  Toma had cut a huge stack of wood, and it was well he did, for the moment the fire died down the wolves drew closer. In fact they seemed to taunt the boys into using the last of their ammunition in firing at the difficult targets they made. The one dog was whimpering with fear and cowering under the legs of his masters in abject fear. Sometimes, however, a low whine sounded among the wolves, at which the husky pricked up his ears and did not seem so frightened. Toma tied the dog to the sled with a thong of moose-hide. As the night wore away, Dick and Sandy risked shot after shot at the wolves, and now and again they dropped a skulking shadow. But usually they missed, since Toma objected to giving up his rifle, and they were forced to use the corporal’s revolver. “How long do you suppose we can hold out?” Sandy asked in a strained voice. “I see no reason why we can’t hold out until they leave,” Dick replied with more confidence than he felt. “We’ve plenty of firewood. As long as we have fire to fight with we’re safe.” “How do we know they’ll leave?” Sandy wanted to know. Dick shuddered a little, and did not answer. He saw a gray shape loom up at the edge of the firelight, and raising the revolver, fired quickly. He gave a cry of satisfaction as he saw the gaunt beast leap into the air and fall, kicking its last. There followed a rush of hungry wolves for their fallen companion. Horrified, the boys watched the dead wolf torn to pieces by the pack. Dick emptied his revolver into the writhing mass. He could not help but hit, and he killed another wolf, wounding two others, which the pack finished. Sandy began throwing burning brands at the wolves, and they drew off once more into the darkness, where they paced nervously back and forth, growling and snarling. The boys decided that one of them should try to sleep while the other two watched. Dick arranged three twigs in one hand for Sandy and Toma to draw from. The one with the shortest twig, after the draw, was to be the lucky one. Sandy drew the shortest. But after a half hour of futile tossing about, he gave it up. “No use,” Sandy joined the haggard watchers at the fire. “One of you fellows try it. I couldn’t sleep in a million years with those devils out there waiting to gobble me up.” “I don’t think I can either,” said Dick. “Toma, you’d better try it. One of us had better get some rest.” The guide grunted assent, and rolled into his sleeping bag, which once had been his brother’s. In a few minutes Toma was breathing steadily in sound slumber. His calmness gave the boys courage. “If he can sleep I guess we hadn’t ought to feel so nervous,” Sandy observed. “I’ve heard old sourdoughs say an Indian never lets the nearness of death trouble him when he can’t get away from it,” Dick related, trying to get his own mind and Sandy’s off their perilous predicament. “Well, I wish I was an Indian then,” Sandy sighed, “—for the present anyway.” The renewed and increased restlessness of their dog attracted their attention then, and they watched him straining at the moosehide leash. Dick caught the dog trying to chew through the thong and spoke sharply. “Funny why he wants to get away,” Dick mused aloud. “One would think the dog would realize his danger and want to stay near the fire.” Corporal Richardson’s voice sounded from his blankets. The officer had awakened and had overheard Dick’s remark. “There’s a female wolf out there—several of them,” the veteran northerner answered Dick. “She’s calling to the dog. It’s the mate call of the wolf and the dog understands it. But only the wisest of she-wolves understand how to use the call to lure meat for their stomachs. That dog wouldn’t last three minutes once he left the fire.” “How do you feel now?” Dick asked, going to the wounded man’s side. “Much better,” answered the officer, “but my side is stiff and mighty sore. I’ll be flat on my back for a couple of weeks yet. Couldn’t be worse luck now that the Inspector needs every man of us.” “Then you really think we have a good chance escaping from the wolf pack?” Dick eagerly seized at a grain of encouragement. The corporal did not answer immediately. “You’d have a lot bigger chance if you left me here in the morning,” said the corporal steadily. “Leave you here!” Dick exclaimed. “What do you think we are—cowards?” “I should say not, Dick Kent,” replied the policeman. “But that doesn’t make me any less a burden. With this wolf pack surrounding you you’ll do well to get away from camp at all, say nothing of hauling me along.” “But we’re with you anyway,” Dick concluded decisively. “Oh, well,” the officer turned a little, stifling a groan at the movement, “the wolves may scare up moose or caribou before morning. If they do they’ll soon leave us alone.” The conversation had weakened the corporal, and Dick soon left him to rest, joining Sandy. The boys discussed the situation, listening to the fearful howls of the wolves, hoping against hope that as Corporal Richardson had said, they might find other game before morning. After two hours of sound slumber, Toma quietly arose and joined the two at the fireside. He said little, but set to work cutting down more wood, and breaking it up into firewood lengths. Morning dawned, cold and gray. Dick and Sandy were worn from loss of sleep. Silently they waited for the wolves to depart. But with the sun an hour high the pack still circled the camp, tongues lolling, jaws slavering. “Will they never leave!” Sandy’s voice faltered. “Wolf much hungry!” Toma grunted. “Maybe um leave, we start. Sometime they do.” He looked at Dick to see what he thought. Dick surveyed the menacing circle of wolves. They had grown bolder as their hunger increased. Could they hitch up the dog and break out of that circle of death? “If you think we have a chance to get out of here, Toma, we’ll try it,” Dick grimly returned a moment later. “Anything but this suspense suits me.” As the boys packed up the wolves grew more uneasy and shifted closer. Toma scarcely could manage the husky as he hitched it to the sled. The young guide held his rifle in one hand, working at a disadvantage so that he might be prepared to shoot at a moment’s notice. Toma’s was the only rifle left in which there was ammunition, and Dick had shot away all the revolver cartridges during the night. It was with many misgivings that a few minutes later they took their places for the dash through the wolves. Toma took the lead, with the rifle, Sandy held the dog, while Dick took up the rear, swinging the camp axe. Slowly, in grim silence, they pulled away from the fire. A hundred feet away they discovered they never would get through the circle. For, instead of retreating, the wolves dashed this way and that, then rushed them in a body. Sandy’s cry of terror was drowned by the crack of Toma’s rifle and Dick’s hoarse shout: “Back to the fire! We can’t make it!” Then Toma’s rifle was empty, and with clubbed rifle and axe they were left to fight their way back to the campfire. Slashing with razor fangs, the wolves leaped in and out. Dick wrought havoc with the axe, and Toma ploughed his way through the snarling, writhing mass like a Hercules. When the guide broke through he ran to the fire and commenced throwing coals and burning sticks with his mittens, until the air was filled with flying embers. Howls of pain followed as the hot coals burned the wolves. The scent of singed hair and burning flesh arose. At last the wolves drew off reluctantly, leaving behind them a trail of wounded and dying. In the repulsion of the attack the boys had slain nine wolves and wounded seven. They could see the hairy bodies of the dead lying scattered all the way from where the fight had begun. “Wood not last much longer,” Toma’s voice startled Dick. Dick hastily inspected the patch of wood in which they had camped. As Toma had said, they soon would be out of firewood. And the nearest wood was three hundred yards away—outside the circle of death. Dick and Sandy shuddered; Corporal Richardson stirred and moaned; Toma began quietly gathering the chips and twigs; half buried in the snow. |
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