowing balefully and his jaws snapping.

"When both my revolves were empty I clubbed my rifle, and lashed away at the long-pointed heads that were so close to me. Once or twice one would catch the butt of the gun in his teeth, and the marks are in the wood to this day.

"Well, I was so busy fighting off the wolves that I had no time to notice how near we were to camp. But suddenly my heart gave a great leap as I heard a yell in front of me and recognized the voice of my partner.

"I looked ahead and saw that I had almost reached our shack. My partner was standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, and even as I looked came running out toward me. In a few seconds the faithful horse had carried me almost to the shack, and I leaped to the ground. My partner took up a stand alongside me, and as the wolves came on we cleared a space about us with the clubbed rifles. We realized we couldn't keep that up long, though, so we retreated to the cabin. We backed in, but were unable to shut the door before one big gray brute squeezed inside. He was nothing dismayed at being separated from his companions, but leaped straight for us. I fetched him a stunning blow with the butt of my rifle, and before he could recover we both fell upon him and despatched him with our hunting knives. That was about as close a shave as I ever had," and as he finished his story Mr. Melton shook his head.

"I should think it must have been," said Bert, drawing a long breath, "but what did the rest of the wolves do when they found themselves shut out?"

"Oh, my partner and I shot at them from the window until we had killed over a dozen, and the rest, finding that they could not get at us, took themselves off."

"Did they kill the horses?" asked Tom.

"No," replied Mr. Melton, "for some reason they didn't chase them. The next morning we found them both outside the shack none the worse for their adventure. And a mighty lucky thing for us it was, because the loss of our horses then would have meant the failure of all our plans."

"I suppose you went back and got the sled the next day, didn't you?" inquired Dick.

"Oh, yes," replied his host, "we recovered it all right, but then we had to go back to the settlement for more grub, of course. But I was so happy at having escaped with my life that I didn't mind a little thing like that."

The three boys laughingly voted Mr. Melton's story a "curly wolf," and then, as it was getting late, trooped off to bed.